POPULAR NOVELS BY MRS. MARY J. HOLMES. TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE. DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHTS. ENGLISH ORPHANS. HUGHWORTHINGTON. HOMESTEAD ON HILLSIDE. CAMERON PRIDE. 'LENA RIVERS. ROSE MATHER. MEADOW BROOK. ETHELYN'S MISTAKE. DORA DEANE. MILBANK. COUSIN MAUDE. EDNA BROWNING. MARIAN GREY. WEST LAWN. EDITH LYLE. MILDRED. DAISY THORNTON. FOREST HOUSE. CHATEAU D'OR. MADELINE. QUEENIE HETHERTON. CHRISTMAS STORIES. BESSIE'S FORTUNE. GRETCHEN. MARGUERITE. DR. HATHERN'S DAUGHTERS. MRS. HALLAM'S COMPANION. PAUL RALSTON. THE TRACY DIAMONDS. THE CROMPTONS. (_NEW_) "Mrs. Holmes is a peculiarly pleasant and fascinating writer. Her booksare always entertaining, and she has the rare faculty of enlisting thesympathy and affections of her readers, and of holding their attentionto her pages with deep and absorbing interest. " Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, $1. 00 each, and sent _free_ by mail onreceipt of price. G. W. Dillingham Co. , Publishers, NEW YORK. [Illustration: "Here by this grave I promise all you ask. "--Page 39. ] The Cromptons BY MARY J. HOLMES G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANYPUBLISHERS NEW YORK COPYRIGHT 1899, 1901, By MRS. MARY J. HOLMES. _All rights reserved. _ _The Cromptons. Issued August, 1902. _ CONTENTS PART I CHAPTER PAGE I. THE STRANGER AT THE BROCK HOUSE 9 II. THE PALMETTO CLEARING 20 III. THE INTERVIEW 32 IV. HOPING AND WAITING 44 V. MISS DORY 48 VI. THE SERVICES 58 VII. COL. CROMPTON 66 VIII. THE CHILD OF THE CLEARING 80 IX. THE COLONEL AND JAKE 88 X. EUDORA 102 PART II I. HOWARD CROMPTON TO JACK HARCOURT 115 II. JACK HARCOURT TO HOWARD CROMPTON 122 III. ELOISE 127 IV. THE ACCIDENT 139 V. AMY 149 VI. AT MRS. BIGGS'S 160 VII. RUBY ANN PATRICK 178 VIII. MRS. BIGGS'S REMINISCENCES 189 IX. LETTER FROM REV. CHARLES MASON 199 X. PART SECOND OF REV. MR. MASON'S LETTER 211 XI. SUNDAY CALLS 218 XII. THE MARCH OF EVENTS 227 XIII. GETTING READY FOR THE RUMMAGE SALE 242 XIV. THE FIRST SALE 256 XV. AT THE RUMMAGE 261 XVI. THE AUCTION 271 PART III I. THE BEGINNING OF THE END 285 II. THE LITTLE RED CLOAK 294 III. ELOISE AT THE CROMPTON HOUSE 304 IV. THE SHADOW OF DEATH 315 V. LOOKING FOR A WILL 323 VI. IN FLORIDA 336 VII. IN THE PALMETTO CLEARING 342 VIII. THE LITTLE HAIR TRUNK 350 IX. WHAT HOWARD FOUND 362 X. HOWARD'S TEMPTATION 371 XI. CONCLUSION 379 Illustrations: "Here by this grave I promise all you ask. " THE CROMPTONS PART I CHAPTER I THE STRANGER AT THE BROCK HOUSE The steamer "Hatty" which plied between Jacksonville and Enterprise waslate, and the people who had come down from the Brock House to thelanding had waited half an hour before a puff of smoke in the distancetold that she was coming. There had been many conjectures as to thecause of the delay, for she was usually on time, and those who hadfriends on the boat were growing nervous, fearing an accident, and allwere getting tired, when she appeared in the distance, the puffs ofsmoke increasing in volume as she drew nearer, and the sound of herwhistle echoing across the water, which at Enterprise spreads out into alake. She had not met with an accident, but had been detained at Palatkawaiting for a passenger of whom the captain had been apprised. "He may be a trifle late, but if he is, wait. He must take your boat, "Tom Hardy had said to the captain when engaging passage for his friend, and Tom Hardy was not one whose wishes were often disregarded. "ThemHardys does more business with me in one year than ten other familiesand I can't go agin Tom, and if he says wait for his friend, why, there's nothing to do but wait, " the captain said, as he walked up anddown in front of his boat, growing more and more impatient, until atlast as he was beginning to swear he'd wait no longer for all the Hardysin Christendom, two men came slowly towards the landing, talkingearnestly and not seeming to be in the least hurry, although the "Hatty"began to scream herself hoarse as if frantic to be gone. "How d'ye, Cap, " Tom said, in his easy, off-hand way. "Hope we haven'tkept you long. This is my friend I told you about. I suppose his berthis ready?" He did not tell the name of his friend, who, as if loath to cross theplank, held back for a few more words. Tom gave him a little push atlast, and said, "Good-bye, you really must go. Success to you, but don'tfor a moment think of carrying out that quixotic plan you firstmentioned. Better jump into the river. Good-bye!" The plank was crossed and pulled in, and a mulatto boy came forward totake the stranger's bag and pilot him to his stateroom, which openedfrom what was called the ladies' parlor. Coiled up in a corner on thedeck was a bundle of something which stirred as they came near to it, and began to turn over, making the stranger start with a slightexclamation. "Doan you be skeert, sar, " the boy said, "dat's nottin' but Mandy Ann, an onery nigger what b'longs to ole Miss Harris in de clarin' up terEnt'prise. She's been hired out a spell in Jacksonville, --nuss to alittle gal, and now she's gwine home. Miss Dory done sent for her, 'case Jake is gone and ole Miss is wus, --never was very peart, " andturning to the girl the boy Ted continued: "You Mandy Ann, doan you knowmore manners not to skeer a gemman, rollin' round like a punkin? Getback wid yer. " He spurned the bundle with his foot, while the stranger stoppedsuddenly, as if a blow had been struck him. "Who did you say she was? To whom does she belong, I mean?" he asked, and the boy replied, "Mandy Ann, a no count nigger, b'longs to MissHarris. Poor white trash! Crackers! Dis your stateroom, sar. Kin I dosomethin' for you?" The boy's head was held high, indicative of his opinion of poor whitetrash and Crackers in general, and Mandy Ann in particular. "No, thanks, " the stranger said, taking his bag and shutting himselfinto his stuffy little stateroom. "'Specs he's from de Norf; looks like it, an' dey allus askin' who we'longs to. In course we 'longs to somebody. We has ter, " Ted thought, ashe made his way back to Mandy Ann, who was wide-awake and ready for anywar of words which might come up between herself and Ted, "who feltmighty smart 'case he was cabin boy on de 'Hatty. '" As Ted suspected, the stranger was of Northern birth, which showeditself in his accent and cold, proud bearing. He might have been thirty, and he might have been more. His face did not show his age. His featureswere regular, and his complexion pale as a woman's. His eyes were across between blue and gray, with a look in them which made you feelthat they were reading your inmost secrets, and you involuntarily turnedaway when they were fixed upon you. On this occasion he seemed colderand prouder than usual, as he seated himself upon the stool in hisstateroom and looked about him, --not at any thing that was there, for hedid not see it, or think how small and uncomfortable his quarters were, although recommended as one of the staterooms _de luxe_ on the boat. Histhoughts were outside, first on Mandy Ann, --not because of anythingabout her personally. He had seen nothing except a woolly head, a darkblue dress, and two black, bare feet and ankles, but because she wasMandy Ann, bound slave of "ole Miss Harris, who lived in de clarin', "and for that reason she connected him with something from which heshrank with an indescribable loathing. At last he concluded to try thenarrow berth, but finding it too hard and too short went out upon therear deck, and taking a chair where he would be most out of the way andscreened from observation, he sat until the moon went down behind aclump of palms, and the stars paled in the light of the sun which shonedown upon the beautiful river and the tangled mass of shrubbery andundergrowth on either side of it. At last the passengers began to appear one by one, with their cheery howdye's and good mornings, and curious glances at this stranger in theirmidst, who, although with them, did not seem to be one of them. Theywere all Southerners and inclined to be friendly, but nothing in thestranger's attitude invited sociability. He was looking off upon thewater in the direction from which they had come, and never turned hishead in response to the loud shouts, when an alligator was seen lyingupon the shore, or a big turtle was sunning itself on a log. He was aNortherner, they knew from his general make-up, and a friend of TomHardy, the captain said, when questioned with regard to him. This lastwas sufficient to atone for any proclivities he might have antagonisticto the South. Tom Hardy, although living in Georgia, was well known inFlorida. To be his friend was to be somebody; and two or three attemptsat conversation were made in the course of the morning. One man, bolderthan the rest, told him it was a fine day and a fine trip, but that the"Hatty" was getting a little too _passée_ for real comfort. At the word_passée_ the stranger looked up with something like interest, andadmitted that the boat was _passée_, and the day fine, and the trip, too. A cigar was next offered, but politely declined, and then theattempt at an acquaintance ceased on the part of the first to make it. Later on an old Georgian planter, garrulous and good-humored, swore he'dfind out what stuff the Yankee was made of, and why he was down therewhere few of his kind ever came. His first move was the offer oftobacco, with the words: "How d'ye, sir? Have a chew?" The stranger's head went up a little higher than its wont, and the proudlook on the pale face deepened as he declined the tobacco civilly, as hehad the cigar. "Wall, now, don't chew tobacky? You lose a good deal. I couldn't livewithout it. Sorter soothin', an' keeps my jaws goin', and when I'm sofull of vim, --mad, you know, --that I'm fit to bust, why, I spit andspit, --backy juice in course, --till I spit it all out, " the Georgiansaid, taking an immense chew, and sitting down by the stranger, who gaveno sign that he knew of his proximity, but still kept his eyes on theriver as if absorbed in the scenery. The Georgian was not to be easily rebuffed. Crossing his legs andplanting his big hat on his knees, he went on: "You are from the North, I calculate?" "Yes. " "I thought so. We can mostly tell 'em. From Boston, I reckon?" "No. " "New York, mabby? No? Chicago? No? Wall, where in--" the Georgianstopped, checked by a look in the bluish-gray eyes which seldom failedin its effect. Evidently the stranger didn't choose to tell where he lived, but theGeorgian, though somewhat subdued, was not wholly silenced, and hecontinued: "Ever in Florida before?" "No. " "Wall, I s'pose you're takin' a little pleasure trip like the rest ofus?" To this there was no response, the stranger thinking with bitternessthat his trip was anything but one of pleasure. There was still onechord left to pull and that was Tom Hardy, who in a way was voucher forthis interloper, and the Georgian's next question was: "Do you know Tomwell?" "Do you mean, Mr. Hardy?" the stranger asked, and the Georgian replied. "In course, but I allus calls him Tom. Have known him since he woregowns. My plantation jines old man Hardy's. " There was no doubt, now, that the stranger was interested, and had hiscompanion been a close observer he would have seen the kindling light inhis eyes, and the spots of red beginning to show on his face. Whether totalk or not was a question in his mind. Cowardice prompted him to remainsilent, and something which defied silence prompted him at last totalk. "I was with Mr. Thomas Hardy in college, " he said, "and I have visitedhim in his home. He is my best friend. " "To-be-sure!" the Georgian said, hitching nearer to the stranger, as ifthere was a bond of relationship between them. The man had given no inkling of the date of his visit, and as it wassome years since Tom was graduated the Georgian did not dream ofassociating the visit with a few weeks before, when he had heard that ahigh buck was at old man Hardy's and with Tom was painting theneighborhood red and scandalizing some of the more sober citizens withhis excesses. This quiet stranger with the proud face and hard eyesnever helped paint anything. It was somebody else, whose name he hadforgotten, but of whom he went on to speak in not very complimentaryterms. "A high buck, I never happened to see squar in the face, " he said. "Hadglimpses of him in the distance ridin' ole man Hardy's sorrel, like hewas crazy, and oncet reelin' in the saddle. Yes, sar, _reelin'_, as ifhe'd took too much. I b'lieve in a drink when you are dry, but Lordland, whar's the sense of _reelin'_? I don't see it, do you?" The stranger said he didn't and the Georgian went on, now in a lower, confidential voice. "I actually hearn that this chap, --what the deuce was his name? Have youan idee? He was from the North?" If the stranger had an _idee_ he didn't give it, and the Georgiancontinued: "These two young chaps--Tom ain't right young though, sameage as you, I reckon--called on some Cracker girls back in the woods andthe Northern feller staid thar two or three days. Think of it--Crackergirls! Now, if'ted been niggers, instead of Crackers!" "Ugh!" the stranger exclaimed, wakened into something like life. "Don'ttalk any more about that man! He must have been a sneak and villain anda low-lived dog, and if there is any meaner name you can give him, doso. It will fit him well, and please me. " "Call him a Cracker, but a Florida one. Georgy is mostly better--not upto so much snuff, you know, " the Georgian suggested, while theNortherner drew a quick breath and thought of Mandy Ann, and wonderedwhere she was and if he should see her again. He felt as if there was not a dry thread in one of his garments when hiscompanion left him, and returning to his friends reported that he hadn'tmade much out of the chap. He wasn't from New York, nor Boston, norChicago, and "I don't know where in thunder he is from, nor his namenuther. I forgot to ask it, he was so stiff and offish. He was incollege with Tom Hardy and visited him years ago; that's all I know, "the planter said, and after that the stranger was left mostly tohimself, while the passengers busied themselves with gossip, and thescenery, and trying to keep cool. The day was hot and grew hotter as the sun rose higher in the heavens, and the stranger felt very uncomfortable, but it was not the heat whichaffected him as much as the terrible network of circumstances which hehad woven for himself. It was the harvest he was reaping as the resultof one false step, when his brain was blurred and he was somebodybesides the elegant gentleman whom people felt it an honor to know. Hewas himself now, crushed inwardly, but carrying himself just as proudlyas if no mental fire were consuming him, making him think seriously morethan once of jumping into the river and ending it all. He was veryluxurious and fastidious in his tastes, and would have nothing unseemlyin his home at the North, where he had only to say to his servants comeand they came, and where, if he died on his rosewood bedstead withsilken hangings, they would make him a grand funeral--smother him withflowers, and perhaps photograph him as he lay in state. Here, if heended his life, in the river, with alligators and turtles, he would befished up a sorry spectacle, and laid upon the deck with weeds and fernsclinging to him, and no one knowing who he was till they sent for TomHardy at that moment hurrying back to his home in Georgia, from which hehad come at the earnest request of his friend. He did not like the looksof himself bedraggled and wet, and dead, on the deck of the "Hatty, "with that curious crowd looking at him, Mandy Ann with the rest. Strangethat thoughts of Mandy Ann should flit through his mind as he decidedagainst the cold bath in the St. John's and _to face_ it, whatever itwas. Occasionally some one spoke to him, and he always answeredpolitely, and once offered his chair to a lady who seemed to be lookingfor one. But she declined it, and he was again left alone. Once he wentto the other end of the boat for a little exercise and change, he saidto himself, but really for a chance of seeing Mandy Ann, who of all thepassengers interested him the most. But Mandy Ann was not in sight, nordid he see her again till the boat was moving slowly up to the wharf atEnterprise, and with her braided tags of hair standing up like littlehorns, and her worldly goods tied up in a cotton handkerchief, she stoodrespectfully behind the waiting crowd, each eager to be the first toland. The Brock House was full--"not so much as a cot or a shelf for onemore, " the clerk said to the stranger, who was last at the desk. He hadlingered behind the others to watch Mandy Ann, with a half-formedresolution to ask her to direct him to "ole Miss Harrises" if, as Tedhad said, she was going there. Mandy Ann did not seem to be in any hurryand sauntered leisurely up the lane a little beyond the Brock House, where she sat down and stretching out her bare feet began to suck anorange Ted had given her at parting, telling her that though she was "anonery nigger who belonged to a Cracker, she had rather far eyes and amouth that couldn't be beat for sass, adding that he reckoned that thartall man who didn't speak to nobody might be wantin' to buy her, as hehad done ast him oncet how far it was to the clarin', an' he couldn'twant nobody thar but her. " Mandy Ann had taken the orange, but hadspurned what Ted had said of the tall man's intentions. She had beentold too many times, during her brief stay in Jacksonville as a nursegirl, that she was of no manner of account to believe any one wished tobuy her, and she paid no attention to the tall man, except to see thathe was the last to enter the hotel, where he was told there was no roomfor him. "But I must have a place to sleep, " he said. "It is only for the night. I return on the 'Hatty. '" "Why not stay on her then? Some do who only come up for the trip, " wasthe clerk's reply. This was not a bad idea, although the stranger shuddered as he thoughtof his ill-smelling stateroom and short berth. Still it was better thancamping out doors, or--the clearing--where he might be accommodated. Heshuddered again when he thought of that possibility--thanked the clerkfor his suggestion--and declined the book which had been pushed towardshim for his name. No use to register if he was not to be a guest; no useto tell his name anyway, if he could avoid it, as he had successfully onthe boat, and with a polite good-evening he stepped outside just asMandy Ann, having finished her orange, peel and all, gathered herself upwith a view to starting for home. CHAPTER II THE PALMETTO CLEARING The stranger had asked Ted on the boat, when he came with some lemonadehe had ordered, how far it was from the Brock House to the palmettoclearing, and if there was any conveyance to take him there. Ted hadstared at him with wonder--first, as to what such as he could want atthe clearing, and second, if he was crazy enough to think there was aconveyance. From being a petted cabin boy, Ted had grown to be somethingof a spoiled one, and was what the passengers thought rather too "peart"in his ways, while some of the crew insisted that he needed "takin' downa button hole lower, " whatever that might mean. "Bless yer soul, Mas'r, " he said, in reply to the question. "Thar ain'tno conveyance to the clarin'. It's off in de woods a piece, right smart. You sticks to de road a spell, till you comes to a grave--what used tobe--but it's done sunk in now till nuffin's thar but de stun an' someblackb'ry bushes clamberin' over it. Then you turns inter de wust pieceof road in Floridy, and turns agin whar some yaller jasmine is growin', an fore long you're dar. " The direction was not very lucid, and the stranger thought of asking theclerk for something more minute, but the surprise in Ted's eyes when heinquired the way to the clearing had put him on his guard against agreater surprise in the clerk. He would find his way somehow, and hewent out into the yard and looked in the direction of the sandy roadwhich led into the woods and which Mandy Ann was taking, presumably onher way home. A second time the thought came to him that she mightdirect him, and he started rather rapidly after her, calling as he went:"I say girl, I want you. Do you hear?" Mandy Ann heard, gave one glance over her shoulder, saw who wasfollowing her, and began at once to run, her bare feet and anklesthrowing up the sand, and her sunbonnet falling from her head down herback, where it flapped from side to side as she ran. She remembered whatTed had said of the stranger, who might be thinking of buying her; thiswas possible after all, as he had said he wanted her, and though herhome in the clearing was not one of luxury, it was one of ease andindolence, and she had no desire for a new one--certainly not with thisman whose face did not attract her. Just why she ran, she did not know. It was of no use to appeal to _ole missus_, who would not know whethershe belonged to her or some one else. Miss Dory was her only hope. Withpromises of future good behavior and abstinence from pilfering andlying, and badness generally, she might enlist her sympathy andprotection till Jake came home, when all would be right. So she sped onlike a deer, glancing back occasionally to see the stranger followingher with rapid strides which, however, did not avail to overtake her. The afternoon was very warm--the road sandy and uneven--and he soon gaveup the chase, wondering why the girl ran so fast, as if afraid of him. The last sight he had of her was of her woolly head, turning off fromthe road to the right, where it disappeared behind some thickundergrowth. Ted had said, "Turn at the grave, " and he walked on till hereached the spot, and stood by the low railing enclosing a sunken grave, whether of man or woman he could not tell, the lettering on thediscolored stone was so obscure. Studying it very carefully, he thoughthe made out "Mrs. " before the moss-blurred name. "A woman, " he said, with a feeling how terrible it must be to be buriedand left alone in that dreary, sandy waste, with no human habitationnearer than the Brock House, and no sound of life passing by, exceptfrom the same place, unless--and he started, as he noticed for the firsttime what Ted had said was the worst road in Florida, and what wasscarcely more than a footpath leading off to the right, and to theclearing, of course--and he must follow it past tangled weeds andshrubs, and briers, and dwarf palmettoes, stumps of which impeded hisprogress. Mandy Ann had entirely disappeared, but here and there in the sand hesaw her footprints, the toes spread wide apart, and knew he was right. Suddenly there came a diversion, and he leaned against a tree andbreathed hard and fast, as one does when a shock comes unexpectedly. Hisear had caught the sound of voices at no great distance from him. Anegro's voice--Mandy Ann's, he was sure--eager, excited, and pleading;and another, soft and low, and reassuring, but wringing the sweat fromhim in great drops, and making his heart beat rapidly. He knew who waswith Mandy Ann, and that she, too, was hurrying on to the clearing, still in the distance. Had there been any doubt of her identity, itwould have been swept away when, through an opening in the trees, hecaught sight of a slender girlish figure, clad in the homely garments ofwhat Ted called poorwhite trash, and of which he had some knowledge. There was, however, a certain grace in the movements of the girl whichmoved him a little, for he was not blind to any point of beauty in awoman, and the beauty of this girl, hurrying on so fast, had been hisruin, as he in one sense had been hers. "Eudora!" he said, with a groan, and with a half resolve to turn backrather than go on. Tom Hardy in their talk while the boat waited for them at Palatka, hadtold him what _not_ to do, and he was there to follow Tom'sadvice--though, to do him justice, there was a thought in his heart thatpossibly he might do what he knew he ought to do, in spite of Tom. "I'll wait and see, and if--" he said at last, as he began to pick hisway over the palmetto stumps and ridges of sand till he came upon theclearing. It was an open space of two or three acres, cleared from tanglewood anddwarf palmettoes. In the centre was a log-house, larger and morepretentious than many log-houses which he had seen in the South. AMarshal Niel had climbed up one corner to the roof, and twined itselfaround the chimney, giving a rather picturesque effect to the house, andreminding the stranger of some of the cabins he had seen in Ireland, with ivy growing over them. There was an attempt at a flower gardenwhere many roses were blooming. Some one was fond of flowers, and thethought gave the stranger a grain of comfort, for a love of flowers wasassociated in his mind with an innate refinement in the lover, and therewas for a moment a tinge of brightness in the darkness settling uponhis future. Around the house there was no sign of life or stir, except abrood of well-grown chickens, which, with their mother, were huddled onthe door step, evidently contemplating an entrance into the house, thedoor of which was open, as were the shutters to the windows, which wereminus glass, as was the fashion of many old Florida houses in the daysbefore the Civil War. With a shoo to the chickens, which sent some intothe house and others flying into the yard, the stranger stepped to thedoor and knocked, once very gently, then more decidedly--then, as therecame no response, he ventured in, and driving out the chickens, one ofwhich had mounted upon a table and was pecking at a few crumbs of breadleft there, he sat down and looked about him. In the loft which couldhardly be dignified with the name chamber, he heard a low murmur ofvoices, and the sound of footsteps moving rapidly, as if some one werein a hurry. The room in which he sat was evidently living anddining-room both, and was destitute of everything which he deemednecessary to comfort. He had been in a Cracker's house before, and itseemed to him now that his heart turned over when he recalled his visitsthere, and his utter disregard of his surroundings. "I was a fool, and blind, then; but I can see now, " he said to himself, as he looked around at the marks of poverty, or shiftlessness, or both, and contrasted them with his home in the North. The floor was bare, with the exception of a mat laid before the doorleading into another and larger room, before one of the windows of whicha white curtain was gently blowing in the wind. A rough, uncovered tablepushed against the wall, three or four chairs, and a hair-cloth setteecompleted the furniture, with the exception of a low rocking-chair, inwhich sat huddled and wrapped in a shawl a little old woman whoseyellow, wrinkled face told of the snuff habit, and bore a strongresemblance to a mummy, except that the woman wore a cap with a flutedfrill, and moved her head up and down like Christmas toys of old men andwomen. She was evidently asleep, as she gave no sign of consciousnessthat any one was there. "Old Miss, " the stranger said, and his breath again came gaspingly, andTom Hardy's advice looked more and more reasonable, while he cursedhimself for the fool he had been, and would have given all he was worth, and even half his life, to be rid of this thing weighing him down like anightmare from which he could not awaken. He was roused at last by the sound of bare feet on the stairs in acorner of the room. Some one was coming, and in a moment Mandy Ann stoodbefore him, her eyes shining, and her teeth showing white against theebony of her skin. In her rush through the woods Mandy Ann had come uponher young mistress looking for the few berries which grew upon thetangled bushes. "Miss Dory, Miss Dory!" she exclaimed, clutching the girl's arm withsuch force that the pail fell to the ground and the berries werespilled, "you ain't gwine for ter sell me to nobody? Say you ain't, an'fo' de Lawd I'll never touch nothin', nor lie, nor sass ole Miss, normake faces and mumble like she does. I'll be a fust cut nigger, an' saymy prars ebery night. I'se done got a new one down ter Jacksonville. Sayyou ain't. " In her surprise Miss Dory did not at first speak; then, shaking MandyAnn's hand from her arm and pushing back her sunbonnet she said: "Whatdo you mean, and where did you come from? The 'Hatty, ' I s'pose, but shemust be late. I'd given you up. Who's gwine ter buy yer?" "Ted done tole me mabby de man on de boat from de Norf, what got on terPalatka, an' done as't the way hyar, might be after me--an'--" She got no further, for her own arm was now clutched as her mistress'shad been, while Miss Dory asked, "What man? How did he look? Whar ishe?" and her eyes, shining with expectancy, looked eagerly around. Very rapidly Mandy Ann told all she knew of the stranger, while thegirl's face grew radiant as she listened. "An' he done holler and sayhow he want me an' follered me, an' when I turn off at the grave he wasstill follerin' me. He's comin' hyar. You won't sell me, shoo', " MandyAnn said, and her mistress replied, "Sell you? No. It was one of Ted'slies. He is my friend. He's comin' to see me. Hurry!" Eudora was racing now through the briers, and weeds, and palmettostumps, and dragging Mandy Ann with her. "Never mind granny, " she said, when they reached the house and Mandystopped to say how d'ye to the old woman in the chair. "Come upstairswith me and help me change my gown. " "Faw de Lawd's sake, is he yer beau?" Mandy Ann asked, as she saw theexcitement of her mistress, who was tearing around the room, nowlaughing, now dashing the tears away and giving the most contradictingorders as to what she was to wear and Mandy Ann was to get for her. They heard the two knocks and knew that some one had entered the house, but Mandy Ann was too busy blacking a pair of boots to go at once, asshe had her hands to wash, and yet, although it seemed to him an age, itwas scarcely two minutes before she came down the stairs, nimble as acat, and bobbed before him with a courtesy nearly to the floor. Hermistress had said to her. "Mind your manners. You say you have learned aheap in Jacksonville. " "To be shoo'. I've seen de quality thar in Miss Perkins's house, " MandyAnn replied, and hence the courtesy she thought rather fetching, although she shook a little as she confronted the stranger, whosefeatures never relaxed in the least, and who did not answer her. "Howd'ye, Mas'r, " which she felt it incumbent to say, as there was no oneelse to receive him. Mandy Ann was very bright, and as she knew no restraint in her Floridahome, when alone with her old Miss and young Miss, she was apt to berather familiar for a negro slave, and a little inclined to humor. Sheknew whom the gentleman had come to see, but when he said. "Is yourmistress at home?" she turned at once to the piece of parchment in therocking-chair and replied. "To be shoo. Dar she is in de char over dar. Dat's ole Miss Lucy. " Going up to the chair, she screamed in the woman's ear, "Wake up, MissLucy. I'se done comed home an' thar's a gemman to see you? Wake up!" She shook the bundle of shawls vigorously, until the old lady wasthoroughly roused and glared at her with her dark, beady eyes, while shemumbled, "You hyar, shakin' me so, you limb. You, Mandy Ann! Whar didyou come from?" "Jacksonville, in course. Whar'd you think? An' hyar's a gemman come tosee you, I tell you. Wake up an' say how d'ye. " "Whar is he?" the old woman asked, beginning to show some interest, while the stranger arose and coming forward said, "Excuse me, madam. Itis the young lady I wish to see--your daughter. " "She hain't her mother. She's her granny, " Mandy Ann chimed in with agood deal of contempt in her voice, as she nodded to the figure in thechair, who, with some semblance of what she once was, put out a skinnyhand and said, "I'm very pleased to see you. Call Dory. She'll know whatto do. " This last to Mandy Ann, who flirted away from her and said to thestranger, "She hain't no sense mostly--some days more, some dayslittler, an' to-day she's littler. You wants to see Miss Dory? She'supstars changin' her gown, 'case she knows you're hyar. I done tole her, an' her face lit right up like de sun shinin' in de mawnin'. Will yougim me your caird?" This was Mandy Ann's master-stroke at good manners. She had seen suchthings at "Miss Perkins's" in Jacksonville, and had once or twice takena card on a silver tray to that lady, and why not bring the fashion toher own home, if it were only a log-cabin, and she a bare-foot, bare-legged waitress, instead of Mrs. Perkins's maid Rachel, smart inslippers and cap, and white apron. For a moment the stranger's facerelaxed into a broad smile at the ludicrousness of the situation. MandyAnn, who was quick of comprehension, understood the smile and hastenedto explain. "I done larn't a heap of things at Miss Perkins's, which we can't dohyar, 'case of ole Miss bein' so quar. Miss Dory'd like 'em right well. " "Certainly, " the stranger said, beginning to have a good deal of respectfor the poor slave girl trying to keep up the dignity of her family. Taking a card from his case he handed it to Mandy Ann, who looked at itcarefully as if reading the name, although she held it wrong side up. There was no silver tray to take it on--there was no tray at all--butthere was a china plate kept as an ornament on a shelf, and on thisMandy Ann placed the card, and then darted up the stairs, finding hermistress nearly dressed, and waiting for her. "Oh, his card? He gave it to you?" Eudora said, flushing with pleasurethat he had paid her this compliment, and pressing her lips to the namewhen Mandy Ann did not see her. "In course he done gin it to me. Dat's de way wid de quality both Soufand Norf. We livin' hyar in de clarin' doan know noffin'. " Mandy Annreplied. On the strength of her three months sojourn with Mrs. Perkins, who wasundeniably quality, she felt herself capable of teaching many things toher young mistress, who had seldom repressed her, and who now made noanswer except to ask, "How do I look?" She had hesitated a moment as to the dress she would wear in place ofthe one discarded. She had very few to select from, and finally tookdown a white gown sacred to her, because of the one occasion on whichshe had worn it. It was a coarse muslin, but made rather prettily withsatin bows on the sleeves, and shoulders, and neck. Several times, since she had hung it on a peg under a sheet to keep it from gettingsoiled, she had looked at it and stroked it, wondering if she would everwear it again. Now she took it down and smoothed the bows of ribbon, andbrushed a speck from the skirt, while there came to her eyes a rush ofglad tears as she put it on, with a thought that he would like her init, and then tried to see its effect in the little eight by twelvecracked glass upon the wall. All she could see was her head andshoulders, and so she asked the opinion of Mandy Ann, who answeredquickly, "You done look beautiful--some like de young ladies inJacksonville, and some like you was gwine to be married. " "Perhaps I am, " Eudora replied, with a joyous ring in her voice. "Wouldyou like to have me get married?" Mandy Ann hesitated a moment and then said, "I'se promised never to toleyou no mo' lies, so dis is de truffe, ef I was to drap dead. I'd likeyou to marry some de gemmans in Jacksonville, or some dem who comes tode Brock House, but not him downstars!" "Why not?" Eudora asked, and there was a little sharpness in her voice. "'Case, " Mandy Ann began, "you as't me, an' fo' de Lawd I mus' tell detruffe. He's very tall an' gran', an' w'ars fine close, an' han's iswhite as a cotton bat, but his eyes doan set right in his head. Theylook hard, an' not a bit smilin', an' he looks proud as ef he thought wewas dirt, an' dem white han's--I do' know, but pears like they'd squeezebody an' soul till you done cry wid pain. Doan you go for to marry him, Miss Dory, will you?" At first Mandy Ann had opened and shut her black fingers, as she showedhow the stranger's white hands would squeeze one's body and soul; thenthey closed round her mistress's arm as she said, "Doan you marry him, Miss Dory, will you?" "No, " Eudora answered, "don't be a silly, but go down and bring me arose, if you can find one two-thirds open. I wore one with this dressbefore and he liked it, and as't me to give it to him. Mebby he willnow, " she thought, while waiting for Mandy Ann, who soon came back witha beautiful rose hidden under her apron. "Strues I'm bawn, I b'lieve he's done gone to sleep like ole Miss--he'ssettin' thar so still, " she said. But he was far from being asleep. He had gone over again and again witheverything within his range of vision, from the old woman nodding in herchair, to the bucket of water standing outside the door, with a gourdswimming on the top, and he was wondering at the delay, and feeling moreand more that he should take Tom Hardy's advice, when he heard steps onthe stairs, which he knew were not Mandy Ann's, and he rose to meetEudora. CHAPTER III THE INTERVIEW She was a short, slender little girl, not more than sixteen orseventeen, with a sweet face and soft brown eyes which drooped as shecame forward, and then looked at him shyly through a mist of tears whichshe bravely kept back. "How d'ye. I'm so glad to see you, " she said, looking up at him withquivering lips which were so unquestionably asking for a kiss that hegave it, while her face beamed with delight at the caress, and she didnot mind how cold, and stiff, and reserved he grew the next moment. He did not like her "How d'ye, " although he knew how common a salutationit was at the South. It savored of Mandy Ann, and her accent was likeMandy Ann's, and her white dress instead of pleasing him filled him withdisgust for himself, as he remembered when he first saw it and thoughtit fine. She had worn a rose then, and he had asked her for it, and putit in his pocket, like an insane idiot, Tom had said. She wore a rosenow, but he didn't ask her for it, and he dropped her hand almost assoon as he took it, and called himself a brute when he saw the colorcome and go in her face, and how she trembled as she sat beside him. Heknew she was pretty, and graceful, and modest, and that she loved himas no other woman ever would, but she was untrained, and uneducated, andunused to the world--his world, which would scan her with cold, wondering eyes. He couldn't do it, and he wouldn't--certainly, not yet. He would wait and see what came of his plan which he must unfold, andtell her why he had come. But not there where the old woman might hearand understand, and where he felt sure Mandy Ann was listening. She hadstolen down the stairs and gone ostensibly to meet a woman whom Eudoracalled Sonsie, and who, she said, came every day to do the work now Jakewas away. "Who is Jake?" the man asked, and Eudora replied, "The negro who hastaken care of us since I can remember. He is free, but does for us, andis in Richmond now, valleying for a gentleman who pays him big wage, andhe spends it all for us. " The stranger flushed at her words indicative of her station, and thensuggested that they go outside where they could be sure of being alone, as he had much to say to her. "Perhaps you will walk part way with me on my return to the 'Hatty, '" hesaid, glancing at his watch and feeling surprised to find how late itwas. Instantly Eudora, who had seemed so listless, woke up with all thehospitality of her Southern nature roused to action. "Surely you'll havesupper with me, " she said. "Sonsie is here to get it and will have itdirectly. " There was no good reason for refusing, although he revolted againsttaking supper in that humble cabin, with possibly that old woman at thetable; but he swallowed his pride and, signifying his assent, wentoutside, where they came upon Mandy Ann in a crouching attitude underthe open casement. She was listening, of course, but sprang to her feetas the two appeared, and said in response to her mistress's "What areyou doing here?" "Nothin', Miss Dory, fo' de Lawd, nothing, but huntin'on de groun' for somethin' what done drap out de windy upstars. " The stranger knew she was lying, and Eudora knew it, but said nothingexcept to bid the girl get up and assist Sonsie with the supper. MandyAnn had once said of her mistress to Jake, "She hain't no sperrit tospar, " and Jake had replied, "Lucky for you, Mandy Ann, that she hain'tno sperrit, for ef she had she'd of done pulled every har out of yourhead afore now. " Mandy Ann knew that neither her hair, nor any part of her person, was indanger from her young mistress, and after a few more scratches in thedirt after an imaginary lost article, she arose and joined Sonsie, towhom Eudora gave a few instructions, and then with her guest walkedacross the clearing to a bench which Jake had made for her, and whichwas partially sheltered by a tall palm. Here they sat down while heunfolded his plan, plainly and concisely, and leaving no chance foropposition, had the crushed, quivering creature at his side feltinclined to make it. As Mandy Ann had said she hadn't much spirit, andwhat little she had was slain as she listened, while her face grew whiteas her dress, and her hands were linked together on her lap. The sun hadjust gone down, and the full moon was rising and throwing its light uponthe clearing and the girl, whose face and attitude touched hercompanion, cold and hard as he was, but he must carry his point. "You see it is for the best and you promise; you will remember, " hesaid, taking one of her hands and wondering to find it so cold. "Yes, oh, yes, " she replied, every word a gasp. "I thought--I hoped--youhad done come to take, --or to stay--not here, but somewhar--but I seeyou can't. You know best. I ain't fittin' to go yet, but I'll try, and Ipromise all you ask; but don't let it be long. The days are so lonesomesince I come home, and things seem different since I knew you; but Ipromise, and will remember and do my best. " Half his burden rolled away. He could be very kind now, for he knew hecould trust her to the death, and putting his arm around her, he drewher close to him and said, "You are a good girl, Eudora. I shall notforget it; but why do you tremble so? Are you cold?" "Yes--no, " she answered, nestling so close to him that the rose in herdress was loosened and fell to the ground. He picked it up, but did not put it in his pocket as a keepsake. He gaveit back to her, and she fastened it again to her dress, saying, "I do'know why I shake, only it seems's if somethin' had died that I hopedfor. But it is all right, becase you care for me. You love me. " She lifted up her face on which the moonlight fell, making a picture theman never forgot to the last day of his life. He did not tell her heloved her, he could not; but for answer he stooped and kissed her, andshe--poor, simple girl--was satisfied. "If I could tell Jake, it would be some comfort, " she said at last, timidly, and her companion answered quickly. "Tell Jake! Never! You mustnot be too familiar with your servants. " "Jake is more than a servant. He is everything to me, " the girlanswered, with rising spirit. "He would die for me, and if anythinghappened to me and you did not come, I think he would kill you. " There was something of Southern fire in her eyes as she said this, whichmade the stranger laugh as he replied, "Nothing will happen, and I'm notafraid of Jake. " In his heart he was glad the negro was not there, for something warnedhim that in the poor black man he might find a formidable obstacle tohis plan. Meanwhile in the house Mandy Ann had been busy with thesupper-table. They ought to have a good deal of light, she thought, remembering the lamps at Mrs. Perkins's, and as there were only twocandlesticks in the house her fertile brain had contrived two more fromsome large round potatoes, cutting a flat piece from one end, making ahole in the centre to hold the candle, and wrapping some white paperaround the standard. She had taken great pains with the table, trying toimitate Mrs. Perkins's, and the imitation was rather satisfactory toherself. The best cloth had been brought out, and though it was yellowwith disuse it showed what it had been. A few roses in a pitcher were inthe centre of the table, and ranged around them were the four candles, spluttering and running down as tallow candles are apt to do. The dishestroubled her, they were so thick and nicked in so many places, that itwas difficult to find one which was whole. The stranger had the chinaplate, which had done duty as a tray for his card, and he had the onlyplated fork in the house: a Christmas gift from Jake to the ole Miss, who scarcely appreciated it, but insisted that it be wrapped in severalfolds of tissue paper and kept in her bureau drawer. Mandy Ann did notask if she could have it. She took it and rubbed it with soft sand toremove some discolorations and laid it, with a horn-handled knife, bythe china plate. "Ef we only had napkins, " she said, while Sonsie, who had lived all herlife near the clearing, and knew nothing of the fashions of the world, asked what napkins were. With a toss of her head indicative of hersuperior knowledge, Mandy Ann replied, "You'd know if you'd lived wid dequality in Jacksonville. Miss Perkins's allus had 'em. Dey's squarlittle towels what you holds in yer lap to wipe yer fingers on whenyou've done eatin'. Dat's what they is, an' de gemman or to hev one. " "Can't he wipe his hands on de table cloth, for oncet?" Sonsie asked, with a sudden inspiration which was received with great scorn by MandyAnn, to whom there had also come an inspiration on which she at onceacted. In one of ole Miss's bureau drawers was a large plain linen handkerchiefwhich was never used. It would serve the purpose nicely, and Mandy Annbrought it out, holding it behind her lest it should be seen by the oldlady, who sometimes saw more than Mandy Ann cared to have her see. Itwas rather yellow like the table cloth, and the creases where it wasfolded were a little dark, but Mandy Ann turned it, and refolded andpressed it, and laid it on the china plate, while Sonsie looked on andadmired. Everything was in readiness, and Mandy Ann called across theclearing. "Hallo, Miss Dory. Supper's done served. " She had caught on to a good many things at Miss Perkins's, and "served"was one of them. "I don't s'pose Miss Dory will understan', " shethought, "but he will, and see dat dis nigger know sumptin'. " It was a novel situation in which the stranger found himself, seated atthat table with Eudora presiding and Mandy Ann waiting upon them, hertray a dinner-plate which she flourished rather conspicuously. He wasquick to observe and nothing escaped him, from the improvisedcandlesticks to the napkin by his china plate. He knew it was ahandkerchief, and smiled inwardly as he wondered what Tom Hardy wouldsay if he could see him now. The old lady was not at the table. MandyAnn had managed that and attended to her in her chair, but as if eatingbrightened her faculties, she began to look about her and talk, and askwhy she couldn't sit at her own table. "'Case thar's a gemman hyar an' you draps yer vittles so, " Mandy Annsaid in a whisper, with her lips close to the old woman's ear. "Gentleman? Who's he? Whar's he from?" the old woman asked--forgettingthat she had spoken to him. "I told you oncet he's Miss Dory's frien' an' from de Norf. Do bequiet, " Mandy Ann blew into the deaf ears. "From the Nawth. I don't like the Nawth, 'case I--" the old lady began, but Mandy Ann choked her with a muffin, and she did not finish hersentence and tell why she disliked the North. Eudora's face was scarlet, but she did not interfere. Her grandmotherwas in better hands than hers, and more forceful. "Granny is queer sometimes, " she said by way of apology, while herguest bowed in token that he understood, and the meal proceeded in quietwith one exception. Granny was choked with eating too fast, and MandyAnn struck her on her back and shook her up, and dropped herdinner-plate and broke it in her excitement. "For de Lawd's sake, 'tan't no use, " she said, gathering up the piecesand taking them to the kitchen, where Sonsie laughed till the tears ranat Mandy Ann's attempt "to be gran', " and its result. Meanwhile the stranger ate Sonsie's corn cakes and muffins, and saidthey were good, and drank muddy coffee, sweetened with brown sugar outof a big thick cup, and thought of his dainty service at home, andglanced at the girl opposite him with a great pity, which, however, didnot move him one whit from his purpose. He had told her his plan and shehad accepted it, and he told it again when, after supper, she walkedwith him through the clearing and the woods to the main road which ledto the river. He did the talking, while she answered yes or no, with asound of tears in her voice. When they reached the highway they stoppedby the sunken grave, and leaning against the fence which inclosed it, Eudora removed her sunbonnet, letting the moon shine upon her face, asit had done when she sat in the clearing. It was very white but therewere no tears now in her eyes. She was forcing them back and she triedto smile as she said, "You are very kind, and I think I understand whatyou want, and here by this grave I promise all you ask, and will do mybest--my very best. " Her lips began to quiver and her voice to break, for the visit fromwhich she had expected so much had proved a blank, and her high hopeswere dead as the woman by whose grave she stood. She had folded herhands one over the other upon the top rail of the fence, and hercompanion looked at them and thought how small they were and shapely, too, although brown with the work she had to do when Jake and Mandy Annwere both gone and Sonsie came only at meal times. He was not a brute. He was simply a proud, cold, selfish man, whose will had seldom beencrossed, and who found himself in a tight place from which he could notwholly extricate himself. He was sorry for Eudora, for he guessed howdesolate she would be when he was gone, and there was nothing left butthat home in the clearing, with old granny and Mandy Ann. He had notseen Jake, of whom Eudora now spoke, saying, "Our house never seemed sopoor to me till I seen you in it. It will be better when Jake comes, forhe is to fix it up--he knows how. " It was the only excuse she had made, and she did it falteringly, whileher companion's heart rose up in his throat and made him veryuncomfortable, as he thought of Jake and Mandy Ann caring for this girl, while his income was larger than he could spend. It had not occurred tohim to offer her money till that moment, and he did not know now thatshe would take it. Turning his back to her as if looking at somethingacross the road, he counted a roll of bills, and turning back took oneof the little brown hands resting on the rail in his and pressed theroll into it. Just for an instant the slim fingers held fast to hishand--then, as she felt the bills and saw what they were, she drew backand dropped them upon the sand. "I can't; no, I can't, " she said, when he urged them upon her, tellingher it was his right to give and hers to take. As usual his will prevailed, and when at last he said good-by and walkedrapidly towards the river, while she went slowly through the woods andacross the clearing to the log-house, where Mandy Ann was having afrightful time getting ole Miss to bed, she had in her possession moremoney than Jake would earn in months. "I would send it all back, " she thought, "if we didn't need it badly, and he said it was right for me to take it, but some of it _must_ go. I'll send it just before the 'Hatty' sails. " There was no one to send but Mandy Ann, who, after many misgivings onthe part of her mistress, was entrusted with a part of the money, withinjunctions neither to look at nor lose it, but to hold it tight in herhand until she gave it to the gentleman. Eudora had thought of writing anote, but the effort was too great. Mandy Ann could say all she wantedto have said, and in due time the negress started for the boat, nothingloth to visit it again and bandy words with Ted. The "Hatty" was blowingoff steam preparatory to starting, when a pair of bare legs and feetwere seen racing down the lane to the landing, and Mandy Ann, waving herhand, was calling out, "Hol' on dar, you cap'n. I'se sometin' berry'portant for de gemman. Hol' on, I say, " and she dashed across theplank, nearly knocking Ted down in her headlong haste. "Whar is 'ee?"she gasped, and continued, "Leg-go, I tell ye. Le' me be, " as Ted seizedher arm, asking what she wanted, and if she was going back toJacksonville. "No; leg-go, I tell you. I wants the man from de Norf, what comed tosee Miss Dory. I've sometin' for him very partic'lar. " She found him in his seat at the rear of the boat, where he had sat onhis way up, and had again appropriated to himself, with no oneprotesting or noticing him beyond a civil bow. They called him Boston, knowing no other name, and wondered why he had visited the Harrises asthey knew he had. Ted, who was allowed nearly as much freedom of speechon the boat as Mandy Ann had at the clearing, had aired his opinion thatthe gentleman wanted to buy Mandy Ann, but this idea was scouted. Bostonwas not one to buy negroes. Probably he was some kin to old GrannyHarris, who had distant connections in the North, some one suggested. This seemed reasonable, and the people settled upon it, and gave him awide berth as one who wished to be let alone. When Mandy Ann rushed inand made her way to him curiosity was again roused, but no one was nearenough to hear her as she put into his hands a paper, sayingbreathlessly, "Miss Dory done send some of it back with thanks, 'caseshe can't keep it all, and she wants to know how d'ye, an' I mus' hurry, or dey carries me off. " The stranger took the paper, opened it, and glanced at the bills; thenat the girl who stood as if she expected something. Taking a dollar fromhis pocket he gave it to her saying, "Take this and be a good girl toyour young mistress, and now go. " Mandy Ann did not move, but stood with her lips twitching and her eyesfilling with tears. No one had ever given her a dollar before, and herbetter nature cried out against what she had done. "Fo' de Lawd, I can't help 'fessin, " she said, thrusting her hand intoher bosom and bringing out a crumpled bill which she gave to thegentleman, who saw that it was a ten and looked at her sternly as shewent on: "I done promised Miss Dory I'never tache a thing, if shewouldn't sell me to you, but dar was sich a pile, an' I wanted somebeads, an' a red han'kercher, an' a ring, an' I done took one. I don'nohow much, 'case I can't read, an' dat's why I was late an' had to run sofass. You're good, you is, an' I muss 'fess--may de Lawd forgive me. " At this point Ted, who had been on some of the large boats betweenJacksonville and Charleston, and had heard the cry warning thepassengers to leave, screamed close to her. "All asho', dat's gwineasho'!" and seizing her arm he led her to the plank and pushed her on toit, but not until she had shaken her bill in his face and said, "Licke-e-dar, a dollar! All mine--he done gin it to me, an' I'se gwineto buy a gown, an' a han'kercher, an' some shoes, an' some candy, an'some--" the rest of her intended purchases were cut short by a jerk ofthe plank, which sent her sprawling on her hands and knees, with a jeerfrom Ted sounding in her ears. The "Hatty" was off, and with a feelingof relief the stranger kept his seat on the rear deck, or staid in hisstateroom until Palatka was reached, where he went on shore, lifting hishat politely to the passengers, shaking hands with the captain, andgiving a quarter to Ted, who nearly stood on his head for joy, and couldscarcely wait for the next trip to Enterprise, where he would find MandyAnn and tell her of his good fortune, doubling or trebling the amount ashe might feel inclined at the time. CHAPTER IV HOPING AND WAITING The curiosity concerning the stranger at Enterprise had nearly died outwhen it was roused again to fever heat by the arrival at the clearing ofa little girl, whom the young mother baptized with bitter tears, butrefused to talk of the father except to say, "It was all right andpeople would know it was when he came, as he was sure to do. " He didn't come, and the girl's face grew sadder and whiter, and her eyeshad in them always an expectant, wistful look, as if waiting for someone or something, which would lift from her the dark cloud under whichshe was laboring. Jake, who had returned from Richmond, suffered nearlyas much as she did. His pride in his family--such as the family was--wasgreat, and his affection for his young mistress unbounded. "Only tell me whar he is an' I'll done fetch him, or kill him, " he said, when in an agony of tears she laid her baby in his lap and said, "Another for you to care for till he comes, as I know he will. " Eudora had said to the stranger that Jake would kill him if anythinghappened to her, but now at the mention of killing him she shuddered andreplied, "No, Jake, not that. You'll know sometime. I can't explain. Idone promised more than once. The last time was by that grave yonder, when he was sayin' good-by. It was same as an oath. I was to go toschool and learn to be a lady, but baby has come, and I can't go now. Itwill make some differ with him perhaps, an' he'll come for baby's sake. You b'lieve me, Jake?" "Yes, honey--same as ef 'twas de Lawd himself talkin' to me, an' I'lltake keer of de little one till he comes, an' if I sees somebody winkin'or hunchin' de shoulder, I'll--I'll--" Jake clenched his fist to show what he would do, and hugging the baby tohim, continued, "Dis my 'ittle chile till its fader comes; doan' youworry. I'se strong an' kin work, an' Mandy Ann's done got to stir destumps more'n she has. " He cast a threatening look at Mandy Ann, who had at first been appalledat the advent of the baby, and for a while kept aloof even from Ted, when the "Hatty" was in. Then she rallied and, like Jake, was ready todo battle with any one who hunched their shoulders at Miss Dory. She hadtwo good square fights with Ted on the subject, and two or three morewith some of her own class near the clearing, and as she came off victoreach time it was thought wise not to provoke her, except as Ted from thesafety of the "Hatty's" deck sometimes called to her, when he saw her onthe shore with the baby in her arms and asked how little Boston wasgetting along. Mandy Ann felt that she could kill him, and every oneelse who spoke slightingly of her charge. She had told Jake over andover again all she could remember of the stranger's visit, and more thanshe could remember when she saw how eager he was for every detail. Shetold him of the card taken to her mistress on a china plate, of thetable with its four candles, and ole Miss's handkerchief for a napkin, and of her waiting just as she had seen it done at Miss Perkins's. "The gemman was gran' an' tall, an' mighty fine spoken, like all demquality from de Norf, " she said, although in fact he was the firstperson she had ever seen from the North; but that made no differencewith Mandy Ann. "He was a gemman--he had given her a dollar, and he wasshoo to come back. " This she said many times to her young mistress, keeping her spirits up, helping her to hope against hope, while the seasons came and went, andletters were sometimes received or sent, first to Tom Hardy andforwarded by him either to the North or to Eudora. There was no lack ofmoney, but this was not what the young girl wanted. Mandy Ann had saidshe had not much _sperrit_, and she certainly had not enough to claimher rights, but clung to a morbid fancy of what was her duty, bearing upbravely for a long time, trying to learn, trying to read the booksrecommended to her in her Northern letters, and sent for by Jake toPalatka, trying to understand what she read, and, most pitiful of all, trying to be a lady, fashioned after her own ideas, and those of Jakeand Mandy Ann. Jake told her what he had seen the quality do inRichmond, while Mandy Ann boasted her superior knowledge, because of herthree months with Miss Perkins's in Jacksonville, and rehearsed manytimes the way she had seen young ladies "come into de house, shake han'san' say how d'ye, an' hole' thar kyard cases so" (illustrating with abit of block), "an' thar parasols so" (taking up granny's cane), "an'set on the aidge of thar char straight up, an' Miss Perkins bowin' an'smilin' an' sayin' how glad she was to see 'em, an' den when dey's gonesayin' sometimes, 'I wonder what sent 'em hyar to-day, when it's sopowerful hot, an' I wants to take my sester'--dat's her nap, you know, after dinner, what plenty ladies take--an' den you mus' sometimes speaksharp like to Jake an' to me, an' not be so soff spoken, as if we wasn'tyer niggers, 'case we are, or I is, an' does a heap o' badness; an' youorto pull my har f'or it. " Confused and bewildered Eudora listened, first to Jake and then to MandyAnn, but as she had no card case, no parasol, and no ladies called uponher, she could only try to remember the proper thing to do when the timecame, if it ever did. But she lost heart at last. She was deserted. There was no need for her to try to be a lady. Her life was slippingaway, but for baby there was hope, and many times in her chamber loft, when Mandy Ann thought she was taking her _sester_, and so far imitating"de quality, " she was praying that when she was dead, as she felt shesoon would be, her little child might be recognized and taken where sherightfully belonged. And so the years went on till more than three were gone since thestranger came on the "Hatty, " and one morning when she lay again at thewharf, and Mandy Ann came down for something ordered from Palatka, hereyes were swollen with crying, and when Ted began his chaff sheanswered, "Doan't, Teddy, doan't. I can't fought you now, nor sass youback, 'case Miss Dory is dead, an' Jake's done gone for de minister. " CHAPTER V MISS DORY That day was one of the hottest of the season, and the sun was beatingdown upon the piazza of the Brock House where the Rev. Charles Mason satfanning himself with a huge palm leaf, and trying to put together in hismind some points for the sermon he was to preach the next Sunday in theparlor of the hotel to the few guests who came there occasionally duringthe summer. But it was of no use. With the thermometer at ninety degreesin the shade, and not a breath of air moving, except that made by hisfan, points did not come readily, and all he could think of was Dives'thirsting for a drop of water from the finger of Lazarus to cool hisparched tongue. "If it was hotter there than it is here I am sorry forhim, " he thought, wiping his wet face and looking off across the broadlake in the direction of Sanford, from which a rowboat was coming veryrapidly, the oarsman bending to his work with a will, which soon broughthim to the landing place, near the hotel. Securing his boat, he came upthe walk and approaching Mr. Mason accosted him with, "How d'ye, Mas'rMason. I knows you by sight, and I'se right glad to find you hyar. Yousee, I'se that tuckered out I'm fit to drap. " The perspiration was standing in great drops on his face as he sankpanting upon a step of the piazza. "'Scuse me, " he said, "but 'pears like I can't stan' another minit, whatwith bein' up all night with Miss Dory, an' gwine 'crost the lake twistefor nothin', 'case I didn't find him. " By this time Mr. Mason had recognized the negro as one he had seenoccasionally around the hotel selling vegetables and eggs, and who hehad heard the people say was worth his weight in gold. "How d'ye, Jake, " he said, pleasantly. "I didn't know you at first. Whyhave you been across the lake twice this morning?" Jake's face clouded as he drew his big black hand across his eyes. "Miss Dory done died at sun up, " he replied. "You know Miss Dory, incourse. " Mr. Mason was obliged to confess his ignorance with regard to Miss Dory, and asked who she was. Jake looked disgusted. Not to know Miss Dory was something inexcusable. "Why, she's Miss Dory, " he said, "an' ole Miss is her granny. We live upin the palmetto clearing, back in de woods, an' I take keer of 'em. " "You mean you belong to Miss Dora's grandmother?" Mr. Mason asked, whileJake looked more disgusted than ever. Not to know Miss Dory was bad enough, but not to know who he was wasmuch worse. "Lor' bless your soul, Mas'r Mason, I don't belong to nobody but myself. I'se done bawn free, I was. But father belonged to ole Miss Lucy, an'when my mother died she took keer of me, an' I've lived with her eversense, all but two or three times I hired out to some swells inVirginny, whar I seen high life. They's mighty kine to me, dem folkswas, an' let me learn to read an' write, an' do some figgerin'. I'semost as good a scholar as Miss Dory, an' I tole her some de big words, an' what the quality in Virginny does, when she was tryin' so hard tolearn to be a lady. She's dead now, the lam', an' my cuss be on him askilled her. " "Killed! Didn't she die a natural death?" Mr. Mason asked. "No, sar. She jest pined an' pined for him, an' got de shakes bad, an'died this mornin', " Jake replied, "an' ole Miss done gone clar out ofher head. She never was over-bright, an' 'pears like she don't knownothin' now. 'I leave it to you to do, ' she said, an I'm doin' on't thebest I kin. I seen her laid out decent in her best gownd--that's MissDory--an' sent to Palatka for a coffin--a good one, too--an' have beenacross the lake for Elder Covil to 'tend the burial, 'case she donesaid, 'Send for him; he knows. ' But he ain't thar, an' I'se come foryou. It'll be day after to-morrer at one o'clock. " Mr. Mason felt the water rolling down his back in streams as he thoughtof a hot drive through the Florida sand and woods, but he could not sayno, Jake's honest face was so anxious and pleading. "Yes, I'll come, but how?" he asked. "Oh, I'll be hyar wid de mule an' de shay. Noon, sharp, " Jake replied. "Thankee, Mas'r Mason, thankee. We couldn't bury Miss Dory without aword of pra'r. I kin say de Lawd's, but I want somethin' about deresurrection an' de life what I hearn in Virginny. An' now I mus' go'long home. Ole Miss'll be wantin' me an' de chile. " "What child?" Mr. Mason asked, in some surprise. Jake's face was a study as he hesitated a minute, winking to keep histears back before he said, "Sartin', thar's a chile. Why shouldn't tharbe, but fo' God it's all right. Miss Dory said so, an' Elder Covilknows, only he's done gone Norf or somewhar. It's all right, an' you'llknow 'tis the minit you see Miss Dory's face--innocent as a baby's. Goodday to you. " He doffed his hat with a kind of grace one would hardly have expected, and walked rapidly away, leaving the Rev. Mr. Mason to think over whathe had heard, and wonder that he didn't ask the name of the family hewas to visit. "Miss Dory, ole Miss, and Jake, " were all he had to guidehim, but the last name was sufficient. "Oh, yes, " the landlord said, when questioned. "It's old Mrs. Harris andher grand-daughter out in the palmetto clearing; they're Crackers. Theold woman is half demented, the whole family was queer, and the girl thequeerest of all--won't talk and keeps her mouth shut as to her marriage, if there was one. " "Who was the man?" Mr. Mason asked, and the landlord replied, "SomeNorthern cuss she met in Georgia where she was staying a spell with herkin. A high blood, they say. Attracted by her pretty face, I suppose, and then got tired of her, or was too proud to own up. I wasn't landlordthen, but I've heard about it. I think he was here once three or fouryears ago. He came on the 'Hatty' and staid on her--the house was sofull. Didn't register, nor anything--nor tell his name to a livin' soul. One or two ast him square, I b'lieve, but he either pretended not tohear 'em, or got out of it somehow. Acted prouder than Lucifer. Walkedalong the shore and in the woods, and went to the clearin'--some saidto buy that limb of a Mandy Ann, but more to see Miss Dory. All the timehe was on the boat he was so stiff and starched that nobody wanted totackle him, and that girl--I mean Miss Dory--has kept a close mouthabout him, and when her baby was born, and some of the old cats talkedshe only said, 'It is all right, I'm a good girl, ' and I b'lieve shewas. But that Northern cuss needs killin'. He sends her money, they say, through some friend in Palatka, who keeps his mouth shut tight, butneither she nor Jake will use a cent of it. They are savin' it toeducate the little girl and make a lady of her, if nobody claims her. Alady out of a Cracker! I'd laugh! That Jake is a dandy. He's free, buthas stuck to the Harrises because his father belonged to old Mrs. Harris. He is smarter than chain lightnin', if he is a nigger, and knowsmore than a dozen of some white men. He drives a white mule, and hasmanaged to put a top of sail cloth on an old ramshackle buggy, which hecalls a 'shay. ' You'll go to the funeral in style. " Mr. Mason made no reply. He was thinking of Dory, and beginning to feela good deal of interest in her and her story, and anxious to see her, even if she were dead. At precisely twelve o'clock on the day appointedfor the funeral Jake drove his white mule and shay to the door of theBrock House. He had on his Sunday clothes, and around his tall hat was aband of black alpaca, the nearest approach to mourning he could get, forcrape was out of the question. If possible, it was hotter than on theprevious day, and the sail cloth top was not much protection from thesun as they drove along the sandy road, over bogs and stumps, palmettoroots and low bridges, and across brooks nearly dried up by the heat. The way seemed interminable to Mr. Mason, for the mule was not veryswift-footed, and Jake was too fond of him to touch him with a whip. Apull at the lines, which were bits of rope, and a "Go 'long dar, youlazy ole t'ing, 'fore I takes the hide off'n you" was the most he did tourge the animal forward, and Mr. Mason was beginning to think he mightget on faster by walking, when a turn in the road brought the clearingin view. It had improved some since we first saw it, and was under what thenatives called right smart cultivation for such a place. Jake had workedearly and late to make it attractive for his young mistress. He hadgiven the log-house a coat of whitewash, and planted more climbing rosesthan had been there when the man from the North visited it. A rude fenceof twisted poles had been built around it, and standing before thisfence were three or four ox-carts and a democrat wagon with two mulesattached to it. The people who had come in these vehicles were waitingexpectantly for Jake and the minister, and the moment they appeared insight the white portion hurried into the house and seatedthemselves--some in the few chairs the room contained, some on thetable, and some on the long bench Jake had improvised with a board andtwo boxes, and which threatened every moment to topple over. There werea number of old women with sunbonnets on their heads--two or threehigher-toned ones with straw bonnets--a few younger ones with hats, while the men and boys were all in their shirt sleeves. Some of them hadcome miles that hot day to pay their last respects to Miss Dory, who, in the room adjoining where they sat, lay in her coffin, clad, as Jakehad said, in her best gown, the white one she had worn with so muchpride the day the stranger came. She had never worn it since, but hadsaid to Mandy Ann a few days before she died, "I should like to beburied in it, if you can smarten it up. " And Mandy Ann who understood, had done her best at smartening, and when Sonsie and others said it was"yaller as saffern, an' not fittin' for a buryin', " she had washed andironed it, roughly, it is true, but it was white and clean, and Sonsiewas satisfied. Mandy Ann had tried to freshen the satin bows, but gaveit up, and put in their place bunches of wild flowers she had gatheredherself. With a part of the dollar given her by "the man from the Norf, "she had commissioned Ted to buy her a ring in Jacksonville. It hadproved too small for any finger, except her little one, and she hadseldom worn it. Now, as she dressed her mistress for the last time anidea came to her; she was a well-grown girl of sixteen, and understoodmany things better than when she was younger. Going to Jake, she said, "Ain't thar somethin' 'bout a ring in that pra'r book you got inRichmon' an' reads on Sundays?" "Yes, in de weddin' service, " Jake replied, and Mandy continued: "Doan'it show dey's married for shoo'!" "For shoo? Yes. I wish Miss Dory had one, " Jake answered. Mandy Ann nodded. She had learned what she wanted to know, and going tothe little paper box where she kept her ring she took it up, looked atit lovingly, and tried it on. She had paid fifty cents for it, and Tedhad told her the real price was a dollar, but he had got it for less, because the jeweler was selling out. It tarnished rather easily, but shecould rub it up. It was her only ornament, and she prized it as much assome ladies prize their diamonds, but she loved her young mistress morethan she loved the ring, and her mistress, though dead, should have it. It needed polishing, and she rubbed it until it looked nearly as well aswhen Ted brought it to her from Jacksonville. "I wish to de Lawd I knew ef dar was any partic'lar finger, " shethought, as she stood by the coffin looking at the calm face of hermistress. By good luck she selected the right finger, on which the ring slippedeasily, then folding the hands one over the other, and putting in themsome flowers, which, while they did not hide the ring, covered itpartially, so that only a very close observer would be apt to think itwas not real, she said, "If you wasn't married with a ring you shall beburied with one, an' it looks right nice on you, it do, an' I hope olegranny Thomas'll be hyar an' see it wid her snaky eyes speerin' 'round. Axed me oncet who I s'posed de baby's fader was, an' I tole her degemman from de Norf, in course, an' den made up de lie an' tole her deyhad a weddin' on de sly in Georgy--kinder runaway, an' his kin was madan' kep' him to home 'cept oncet when he comed hyar to see her, an' I'clar for't I doan think she b'lieve a word 'cept that he was hyar. Everybody knowd that. I reckon she will gin in when she see de ring. " Pleased with what she had done, Mandy Ann left the room just as thefirst instalment of people arrived, and with them old granny Thomas. Inthe little community of Crackers scattered through the neighborhoodthere were two factions, the larger believing in Eudora, and the smallernot willing to commit themselves until their leader Mrs. Thomas had doneso. On the strength of living in a frame house, owning two or threenegroes and a democrat wagon, she was a power among them. What shethought some of those less favored than herself thought. When she "gavein" they would, and not before. Up to the present time there had been nosigns of "giving in" on the part of the lady, whose shoulders stillhunched and whose head shook when Eudora was mentioned. She should go tothe funeral, in course, she said. She owed it to ole Miss Harris, andshe really had a good deal of respect for the nigger Jake. So she camein her democrat wagon and straw bonnet, and because she was Mrs. Thomas, walked uninvited into the room where the coffin stood, and looked atEudora. "I'd forgot she was so purty. It's a good while sense I seen her, " shethought, a feeling of pity rising in her heart for the young girl whoseface had never looked fairer than it did now with the seal of death uponit. "And s'true's I live she's got a ring on her weddin' finger! Whydidn't she never war it afore an' let it be known?" she said to herself, stooping down to inspect the ring, which to her dim old eyes seemed likethe real coin. "She wouldn't _lie_ in her coffin, an' I b'lieve she wasgood after all, an' I've been too hard on her, " she continued, waddlingto a seat outside, and communicating her change of sentiment to thewoman next to her, who told it to the next, until it was prettygenerally known that "ole Miss Thomas had _gin in_, 'case Miss Dory hadon her weddin' ring. " Nearly every one else present had "gin in" long before, and now thatMrs. Thomas had declared herself, the few doubtful ones followed herlead, and there were only kind, pitying words said of poor Dory, as theywaited for the minister to come, and the services to begin. CHAPTER VI THE SERVICES The blacks were outside the house, and the whites inside, when Jakedrove his shay to the door, and the Rev. Mr. Mason alighted, wiping thesweat from his face and looking around with a good deal of curiosity. Amulatto boy came forward to take charge of the mule, and Jake usheredthe minister into the room where the coffin stood, and where were thefour men he had asked to be bearers. "I s'pose I'd or'ter of had six, " he said in a whisper; "but she's solight, four can tote her easy, an' they's all very 'spectable. Nolow-downs. I means everything shall be fust-class. " Wrapped in shawls, with her head nodding up and down, old Mrs. Harrissat, more deaf and more like a dried mummy than she had been on theoccasion of the stranger's visit. Jake had bought her an ear trumpet, but she seldom used it, unless compelled by Mandy Ann, who now sat nearher with the little girl who, at sight of Jake, started to meet him. But, Mandy Ann held her back and whispered, "Can't you done 'haveyerself at yer mammy's funeral an' we the only mourners?" The child only understood that she was to keep quiet, and sat down inher little chair, while Jake motioned to Mr. Mason that he was to seeMiss Dory. During her illness her hair had fallen out so fast that it had been cutoff, and now lay in soft rings around her forehead, giving her more thelook of a child than of a girl of twenty, as the plate on her coffinindicated. "Eudora, aged twenty, " was all there was on it, and glancingat it Mr. Mason wondered there was no other name. Jake saw the look andwhispered. "I wan't gwine to lie an' put on 'Eudora Harris, ' for sheain't Eudora Harris, an' I didn't know t'other name for shoo. Ain't shelovely!" "She is, indeed, " Mr. Mason said, feeling the moisture in his eyes, ashe looked at the young, innocent face on which there was no trace ofguilt. He was sure of that without Jake's repeated assertion, "Fo' God, it'sall right, for she tole me so. Mostly, she'd say nothin'. She'd promisedshe wouldn't, but jess fo' she died she said agen to me, 'I tole him I'dkeep dark till he come for me, but it's all right. Send for Elder Covil'crost the river. He knows. ' I've tole you this afore, I reckon, but mymind is so full I git rattled. " By this time the bent figure sitting in the rocking-chair, near thecoffin began to show signs of life and whimper a little. "'Scuse me, " Jake said, pulling a shawl more squarely around hershoulders and straightening her up. "Mas'r Mason, this is ole Miss Lucy. Miss Lucy, this is Mas'r Mason, come to 'tend Miss Dory's funeral. Peartup a little, can't you, and speak to him. " There didn't seem to be much "peart up" in the woman, who began at onceto cry. Instantly Mandy Ann started up and wiped her face, and settledher cap, and taking the trumpet screamed into it that she was to behaveherself and speak to the gemman. "Dory's dead, " she moaned, and subsided into her shawl and cap, with afaint kind of cry. "Dory's dead, " was repeated, in a voice very different from that of theold woman--a child's clear, sweet voice--and turning, Mr. Mason saw alittle dark-haired, dark-eyed girl standing by Mandy Ann. Mr. Mason was fond of children, and stooping down he kissed the child, who drew back and hid behind Jake. "Me 'fraid, " she said, covering her face with her hands, and lookingwith her bright eyes through her fingers at the stranger. Something in her eyes attracted and fascinated, and at the same timetroubled Mr. Mason, he scarcely knew why. The old grandmother wascertainly demented. The landlord had said Eudora and the whole familywere queer. Was the child going to be queer, too, and did she show it inher eyes? They were very large and beautiful, and the long, curlinglashes, when she closed them, fell on her cheeks like those of her deadmother, whom she resembled. She seemed out of place in her surroundings, but he could not talk to her then. The people in the next room werebeginning to get restless, and to talk in low tones of their crops andthe weather, and the big alligator caught near the hotel. It was time tobegin, and taking the little girl in his arms, Jake motioned to Mr. Mason. In the door between the two rooms was a stand covered with aclean white towel. On it was a Bible, a hymn-book, a cup of water, andtwo or three flowers in another cup. Mr. Mason did not need the Bible. Jake had asked for the Resurrection and the Life, and he had broughthis prayer-book, and began the beautiful burial service of the Church, to which the people listened attentively for a while; then they began toget tired, and by the time the long reading was through there wereunmistakable signs of discontent among them. They had expected somethingmore than reading a chapter. They wanted remarks, with laudations of thedeceased. Miss Dory was worthy of them, and because there were none theyfancied the minister did not believe it was all right with her, and theyresented it. Even old Miss Thomas had "gin in, " and thar was the weddin'ring, an' no sermon, --no remarks, and they didn't like it. Anothergrievance was that no hymn was given out, and there was the hymn-book athand. They had at least expected "Hark from the tombs, " if nothing else, but there was nothing. Singing constituted a large part of theirreligious worship, and they did not mean to have Miss Dory buriedwithout this attention. As Mr. Mason finished the services and sat down, he was startled with anoutburst of "Shall we meet beyond the river. " Everybody joined in thesong, negroes and all, their rich, full voices dominating the others, and making Mr. Mason thrill in every nerve as the quaint music filledthe house, and went echoing out upon the summer air. When the "BeautifulRiver" was finished some one outside the door took up the refrain: "Oh, that will be joyful, joyful, joyful; Oh, that will be joyful, When we meet to part no more. " This appealed to the blacks, who entered into the singing heart andsoul, some of the older ones keeping time with a swinging motion oftheir bodies, and one old lady in her enthusiasm bringing down her fistupon the doorstep, on which she was sitting, and shouting in a way whichwarned Jake of danger. He knew the signs, and putting down the littlegirl, who had fallen asleep in his lap, he went to the old negress, whowas beginning to get under full headway, and holding her uplifted arm, said to her: "Hush, Aunt Judy, hush; this ain't no place to have the pow'. This ain'ta pra'r meetin'; tis a 'Piscopal funeral, this is, such as they have inVirginny. " What Judy might have said is uncertain, for there came a diversion inthe scene. The child had followed Jake to the door, where she stoodwide-eyed and attentive, and when the last words of the hymn ended, shesang in a clear, shrill voice, "Be joyful when we meet to part no more. "Her voice was singularly sweet and full, and Mr. Mason said to himself, "She'll be a singer some day, if she is not crazy first. " Nothing nowcould keep old Judy from one more burst, and her "Yes, thank de Lawd, we'll meet to part no mo', " rang out like a clarion, and the religiousservices were over. There still remained what was the most interesting part to theaudience--taking leave of the corpse--and for a few minutes the sobs, and cries, and ejaculations were bewildering to Mr. Mason, who had neverhad an experience of this kind. Jake quieted the tumult as soon aspossible, reminding the people again that this was a first-class'Piscopal funeral, such as the quality had in Virginny. The oldgrandmother was led to the coffin by Mandy Ann, who shook her up andtold her to look at Miss Dory, but not cry much, if she could help it. She didn't cry at all, but nearly every one did in the adjoining room, where they said to each other, "Ole Miss is takin' leave and don't senseit an atom. " The little girl was held up by Jake, who made her kiss hermother. "Mamma's s'eep, " the child said, as she kissed the pale lips which wouldnever smile on her again. There was a fresh outburst of sobs and tears from the spectators, andthen the coffin was closed, and the procession took its way across thehot sands to the little enclosure in the clearing, where other membersof the Harris family were buried. Remembering the impatience of thepeople in the house, Mr. Mason wished to shorten the service at thegrave, but Jake said: "No. We'll have the whole figger for Miss Dory. "Mr. Mason went the whole figure with uncovered head under the broilingsun, and when he was through he felt as if his brains were baked. TheCrackers did not seem to mind the heat at all. They were accustomed toit, and after their return from the grave, stayed round until the whitemule and sail-topped shay were brought up for Mr. Mason's return to thehotel. As Jake was very busy, a young negro boy was sent in his place. Naturally loquacious, he kept up a constant stream of talk, but as hestammered frightfully the most Mr. Mason could understand was that MissDory was a dandy, ole Miss 'onery, whatever that might mean, and Jake abig head, who thought he knew everything because he was free and couldread. The next day was Sunday, and Mr. Mason took for the subject of hisremarks in the parlor of the hotel the story of Lazarus and Dives, andevery time he spoke of Dives receiving his good things in life, hethought of the man whom the landlord had designated a "Northern cuss";and every time he spoke of Lazarus, he thought of poor little Dory andthat humble grave in the sands of the palmetto clearing. It was covered before night with young dwarf palmettoes, which Mandy Annlaid upon it with a thought that they would keep her young mistresscool. All through the day she had restrained her feelings, because Jaketold her that was the way to do. "Seems ef I should bust, " she said to herself more than once, and whenat last the day was over, and both ole Miss and the little girl wereasleep, she stole out to the newly made grave, and lying down upon itamong the palmettoes she cried bitterly, "Oh, Miss Dory, Miss Dory, kinyou har me? It's Mandy Ann, an' I'm so sorry you're dead, an' sorry Iwas so bad sometimes. I have tried to be better lately, sense I gotgrowed. Now, hain't I, an' I hain't tole many lies, nor tached a thingsense I took that bill from him. _Cuss_ him, wharever he is! Cuss himto-night, ef he's alive; an' ef his bed is soff' as wool, doan let himsleep for thinkin' of Miss Dory. Doan let him ever know peace of min'till he owns the 'ittle girl; though, dear Lawd, what should we dowithout her--me an' Jake?" Mandy Ann was on her knees now, with her hands uplifted, as she prayedfor _cusses_ on the man who had wrought such harm to her mistress. Whenthe prayer was finished she fell on her face again and sobbed, "MissDory, Miss Dory, I must go in now an' see to 'ittle chile, but I hatesto leave you hyar alone in de san'. Does you know you's got on my ring?I gin it to you, an' ole granny Thomas 'gin in' when she seed it, an'said you mus' be good. I'se mighty glad I gin it to you. 'Twas all I hadto give, an' it will tell 'em whar you've gone that you was good. " There was a dampness in the air that night, and Mandy Ann felt it as sherose from the grave, and brushed bits of palmetto from her dress andhair. But she did not mind it, and as she walked to the house she feltgreatly comforted with the thought that she had _cussed_ him, and thatMiss Dory was wearing her ring as a sign that she was good, and that"ole granny Thomas had gin in. " CHAPTER VII COL. CROMPTON He was young to be a colonel, but the title was merely nominal andcomplimentary, and not given for any service to his country. When onlytwenty-one he had joined a company of militia--young bloods likehimself--who drilled for exercise and pleasure rather than from any ideathat they would ever be called into service. He was at first captain, then he rose to the rank of colonel, and when the company disbanded hekept the title, and was rather proud of it, as he was of everythingpertaining to himself and the Cromptons generally. It was an old Englishfamily, tracing its ancestry back to the days of William the Conqueror, and boasting of two or three titles and a coat-of-arms. The Americanbranch was not very prolific, and so far as he knew, the Colonel was theonly remaining Crompton of that line in this country, except the son ofa half-brother. This brother, who was now dead, had married against hisfather's wishes, and been cut off from the Crompton property, which, atthe old man's death, all came to the Colonel. It was a fine estate, witha very grand house for the New England town by the sea in which it wassituated. It was built by the elder Crompton, who was born in England, and had carried out his foreign ideas of architecture, and with itsturrets and square towers it bore some resemblance to the handsomeplaces he had seen at home. It was of stone, and stood upon a rise ofground, commanding a view of the sea two miles away, and the prettyvillage on the shore with a background of wooded hills stretching to thewest. It was full of pictures and bric-à-brac, and statuary from allparts of the world, for the Colonel's father had travelled extensively, and brought home souvenirs from every country visited. Florida hadfurnished her quota, and stuffed parokeets and red birds, and a hugealligator skin adorned the walls of the wide hall, together with antlersand pieces of old armor, and other curios. A small fortune was yearlyexpended upon the grounds which were very large, and people wonderedthat the Colonel lavished so much upon what he seemed to care so littlefor, except to see that it was in perfect order, without a dried leaf, or twig, or weed to mar its beauty. It had not always been thus with him. When he first came into possessionof the place he was just through college, and had seemed very proud andfond of his fine estate, and had extended his hospitality freely to hisacquaintances, keeping them, however, at a certain distance, for theCrompton pride was always in the ascendant, and he tolerated nofamiliarities, except such as he chose to allow. This genial social lifelasted a few years, and then there came a change, following a part of awinter spent in South Carolina and Georgia with his intimate friend andcollege chum, Tom Hardy. Communication between the North and South wasnot as frequent and direct then as it is now, and but little was knownof his doings. At first he wrote occasionally to Peter, his headservant, to whom he entrusted the care of the house; then his lettersceased and nothing was heard from him until suddenly, without warning, he came home, looking much older than when he went away, and with a lookupon his face which did not leave it as the days went on. "'Spect he had a high old time with that Tom Hardy, and is all tuckeredout, " Peter said, while the Colonel, thinking he must give some reasonfor his changed demeanor, said he had malaria, taken in some Southernswamp. If there was any disease for which Peter had a special aversion it wasmalaria, which he fancied he knew how to treat, having had it oncehimself. Quinine, cholagogue, and whiskey were prescribed in largequantities, and Peter wondered why they failed to cure. He did notsuspect that the quinine went into the fire, and the cholagogue down thedrain-pipe from the washstand. The Colonel's malaria was not the kind tobe cured by drugs, and there came a day when, after the receipt of aletter from Tom Hardy, he collapsed entirely, and Peter found himshivering in his room, his teeth chattering, and his fingers purple withcold. "You have got it bad this time, " Peter said, suggesting the doctor, andmore quinine and cholagogue, and a dose of Warburg's Tincture. The Colonel declined them all. What he needed was another blanket, andto be let alone. Peter brought the blanket and left him alone, while hefaced this new trouble which bore no resemblance to malaria. He was justbeginning to be more hopeful of the future, and had his plans all laid, and knew what he should do and say, and now this new complication hadarisen and brushed his scheme aside. He had sown the wind and wasreaping a cyclone, and he swore to himself, and hardened his heartagainst the innocent cause of his trouble, and thought once of suicideas he had on the St. John's the year before. He spent money, just thesame, upon his handsome grounds; but it was only for the pride he had inkeeping them up, and not for any pleasure he had in them. He neverpicked a flower, or sat on any of the seats under the trees, and, unlessthe day was very hot, was seldom seen upon his broad piazza, where everyday Peter spread rugs and placed chairs because his master liked to seethem there, if they were not used. His library was his favorite place, where he sat for hours reading, smoking, and thinking, no one knew ofwhat, or tried to know, for he was not a man to be easily approached, orquestioned as to his business. If he had malaria it clung to him yearafter year, while he grew more reserved and silent, and saw less andless of the people. Proud as Lucifer they called him, and yet, becausehe was a Crompton, and because of the money he gave so freely when itwas asked for, he was not unpopular; and when the town began to grow inimportance on account of its fine beach and safe bathing, and a movementwas made to change its name from Troutburg to something less plebeian, Crompton was suggested, and met with general approval. No one was betterpleased with the arrangement than the Colonel himself, although he didnot smile when the news was brought to him. He seldom smiled atanything, but there was a kindling light in his eyes, and his voiceshook a little as he thanked the committee who waited upon him. To beknown as "Col. Crompton of Crompton" was exceedingly gratifying to hisvanity, and seemed in a way to lift the malarious cloud from him for atime at least. It was more than three years since Tom Hardy's letter had thrown himinto a chill, and everything as yet was quiet. Nothing had come from theSouth derogatory to him, and he had almost made himself believe thatthis state of things might go on for years, perhaps forever, though thatwas scarcely possible. At all events he'd wait till the storm burst, andthen meet it somehow. He was a Crompton and had faith in himself, andthe faith was increased by the compliment paid by his townspeople; andas he was not one to receive a favor without returning it, he conceivedthe idea of giving an immense lawn-party, to which nearly everybodyshould be invited. He had shut himself up too much, he thought--he mustmingle more with the people, and build around himself a wall so strongthat nothing in the future could quite break it down. Peter and the rest of his servants were consulted and entered heartilyinto his plan. Cards of invitation were issued bearing the Cromptonmonogram, and a notice inserted in the daily paper to the effect thatany who failed to receive a card were to know it was a mistake, and comejust the same. There was a great deal of excitement among the people, for it had been a long time since any hospitality had been extended tothem, and they were eager to go, knowing that something fine was to beexpected, as the Colonel never did anything by halves. The day of thelawn-party was perfect--neither too hot nor too cold--and the sun whichshone upon that humble funeral in the palmetto clearing shone upon avery different scene in the Crompton grounds, where the people began toassemble as early as one o'clock. The grass on the lawn was like velvet, without a stick or stone to be seen, for two gardeners had been at workupon it since sunrise, cutting and raking, and sprinkling, until it wasas fresh as after a soft summer shower. The late roses and white lilieswere in full bloom, the latter filling the air with a sweet odor andmaking a lovely background. There were tables and chairs under themaples and elms, and rugs and pieces of carpet wherever there was asuspicion of dampness in the ground. There was a brass band in one partof the grounds, and a string band in another, where the young peopledanced under the trees. Refreshments were served at five o'clock, andthe festivities were kept up till the sun went down, and half thechildren were sick from overeating--the mothers were tired, and some ofthe men a little shaky in their legs, and thick in their speech, from atoo frequent acquaintance with the claret punch which stood here andthere in great bowls, free as water, and more popular. The crowningevent of the day came when the hundreds of lanterns were lighted on thepiazzas and in the trees, and every window in the house blazed withcandles placed in so close proximity to each other, that objects couldbe plainly seen at some distance. The Colonel was going to make a speech, and he came out upon an upperbalcony, where the light from ten tall lamps fell full upon him, bringing out every feature of his face distinctly. He was rather paleand haggard, but the people were accustomed to that, and charged it tothe malaria. He was very distinguished looking, they thought, as theystood waiting for him to commence his speech. All the afternoon he hadbeen the most courteous of hosts--a little too patronizing, perhaps, forthat was his way, but very polite, with a pleasant word for every one. He knew he was making an impression, and felt proud in a way as Cromptonof Crompton, when he stepped out upon the balcony and saw the eager, upturned faces, and heard the shout which greeted him. And still therewas with him a feeling of unrest--a presentiment that on his horizon, seemingly so bright, a dark cloud was lowering, which might at anymoment burst upon the head he held so high. He was always dreading it, but for the last few days the feeling had been stronger until now it waslike a nightmare, and his knees shook as he bowed to the peopleconfronting him and filling the air with cheers. No contrast could have been greater than that between the scene on whichhe looked down--the park, the flowers, the fountains, and thepeople--and the palmetto clearing in far away Florida. He did not knowof the funeral and the group assembled around the log-cabin. But he knewof the clearing. He had been there, and always felt his blood tinglewhen he thought of it, and it was the picture of it which had hauntedhim all day, and which came and stood beside him, shutting outeverything else, as he began to thank the people for the honor conferredupon him by calling the town by his name. He didn't deserve it, he said. He didn't deserve anything from anybody. "Yes, you do, " went up from a hundred throats, for under the influenceof the good cheer and the attention paid them the man was for the timebeing a hero. "No, I don't, " he continued. "I am a morally weak man--weaker thanwater where my pride is concerned--and if you knew me as I know myselfyou would say I was more deserving of tar and feathers than the honoryou have conferred upon me. " This was not at all what he intended to say, but the words seemed forcedfrom him by that picture of the palmetto clearing standing so close tohim. His audience did not know what he meant. So far as they knew he hadbeen perfectly upright, with no fault but his pride and coldness bywhich he came rightfully as a Crompton. He must have visited the punchbowls too often, they thought, and didn't know what he was talkingabout. After a pause, during which he was trying to thrust aside theclearing, and the log-house, and the old woman in her chair, and MandyAnn, and to pull himself together, he went on to say: "You have been for a long time discussing the site of a newschool-house, in place of the old one which stands so near the marshes, that it is a wonder your children have not all died with fever and ague. Some of you want it on the hill--some under the hill--some in one place, and some in another. Nobody wants it near his own premises. Aschool-house with a lot of howling children is not a desirable neighborto most people. For my part I don't object to it. I like children. " Here he stopped suddenly as the image of a child he had never seen camebefore him and choked his utterance, while the people looked at eachother, and wondered how long he had been so fond of children. It wasgenerally conceded that he did not care for them--disliked them infact--and he had never been known to notice one in any way. Surely hehad been too near the claret bowls. He detected the thought of thosenearest to him, and continued: "I am not one to show all I feel. It is not my nature. I am interestedin children, and as proof of it I will tell you my plan. There are twoacres of land on the south side of the park. I fenced it off for anartificial pond, but gave it up. There is a spring of good water there, with plenty of shade trees for the children to play under. I will givethis land for the new school-house. " Here he was obliged to stop, the cheers were so deafening. When theysubsided he went on rapidly: "I will build the house, too. Such an one as will not shame District No. 5 in Crompton. It shall be a model house, well lighted and ventilated, with broad, comfortable seats, especially for the little ones, whosefeet shall touch the floor. It shall be commenced at once, and finishedbefore the winter term. " He bowed and sat down, white and perspiring at every pore, and hardlyknowing to what he had committed himself. The cheers were now a roarwhich went echoing out into the night, and were heard nearly as far asthe village on the beach, the people wondering more and more at hisgenerosity, and sudden interest in their little ones. And no onewondered more than himself. He did not care a picayune for children, norwhether their feet touched the floor or not, and he had not intendedpledging himself to build the house when he began. But as he talked, thepalmetto clearing stared him in the face, shutting out everything fromhis vision, except a long seat directly in front of him, on whichseveral little girls whose feet could not touch the ground were fastasleep, their heads falling over upon each other, and the last oneresting upon the arm of the settee. It was a pretty picture, and stirredin him feelings he had never experienced before. He would do somethingfor the children, expiatory, he said to himself, as he sat down, thinking he ought to be the proudest and happiest of men to have thetown called for him, and to stand so high in the esteem of his fellowcitizens. What would they say if they knew what he did, and how cowardlyhe was because of his pride. Sometime they must know. It could not beotherwise, but he would put off the evil day as long as he could, andwhen, at last, his guests began to leave, and he went down to bid themgood-night, his head was high with that air of patronage and superioritynatural to him, and which the people tolerated because he was Col. Crompton. That night he had a chill--the result of so much excitement to which hewas not accustomed, he said to Peter, who brought him a hot-water bagand an extra blanket, and would like to have suggested his favoriteremedies, quinine and cholagogue, but experience had taught him wisdom, and putting down the hot-water bag and blanket, he left the room with acasual remark about the fine day, and how well everything had passedoff, "only a few men a little boozy, " he said, "and three or fourchildren with bruised heads caused by a fall from a swing. " The lawn-party had been a great success, and the Colonel knew he oughtto be the happiest man in town, whereas he was the most miserable. Hecould not hear Mandy Ann's curses as she knelt on her mistress's grave, nor see her dusky arms swaying in the darkness to emphasize hermaledictions. He didn't know there was a grave, but something weighedhim down with unspeakable remorse. Every incident of his first visitSouth came back to him with startling vividness, making him wonder whyGod had allowed him to do what he had done. Then he remembered his tripon the "Hatty, " when he kept himself aloof from everybody, with a morbidfear lest he should see some one who knew him, or had heard of him, orwould meet him again. He remembered the log-house and his supper, whenMandy Ann served from a dinner-plate, and his napkin was a pockethandkerchief. He remembered the mumbling old woman in her chair; butmost of all he remembered the girl who sat opposite him. Her face wasalways with him, and it came before him now, just as it was in themoonlight, when she said: "You can trust me. I will do the best I can. " She had stood with her hands upon the fence and he saw them as theylooked then, and holding up his own he said, "They were little brownhands, but they should have been white like mine. Poor Dory!" There was a throb of pity in his heart as his remorse increased, and thehot night seemed to quiver with the echo of Mandy Ann's "cuss him, cusshim wherever he may be, and if his bed is soff as wool doan' let himsleep a wink. " His bed was soft as wool, but it had no attraction forhim, and he sat with his hot-water bag and blanket until his chillpassed, and was succeeded by a heat which made him put blanket and bagaside, and open both the windows of his room. The late moon had risenand was flooding the grounds with its light, bringing out distinctly theobjects nearest to him. Some tables and chairs were left standing, a fewlanterns were hanging in the trees, and in front of him was the longbench on which the little girls had been sleeping, with their feet fromthe ground, when he made his speech. The sight of this brought to hismind the day three years before when, just as his plans were perfected, there had come a letter which made him stagger as from a heavy blow, while all around him was chaos, dark and impenetrable. In most men theletter would have awakened a feeling of tenderness, but he was not likemost men. He was utterly selfish, and prouder than any Crompton in thelong line of that proud race, and, instead of tenderness or pity, hefelt an intense anger against the fate which had thus dealt with himwhen he was trying to do right. What to do next was the question, which Tom Hardy, as cold and unfeelingas himself, answered for him. "You are in an awful mess, " he wrote, "and the only course I see is tokeep them supplied with money, and let things run until they come to afocus, as I suppose they must, though they may not. Florida is a longways from Massachusetts. Few Northerners ever go to Enterprise, and ifthey do they may not hear of the clearing and its inmates. The girl isnot over-bright. I beg your pardon, but she isn't, and will be apt to bequiet when she makes up her mind that she is deserted. The only one youhave to fear is that nigger, Jake; but I reckon we can manage him; socheer up and never make such an infernal fool of yourself again. " Something in this letter had grated on the Colonel's feelings--thereference to the girl, perhaps--but he had decided to follow Tom'sadvice, and let things run until they came to a focus. They had runpretty smoothly for three years, and only a few letters, forwarded byhis friend who now lived in Palatka, and kept a kind of oversight of theclearing, came to trouble him. These he always burned, but he could notforget, and the past was always with him, not exactly as it was on thenight after his lawn-party, when it seemed to him that all the powers ofthe bottomless pit had united against him, and if ever a man expiatedhis wrong-doing in remorse and mental pain he was doing it. Thelaudations of the crowd which had cheered him so lustily were of noaccount, nor the honor conferred by giving the town his name. Nothinghelped him as he stood with the sweat rolling down his face, and lookedout upon his handsome grounds, which he did not see because of thepalmetto clearing, and the little child, and the young mother on whosegrave the moon was shining. Mandy Ann's curse was surely taking effect, for no sleep came to him that night, and the next day found him worn andpale, and when Peter, sure of a malarious attack worse than usual, ventured to offer his cholagogue and quinine, he was sworn at, and toldto take himself off with his infernal drugs. "I am tired with yesterday's mob. I shall be better when I am rested, and get the taste out of my mouth of Tom, Dick, and Harry tramping overthe premises, " he thought. This was not very complimentary to the Tom's, and Dick's, and Harry'swho had tramped through his grounds, but they did not know his thoughts, and were full of the lawn-party, and the new school-house, the work onwhich was commenced early in August, when a large number of menappeared, and were superintended and urged on by the Colonel himself. He did not work, but he was there every day, issuing orders and makingsuggestions, and in this way managing to dissipate in part the cloudalways hanging over him, and which before long was to assume a formwhich he could not escape. CHAPTER VIII THE CHILD OF THE CLEARING The school-house was finished, and was a model of comfort andconvenience. It was well lighted and ventilated, and every child ofwhatever age could touch its feet to the floor. If it were in any senseexpiatory, it had proven a success, for the palmetto clearing did nothaunt the Colonel as it had done on the day of the lawn-party. It was along time since he had heard from there, and he was beginning to wonderif anything had happened, when Peter brought him an odd-looking letter, directed wrong side up, written with a pencil, and having about it afaint perfume of very bad tobacco. It was addressed to "Mr. KurnalKrompton, Troutberg, Mass. " The writer evidently did not know of therecent change of name, and the letter had been long on the way, but hadreached its destination at last, and was soiled and worn, and verysecond-class in its appearance, Peter decided, as he took it from theoffice and studied it carefully. No such missive had, to his knowledge, ever before found its way into the aristocratic precincts of CromptonPlace. If it had he had not seen it, and he wondered who could have sentthis one. He found his master taking his breakfast, and, holding theletter between his thumb and fingers, as if there were contamination inits touch, he handed it to him. "Fairly turned speckled when he looked at it, " Peter thought, as he leftthe room. "Wish I had seen where it was mailed. " An hour later, Jane, the housemaid, came to him and said, "The Colonelwants you. " Peter found him in his bedroom, packing a satchel with a shaking handand a face more speckled than it had been when he read the letter. "Peter, " he said, "fold up these shirts for me, and put in some collarsand socks. I am going on a little trip, and may be gone two weeks, maybemore. Hold your tongue. " When he wished Peter to be particularly reticent, he told him to holdhis tongue. Peter understood, and held it, and finished packing thesatchel, ordered the carriage for the eleven o'clock train, and saw hismaster off, without knowing where he was going, except that his ticketwas for New York. "That smelly letter has something to do with it, of course, " he said. "Iwish I knew where it was from. " He was arranging the papers on the library table, when he stoppedsuddenly with an exclamation of surprise, for there, under his hand, laythe smelly letter, which the Colonel had forgotten to put away. "Phew! I thought I got a whiff of something bad, " he said, and readagain the superscription, with a growing contempt for the writer. "Nobody will know if I read it, and I shall hold my tongue, as usual, "he thought, his curiosity at last overcoming his sense of honor. Opening the envelope, he took out the piece of foolscap, on which wasneither date nor name of place. "Kurnal Krompton, " it began. "Yer fren' in Palatky done gone to Europe. He tole me yer name 'fore he went, an' so I rite meself to tell you MissDory's ded, an' ole Miss, too. She done dide a week ago, an' Miss Dorylas' July. What shal I do wid de chile? I shood of rit when Miss Dorydide, but Mandy Ann an' me--you 'members Mandy Ann--sed how you'd becomin' to fotch her rite away, an' we cuddent bar to part wid her whilstole Miss lived. But now she's done ded de chile doan or'to be brung upwid Crackers an' niggers, an' den dar's de place belonged to ole Miss, an' dar's Mandy Ann. She doan' or'ter be sole to nobody. I'd buy her an'set her free ef I had de money, but I hain't. She's a rale purtychile--de little girl. You mite buy Mandy Ann an' take her for lilchile's nuss. Jake Harris. " "Jerusalem!" Peter exclaimed. "Here's a go. Who is Miss Dory? Sometrollop, of course--and she is dead, and old Miss, too. Who is old Miss?and who is Mandy Ann the Colonel is to buy? I'd laugh, rank Abolitionistas he is! And what will he do with a child? Crackers and niggers? Whatis a Cracker?" Peter had no opinion on that head. He knew what a nigger was, and atonce detected another odor besides bad tobacco, and opened the window toair the room. Then he began to study the postmark to see where theletter came from. It was not very clear, and it took him some time tomake out "Palatka, Fla. " The latter baffled him, it was so illegible, but he was sure of "Palatka, " and wondered where it was. Hunting up anatlas, he went patiently through State after State, till he foundPalatka, on the St. John's River, Florida. "Florida! That's where he's gone. There are niggers enough there, butwho the Crackers are is beyond me, " Peter said. "I believe I'll copythis, letter. " He did copy it, and then waited for developments. Meanwhile the Colonel was hurrying South as fast as steam could takehim. Arrived in New York, he found himself in time to take a boat boundfor Savannah, and shutting himself up in his stateroom sat down toanalyze his feelings, and solve the problem which had for so long beenconfronting him. A part of it was solved for him. Eudora was dead; butthere was the child. Something must be done with her, and Jake's wordskept repeating themselves in his mind: "She doan or'ter be brung up wid Crackers an' niggers. " "No, she don't or'ter, " the Colonel thought, involuntarily adoptingJake's dialect; but what to do with her was the question. If Tom Hardy had been home he would have consulted him, but Tom wasaway, and he must face the difficulty alone, knowing perfectly well whathis duty was, and finally making up his mind to do it. If he chose toadopt a child it was no one's business. As a Crompton he was abovecaring for gossip or public opinion. To be sure the child would be anuisance, and a constant reminder of what he would like to forget; butit was right, and he owed it to the mother to care for her little girl. He began to think a good deal of himself for this kind of reasoning, andby the time he reached Jacksonville he had made up his mind that he wasa pretty nice man after all, and felt happier than he had in years. Death had closed one page of his life, and the distance between Floridaand Massachusetts would close the other, and he was much like himselfwhen he at last stepped on board the "Hatty, " and started up the river. There was room for him at the Brock House this time, and he registeredhis name. "Col. James Crompton, Crompton, Mass. , " and said he had cometo look after a family in the palmetto clearing, Harris was the name, and through a friend he was interested in them. The landlord was not thesame who had been there on the occasion of the Colonel's first visit, but he knew something about the clearing, and volunteered whateverinformation he had concerning the family, speaking of the recent deathof the demented old woman, and of the little child left to the care oftwo negroes, and saying, he hoped the gentleman had come to take it toits friends, if it had any. The Colonel bowed and said that was his business, and early the nextmorning started on foot along the road he had trodden twice before, andwhich brought Eudora before him so vividly that it seemed as if she werewalking at his side, and once, as some animal ran through the bushesnear the grave at the turn of the road, he started at the sound as if ithad been the rustle of Eudora's white dress as he heard it that day. Hewas beginning to get nervous, and by the time the clearing was reachedhe was as cold as he had been at home, when Peter brought him thehot-water bag and blanket. He noticed the improvements which had beenmade in the place since he was there last, and knew it was Jake'shandiwork. He had never seen the man, and shrank a little from meetinghim, knowing how infinitely superior to himself in a moral way the poorAfrican was. He remembered Mandy Ann perfectly, and recognized her asshe came to the door, shading her eyes with her hand to look at him;then she disappeared suddenly, and Jake, who was at the rear of thehouse, fixing a barrel to catch rain-water, was clutched by the arm, andnearly thrown backwards, as the girl exclaimed: "For the Lawd's sake, Jake, it's comin'--it's comin'--it's hyar!" "What's comin'? The las' day, that you look so skeered?" Jake said, while Mandy Ann continued: "De man from de Norf, Cunnel Crompton, youcall him--done come for lill chile!" She put her apron over her face and began to cry, while Jake wiped hishands, and hurrying round the house, met the Colonel just as he reachedthe door. There was not the least servility in Jake's manner, althoughit was respectful, as he said, "How d'ye, Mas'r Crompton. I'm shoo it'syou, an' I'se right glad to see you, though I 'spects you done come forthe lill chile, an' I feel fit to bust when I think of partin' wid her. Walk in, walk in; take a cheer, an' I'll sen' Mandy Ann for de lillchile. She's in de play-house I made her, jess dis side de graves, wharshe sits an' plays. Thar's a tree thar an' she calls it de shady. " "Thanks!" the Colonel said, taking a chair, while Jake went for MandyAnn, and found her struggling with the child, not far from the door. The _chile_ had seen the stranger as soon as Mandy Ann; and as visitorswere rare at the cabin, and she was fond of society, she left her sandpies, and her slice of bread and molasses, and started for the house, meeting Mandy Ann, who seized her, saying, "Come an' have on a cleanfrock and be _wassed_. Your face is all sticky, an' han's, too--an' degemman from de Norf, de Cunnel, is hyar. " As it happened, the _chile_ didn't approve of changing her dress andhaving her face washed. She was in a hurry to see the gentleman, and shepulled back, and fought, and called Mandy Ann an "ole nigger, " and toldher to "leg-go, " and finally wrenched herself free, and ran like alittle spider to the house, and into the room where the Colonel wassitting. Starting to his feet he stood looking down at the mite staringat him with her great dark eyes, in which was a look which had puzzledthe Rev. Mr. Mason when he saw her at her mother's funeral. She was avery pretty child, with a round, chubby face just now smeared withmolasses, as were her fat little hands, while her dress, open at theback, showed signs of the sand and water with which it had come incontact. And she stood, holding the Colonel with her eyes, until hebegan to feel cold again, and to think of his hot-water bag. He did notcare for children, and this one-- "Heavens!" he thought to himself. "Can I do it? Yes, I must!" Then, putting out his hand, he said, "Little girl, will you shake handswith me. " Nothing abashed she was going forward, when Mandy Ann rushed in andpulled her back, exclaiming: "Oh, sar, not wid dem han's; dey mus' bewassed. " "You ole Mandy Ann nigger, you lemme be. I won't be wassed, " was thesharp reply, and the dark eyes flashed with a fire which made theColonel think of himself when roused, and he began to feel a good dealof respect for the spoiled tyrant. "Little girl, " he said, very gently, but firmly, "Go with Mandy and bewashed, and then come and see--" he came very near saying "see what Ihave brought you, " without at all knowing why it should have come intohis mind. It had never occurred to him to bring her anything, but he wished nowthat he had, and began to wonder what he had that would please a child. He was fond of jewelry, and wore on his watch-chain several ornaments, and among them a very small, delicately carved book in ivory. He coulddetach it easily, and he began to do so, while the child eyed himcuriously. She had seen very few gentlemen, and this one attracted her, he was so tall and imposing; and when he said again, "Go and be washed, "she obeyed him, and the Colonel was a second time alone, for Jake wasmaking his ablutions, and changing his working clothes for his best, inwhich he looked very respectable, when he at last rejoined his guest, and began at once in a trembling voice to speak of the business whichhad brought the Colonel there. CHAPTER IX THE COLONEL AND JAKE "I 'lowed you had the best right to her because 'twas you that sent themoney, " he said. The Colonel neither assented nor dissented, and Jake went on: "Thar isnobody else. Miss Dory never tole nothin'; she was silent as de graveabout--him--de fader of de lill chile, I mean. 'It's all right, ' she'dsay. 'I tole him I wouldn't tell till he came--an' I won't--but, it'sall right. Elder Covil knows--send for him. ' That's just afore shedied. " "And did you send for him?" the Colonel asked with some alarm, and Jakereplied: "I went for him an' he wasn't thar--had moved off--an' anothergemman, the Rev. Mr. Charles Mason, what I foun' at the hotel, 'tendedde buryin' with his pra'r book, 'case I wanted somethin' 'bout deResurrection an' de Life. 'Twas as fust class a funeral as we could haveout hyer. She wore her white gown--the one Mandy Ann says she wore whenyou war hyer. You members it?" The Colonel nodded, and Jake, thinking he could do nothing better thanrepeat all the particulars, went on: "She had a nice coffin fromPalatka, an' Mandy Ann done fixed her rale nice, wid flowers in herhan's, an' on her bosom, an', does you 'member givin' Mandy Ann a dollarwhen you's here afore?" Again the Colonel nodded and Jake went on: "Well, she done bought aring wid some of it--not rale gold, you know, but looked most likeit--an' what do you think Mandy Ann did, as the last thing she could dofor Miss Dory?" Jake was growing excited, and the Colonel nervous, as the negrocontinued: "It was too small for her, to be shue, but she thought asight on't, but more of Miss Dory's good name. " There was a great ridge in the Colonel's forehead, between his eyes, ashe repeated, "Her good name?" "Yes, sar, " Jake answered. "What could you 'spec when dar's a lillchile, and no fader for shoo, as anybody knows, but me an' Mandy Ann, an' Mas'r Hardy. Naterally they'd talk. But I 'shured 'em 'twas allright, an' knocked down one or two Crackers what grinned when I tole'em, an' Mandy Ann did a power of fitin'. She's great at it--jess like acat, an' we got 'em pretty much all under, except a few ole women, whonever quite gin in till de last. Ole granny Thomas was de worst, an' derest follered her; but she gin in when she seen de ring Mandy Annslipped on Miss Dory's weddin' finger, an' dar wasn't a s'picion on delam' as she lay in her coffin. " The Colonel's lips moved spasmodically, while Jake continued: "Thar wasa right smart of 'em hyar, an' the minister read from de pra'r book jestas I seen 'em in Virginny 'mongst de quality, an' when de blacks set upa singin' so loud that ole Aunt Judy nighly had de pow'--dat's a kind offit, you know, when dey gits to feelin' like kingdom come--I stoppedher. I was boun' to have de funeral fust class. When ole Miss died, Ilet 'em have dar way, an' ole Aunt Judy had de pow' till her missus, whowas hyar, shook her out on't. That was ole Miss Thomas, who stood outagin Miss Dory till she seen de ring. She says to me, says she, 'Doesyou know whar de chile's fader is?' an' says I, 'S'posin' I do?' 'Thensen' for him, ' says she. 'Tain't fittin' de chile to stay on hyar. ' 'I'mgwine to sen', ' says I, an' I did, an' you've done come. Is you gwine totake her?" Jake's broad chest heaved as he asked this question, to which theColonel replied, "That is what I came for. " Jake had assumed that he was the child's father, and he did notcontradict him, but said, "You call her the child. Has she no name?" "Yes, Dory; dat's what her mother called her, but to me dar's only oneDory, an' she's dead, an' 'twas handy to say de _lill chile_ or _honey_. Is you gwine to take her right away?" "Yes, when the 'Hatty' goes back, " the Colonel replied, with a feelingof pity for the negro, whose face was quivering, and whose voice shookas he said, "It's best, I s'pose, but 'twill be mighty lonesome hyar, with the chile gone from de 'shady' whar she plays, an' from de cradlewhar I rocks her, an' from dese arms what totes her many a time, whenshe goes through de clarin' in de woods. You wouldn't be wantin' me anMandy Ann to go wid you? De chile is wonderfully 'tached to us, an' hassome spells only we can manage. " The Colonel shook his head. Jake and Mandy Ann knew too much for him totake them North. The child would soon forget its surroundings. Peoplewould stop wondering after a while, and the past would be bridged over, as far as was possible. On the whole the future looked brighter than ithad done for years, and on this account the Colonel could afford to bevery suave and gentle with this poor negro. "No, Jake, " he said, very kindly. "You would not be happy at the North, it is so different from the South. I cannot take you, nor Mandy Ann, butI shall reward you for all you have done for the child, and for hermother. " The last words came slowly, and there was a kind of tremor in theColonel's voice. "I 'specs you are right, " Jake said meekly; "but it'll be mighty hard, an' what's gwine to become of Mandy Ann? Who does she 'long to, now MissDory an' ole Miss is both dead? I 'longs to myself, but what of MandyAnn?" Here was a problem the Colonel had not thought of. But his mind workedrapidly and clearly, and he soon reached a decision, but before he couldspeak of it the child appeared. It had taken a long time to wash anddress her, for the little hands were grimy, and the face very sticky, and a good deal of scrubbing had been necessary, with a good deal ofsquabbling, too--and the Colonel had heard some of the altercations--thechild's voice the louder, as she protested against the soap and waterused so freely. Jake had closed one of the doors to shut out the noise, saying as he did so, "She's got a heap of sperrit, but not from deHarrises, dey hadn't an atom. " It did not puzzle the Colonel at all to know where the _sperrit_ camefrom, and he did not like the child the less because of it. She was inthe room now, scrubbed till her face shone, and her hair, which wascurly, lay in rings upon her forehead. Mandy Ann had put on her bestfrock, a white one, stiff with starch, and standing out like a smallballoon. The Colonel liked her better in the limp, soiled gown, as hehad seen her first, but she was clean, and she came to him and put upher hand as Mandy Ann had told her to do. It was a little soft, fat, baby hand, such as the Colonel had never touched in his life, and hetook it and held it a moment, while the old malarious feeling crept overhim, and he could have sworn that the thermometer, which, when he leftthe "Hatty" had stood at seventy-five, had fallen to forty degrees. As aquietus during the washing, Mandy Ann had suggested that "mabby degemman done brung somethin', " and remembering this the little girl atonce asked, "Has you done brung me sumptin'? Mandy Ann tole me so. " The Colonel's thermometer dropped lower still at the speech, sodecidedly African, and his pride rose up in rebellion, and his heartsank, as in fancy he heard this dialect in his Northern home. But hemust bear it, and when, as he did not at once respond to her question, she said, "Has you done brung me sumptin'?" he was glad he had removedthe little ivory book from his watch-chain. It was something, and hegave it to her, saying, "This is for you--a little book. Do you knowwhat a book is?" She was examining the ornament on the back of which was carved aminiature bar of music, with three or four notes. The child had seenwritten music in a hymn-book, which belonged to her mother, and fromwhich she had often pretended to sing, when she played at a _funeral_, or prayer meeting, as she sometimes did under the _shady_. Jake had notspoken of this habit to the Colonel. He was waiting to take him to thegraves, and the play-house near them, and he was watching the child asshe examined the carving. Lifting up her bright eyes to the Colonel, she said, "Moosich--me sing, " and a burst of childish song rang throughthe room--part of a negro melody, and "Me wants to be an angel"alternating in a kind of melody, to which the Colonel listened inwonder. "Me done sing dood, " she said, and her eyes shone and flashed, and herbosom rose and fell, as if she were standing before an audience, sure ofsuccess and applause. Jake did clap his hands when she finished, and said to the Colonel, "Shedone goes on dat way very often. She's wonderful wid her voice an' eyes. 'Specs she'll make a singer. She's a little quar--dem Harrises--" Here he stopped suddenly, and asked, "Is you cole?" as he saw theColonel shiver. He knew the Harrises were _quar_, and this dark-haired, dark-eyed child singing in a shrill, high-pitched, but very sweet voice, seemed to him uncanny, and he shrank from her as she said. "Me sing somemo'. " Jake now interfered, saying, "No, honey; we're gwine to yer mother'sgrave. " "Me go, too, " the child answered, slipping her hand into the Colonel'sand leading the way to a little enclosure where the Harrises wereburied. The Colonel felt _quar_ with that hand holding his so tight, and thechild hippy-ty-hopping by his side over the boards Jake had put down fora walk to the graveyard. "Dis mine. Me play here, " the child said, more intent upon herplay-house than upon her mother's grave. The play-house was a simple affair, which Jake had constructed. Therewere two pieces of board for a floor, and a small bench for a table, onwhich were bits of broken cups and saucers, the slice of bread andmolasses the child had left when she went to see the stranger, a ragdoll, fashioned from a cob, with a cloth head stuffed with bran, and abook, soiled and worn as from frequent usage. The child made the Colonellook at the doll which she called Judy, "after ole mammy Judy, who camenigh havin' de pow' at de funeral, an' who done made it for her, " Jakeexplained. The book--a child's reader--was next taken up, the littlegirl saying, "Mamma's book--me read, " and opening it she made a pretenseof reading something which sounded like "Now I lay me. " The Colonel, whohad freed his hand from the fingers which had held it so fast, lookedinquiringly at Jake, who said, "Miss Dory's book; she done read it asight, 'case 'twas easier readin' dan dem books from Palatka; an' shecould larn somethin' from it, but de long words floored her an' me, too, who tried to help her. " For a moment the Colonel seemed agitated, and taking the book from thechild he said, "Can I have it?" "No, sar!" Jake answered emphatically. "I wouldn't part wid it for deworld. It's a part of Miss Dory, an' she tried so hard to read good an'be a lady. Mandy Ann lived a spell wid de quality, an' got some o' darways, an' I got some in Virginny, an' we tole 'em to her, an' she donetried till towards de las' she gin it up. ''Taint no use, ' she said tome. 'I'm 'scouraged. I can never be a lady. Ef he comes after I'm dead, tell him I tried an' couldn't. ' She meant the chile's fader, herhusband. Ain't you her husband?" It was a direct question, and Jake's honest eyes were looking steadilyat the Colonel, whose lips were white, and opened and shut two or threetimes before he answered, "I am nobody's husband, and never shall be. Iknew your young mistress, and was interested in her, and shall care forthe child. Don't ask me any more questions. " Up to this moment Jake had felt quite softened towards the man he hadonce thought to kill. But now he wanted to knock him down, butrestrained himself with a great effort, and answered, "I axes yerpardon, but I'se allus thought so--an'--an'--I thinks so still. " To this there was no reply, and Jake, who had sent home his shaft, whichhe knew was making the proud man quiver, spoke next of a monument forMiss Dory, and asked where he'd better get it. "Where you think best, " the Colonel answered. "Only get a good one, andsend the bill to me. " "Yes, sar; thank'ee, Mas'r, " Jake said, beginning to feel somewhat lesslike knocking the Colonel down. "What shall I put on it?" he asked, andthe Colonel replied, "What was on her coffin?" "Jess 'Eudora, aged twenty. ' I didn' know no odder name--las' name, Imean. I was shue 'twan't Harris. " "Put the same on the monument, " the Colonel said; "and, Jake, keep thegrave up. She was a good girl. " "Fo' de Lawd, I knows dat, an' I thank'ee, Mas'r, for sayin' dem wordsby de grave whar mabby she done har'em; thank'ee. " The tears were in Jake's eyes, as he grasped the Colonel's hand andlooked into the face which had relaxed from its sternness, and wasquivering in every muscle. The proud man was moved, and felt that if hewere alone he would have knelt in the hot sand by Eudora's grave, andasked pardon for the wrong he had done her. But Jake was there, and thechild looking on with wide-open eyes, and though she did not understandwhat was said she knew that Jake was crying, and charged it to thestranger--"the bad man, to make Shaky cry--I hates 'oo, " she said, beginning to strike at him. "Hush! honey, hush!" Jake said, while the Colonel began to feel the needof several hot-water bags as he went back to the house where Mandy Ann, remembering the hospitable ways at Miss Perkins's when people called, had set out for him the best the house afforded, including the chinaplate he remembered so well. He felt that to eat would choke him, but forced himself to take a sip ofcoffee and a bit of corn bread. The little girl had remained behind inher play-house, and he was glad of that. She was a restraint upon him. He wanted to talk business, and he did not know how much she wouldunderstand. When her great bright eyes were on him he felt nervous as ifshe were reading his thoughts, and was more himself with her away. Hemust talk about her and her going with him on the "Hatty, " and Jakelistened with a swelling heart, and Mandy Ann with her apron over herhead to hide her tears. They knew it must be, and tried to suppresstheir feelings. "It's like takin' my life, " Jake said, "but it's for de best. Miss Dorywould say so, but, Mas'r Crompton, you'll fotch her back sometime to deole place. You'll tell her of her mudder, an' me, an' Mandy Ann. Youwon't let her done forget. " Nothing could be further from the Colonel's intentions than to let thechild come back, and everything he could do to make her forget was to bedone, but he could not say so to Jake, and with some evasive answer hehurried on to business, and spoke of the house and clearing, which nowby right of inheritance belonged to the child. As he assumed herguardianship he should also assume an oversight of her property, and itwas his wish that Jake should stay on the place, receiving a certain sumyearly for his services, and having all he could make besides. Foranything of his own which he had spent on the clearing he was to berepaid, and all the money Eudora had put by was to be his. Jake feltlike a millionaire, and expressed his thanks with choking sobs. Then, glancing at Mandy Ann, he asked as he had asked before, "An' what 'boutMandy Ann? I 'longs to myself, but who's she 'long to, now ole Miss an'young Miss is dead?" "Yes, who's nigger be I? Whar am I gwine?" Mandy Ann cried, jerking herapron from her head. "In the natural sequence of things you belong to the little girl, " theColonel replied, adding, "I might buy you--" But he got no further. All of Mandy Ann's animosity, when Ted suggestedthat the man from the North had come to buy her, and she had begged hermistress to save her from such a fate, had returned, and she exclaimedvehemently, "Fo' de Lawd, not dat ar. Lemme stay hyar. You 'members Ted, de colored boy on de 'Hatty. ' We's kep' company, off an' on, a year, sometimes quarrelin', and den makin' up. I can't leave Ted. " Her soul was in her eyes, as she begged for herself and Ted, and theColonel hastened to say, "You did not let me finish. I couldn't buy you, if I would, and if I did I'd set you free. I will see that this is donesome time. " "Bress you, Mas'r, for dat ar, " Mandy Ann began, but the Colonel stoppedher by saying, "You are young to be keeping company. " "I'se 'most as ole as Miss Dory when lill chile was born, " was thereply, which silenced the Colonel with regard to her age. He had quite a liking for Mandy Ann, and meant to do all he could forher and Jake, and after some further conversation it was arranged thatshe should stay with the latter, the Colonel promising to see that herwages were paid, and saying that she could keep the money for herself. He was certainly acting generously towards the two blacks, who wouldhave been happy but for the parting with the child, which weighed soheavily upon them. There was not much time left, for the "Hatty" sailedearly the next morning, and the Colonel must be on board that night. Great as was their grief it was nothing compared to the antagonism ofthe child, when she heard she was to go with the Colonel, and leave Jakeand Mandy Ann behind. She would _not_ go, she said, and fought like alittle tiger when that evening the Colonel came for her, and Mandy Anntried to dress her for the journey. Under the table, and lounge, andchairs she crawled in her efforts to hide, and finally springing intoJake's lap begged him to keep her, promising to be good and never callhim nor Mandy Ann niggers again, and nearly breaking Jake's heart withher tears and pretty coaxings. At last worn out with excitement, andfeeling that the battle was against her, she sobbed, "Go wid me, Shaky, if I goes. " "I 'spects I'll hev to go part way--say to Savannah--ef you gets her offquiet. Thar's that in her will make her jump inter de river ef we pushesher too far, " Jake said, and the Colonel, who was sweating like rain, and did not care for a scene on the "Hatty, " finally consented for Jaketo accompany them to Savannah, trusting Providence for what mightfollow. Thus quieted the child made no resistance when Mandy Ann changed hersoiled white dress for one more suitable for the trip, and then began topack her few belongings. Here the Colonel stopped her. He did not knowmuch about children's clothes, but he felt intuitively that nothing ofthe child's present wardrobe would ever be worn at Crompton Place. Hedid not say this in so many words, but Mandy Ann understood him andasked, "Ain't she to carry nothin'?" "Nothing but what is necessary on the road, " the Colonel replied, and anold satchel was filled with a night-dress, a clean apron, a pair ofstockings, and Mandy Ann's tears, which fell like rain as she performedher last office for the little girl, who, now that Jaky was going, beganto look forward to the trip with childish delight. Judy was wrapped carefully in paper and put into the satchel, and thenshe was ready. Mandy Ann went with her to the boat, where, as it waslate, scarcely any one was visible except Ted, to whom Mandy Annintrusted her charge, bidding him _'muse_ her when he could, andwhispering to him the good luck which had come to her and Jake throughthe Colonel's generosity. Then with a terrible wrench in her heart, shetook the child in her arms and said, "Doan' you forget me, honey, an'some time you'll be comin' agen. Oh, I can't bar it!" and with a wailwhich was scarcely like a human cry she dropped the child, and hurryingfrom the boat ran swiftly up the lane, and was soon out of sight. Therewere two or three bursts of tears for Mandy Ann, but for the most partthe little girl was quiet until Savannah was reached, and she heard Jakewas to leave her. Then she showed of what she was capable, and theColonel looked on aghast, wondering what he should do when Jake wasgone. She had played on the way with Judy, whose appearance had provokeda smile from some of the passengers, making the Colonel wonder if therewere not something more reputable in looks than Judy, with her featuresof ink and the sewed-up gash in the side of her neck from which a littlebran was still oozing. He didn't know much about dolls, but was surethere must be some in Savannah, and he went on a tour of inspection, andfound a gold ring with a small stone in it for Mandy Ann in place of theone buried with poor Dory. This he would give to Jake to take home tothe negro girl, he thought, and then continued his search for dolls, finding one which could stand up, and sit down, and was gorgeous in asatin dress, with earrings in its ears. This was more in keeping withhis ideas, and he took it to the hotel, hoping he had seen the last ofJudy, who, he suggested, should be thrown away. He didn't know children. The little girl was delighted with her new doll, which she handledgingerly, as if afraid to touch it, and which she called Mandy Ann. Butshe clung to Judy just the same, quite to the disgust of the Colonel. Poor Jake grew thin during the few days they spent in Savannah, and heknew he was nearing the end. "I must buy her somfin', " he thought, and one morning when he waswalking with her past a dry goods store he saw in the window a littlescarlet merino cloak, lined with white satin, and looking so pretty thathe stopped to look at it, while the little girl jumped up and down, exclaiming, "Oh, the buffitel cloak. Me wants it, Shaky; me wants it. " Going into the store Jake inquired the price, which was so large thathis heart sank. It would take nearly all the money he had with him tobuy it, but reflecting that the Colonel was paying his bills, and thaton his return home he could eat two meals a day, and light ones at that, until he had saved the required sum, he bought the cloak; and, when thefinal parting came, wrapped it round the little girl, and carrying herto the steamer put her down, and left hurriedly, while she rolled on thefloor screaming for Shaky, and bumping her head against a settee. As theboat moved off, Jake stood on the wharf watching it for a long distance, with a feeling that all the brightness of his life had vanished with thelittle girl, whom the harassed and half-crazed Colonel would have givenmuch to have left with him had it been practicable. CHAPTER X EUDORA The Colonel had been gone nearly three weeks and no one knew where hewas, or thought it strange that they didn't. It was his habit to gosuddenly and return just as suddenly. Peter had his opinion, and feltcurious to know if the Colonel would bring back Jake and Mandy Annbesides the child, and had many a hearty laugh by himself as he imaginedthe consternation of the household when this menagerie was turned inupon them. Naturally his master would let him know when to expect him, he thought, and was greatly surprised one morning when a station hackdrove into the yard, and the Colonel entered the house looking yearsolder than when he went away. With him was a little girl, three years old or more, clinging to hishand as if in fear. Her garments were all coarse and old-fashioned, except the scarlet merino cloak. The hood was drawn over her head, andfrom it there looked out a pair of eyes, which, had Peter ever heard ofthe word, he would have said were uncanny, they were so large, andbright, and moved so rapidly from one object to another. She dropped thehood from her head, and began tugging at the ribbons of her cloak, whileher lip quivered as if she were about to cry. It came at last, not likeanything Peter had ever heard, and was more like a howl than a cry, for"Shaky; me wants Shaky. " It was loud, and shrill, and penetrated to all parts of the house, bringing Sally, the cook, Jane, the chambermaid, and Sam, the coachman, all into the hall, where they stood appalled at what they saw. "Shaky, Shaky, " the child wailed on, frightened by the strange facesaround her, and as he did not come she threw herself upon the floor, andbegan to bump her head up and down, her last resort when her paroxysmswere at their height. The Colonel had borne a good deal since leaving Savannah, and had morethan once been tempted to turn back and either bring Shaky, or leave thechild with him. She had cried for him till she was purple in the face, and the stewardess had struck her on her back to make her catch herbreath, and then taken her in her arms, and tried to comfort her. Perhaps it was owing to her color that the child took to her so readilythat the Colonel said to her, "Keep her quiet, if you can, and I do notcare what I pay you. " After that the little girl staid mostly with the stewardess, and wascomparatively happy. Judy was a great comfort to her, and she kept ithugged to her bosom through the day, and slept with it at night, andwhen she reached the Crompton House it was in the inside pocket of hercloak. Becoming detached from the pocket as she rolled on the floor itfell at Peter's feet, making him start, it was so unlike anything he hadseen in years. "Great guns!" he exclaimed, spurning it with his foot, and sending itnear the child, who snatched it up with a cry of "Judy, Judy, my Judy. " "Who is she, and where did she come from?" the cook asked, while Janetried to soothe the excited child. "Her name is Eudora Harris, " the Colonel said. "Her father is a sneakingscoundrel; her mother was a good woman, and my friend. She is dead, andthere is no one to care for her child but myself. I have brought herhome to bring up as my own. Jaky is the colored man who took care of herwith Mandy Ann, a colored girl. She will cry for her by and by. " As if to prove his words true the child set up a howl for Mandy Ann; "mewants Mandy Ann, " while the Colonel continued, "She is to be treated inall respects as a daughter of the house. Get her some decent clothes atonce, you women who understand such things. Don't mind expense. Give hera pretty room, and I think you'd better hunt up some young person tolook after her. Until the girl comes Jane must sleep in the room withher, and don't bother me unless it is necessary; I feel quite used up, and as if I had been through a thrashing-machine. I am not used tochildren, and this one is--well, to say the least, very extraordinary. " This was a good deal for the Colonel to say at one time to his servants, who listened in wonder, none of them knowing anything except Peter, whokept his knowledge to himself. And this was all the explanation theColonel gave, either to his servants, or to the people outside who knewbetter than to question him, and who never mentioned the child in hispresence. Gossip, however, was rife in the neighborhood, and many werethe surmises as to the parentage of the little girl who for a timeturned the Crompton House upside down, and made it a kind of bedlam whenher fits were on, and she was rolling on the floor, and bumping herhead, with cries for Shaky and Mandy Ann. She was homesick, and carednothing for the beautiful things they brought her. Against the prettydresses she fought at first, and then submitted to them, but kept herold one in a corner of her room, and Susie, the girl hired to attendher, sometimes found her there asleep with her head upon it, and Judyheld closely in her arms. They bought her a doll-house which was fittedup with everything calculated to please a child, but after inspecting ita while she turned from it with a cry for her "shady" under the palmtree in the clearing. The doll, Mandy Ann, which the Colonel had boughtin Savannah, never took the place of Judy, who was her favorite, together with the scarlet cloak, which she would seldom let out of hersight. During the day she kept it round her, saying, "Me's cold, " and atnight she had it near her bed where she could see it the first thing inthe morning. The Colonel knew the town was full of speculation and surmises, but hedid not care. Surmises which went wide of the mark were better than thereal truth would have been, and that he could not tell. He had left alarge part of his past in Florida, and trusted it would not follow him. He could not leave the little girl, and he meant to do his duty by her, outwardly at least. He had no love for her, and could not manufactureone. He would rather she had never been born; but inasmuch as she wasborn, and was very much alive, she must be cared for. There was a private baptism in his library one Sunday afternoon, and shewas christened Amy Eudora. Amy was for his mother; Eudora for no oneknew whom, except Peter, who thought of the smelly letter, and knewthat Eudora was for the young mother, dead somewhere in Florida. But heheld his tongue, and tried to make up to the little girl her loss ofShaky, for whom she cried for days. Then, as she grew accustomed to hersurroundings, she became contented, and her merry chatter filled thehouse from morning till night. Every one was devoted to her, except theColonel. He was kind, but never encouraged her advances; never kissedher, never took her in his lap, or allowed her in his library. Shecalled him father, and he answered to the name, while she was EudoraHarris to others. He tried at first to call her Amy, but she stoutlyresisted. "Me's Dory. Shaky and Mandy Ann calls me Dory, " she would say, with astamp of her foot, refusing to answer to any name but Dory, which cameat last to be Dora as she grew older. She learned to read in the new school-house by the south gate of thepark, and when she heard that the Colonel built it, she called it hers, and queened it over her companions with an imperiousness worthy of theColonel himself. When questioned of her old home her answers were vague. There was a river somewhere, and her mother was sick, and she reckonedshe had no father but Shaky. As she grew older, she became very reticent of her past, and, if sheremembered it at all, she held her tongue, like Peter. Once, when shewas more than usually aggressive, claiming not only the school-house buteverything in and around it, she was told by the children that she livedwith niggers till she came to Crompton Place, and they guessed hermother was one, and nobody knew anything about her anyway. There was afierce fight in which Dora came off victorious, with a scratch or twoon her face and a torn dress. That afternoon the Colonel was confrontedby what seemed a little maniac, demanding to know if her mother wasblack, and if she had lived only with negroes until she came toCrompton. "No, to both questions, and never let me hear another word on thesubject as long as you live, " was the Colonel's answer, given with asternness before which the girl always quailed. She was afraid of the Colonel, and kept aloof from him as much aspossible, rarely seeing him except at meal times, and then saying verylittle to him and never dreaming how closely he watched her, attributingevery pecularity, and she had many, to the Harris taint, of which he hada mortal terror. But however much or little there might have been of theHarris blood in her, the few who knew her found her charming, as shegrew from childhood into a beautiful girl of eighteen, apparentlyforgetful of everything pertaining to her Florida home. The doll-house, with all the expensive toys bought for her, had been banished to a roomin the attic, and with them finally went Judy and Mandy Ann. The redcloak she seemed to prize more than all her possessions. It was more inkeeping with her surroundings than Judy, and she often wrapped it aroundher as she sat upon the piazza, when the day was cool, and sometimeswore it on her shoulders to breakfast in the morning. Once she asked theColonel where it came from, and he answered "Savannah, " and went onreading his paper with a scowl on his forehead which warned her she wason dangerous ground. He was not fond of questions, and she did not oftentrouble him with them, but lived her silent life, increasing in beautywith every year, and guarded so closely from contact with the outerworld that she scarcely had an intimate acquaintance. It was not the Colonel's wish that she should have any. Indeed, hehardly knew what he did want. He was aristocratic, and exclusive, andwished to make her so, and keep her from contact with the common herd, as he secretly designated the people around him. He knew she wasbeautiful, with an imperiousness of manner she took from him, and asweet yielding graciousness she took from her mother. Sometimes a smile, or turn of her head, or kindling in her eyes, would bring the dead womanso vividly to his mind that he would rise suddenly and leave the room, as if a ghost were haunting him. On these occasions he was sterner thanusual with Eudora, who chafed under the firm rein held upon her, andlonged to be free. The Colonel had it in his mind to take her to Europe, hoping to secure adesirable marriage for her. He should tell her husband, of course, whoshe was, knowing that money and position would atone for the Harrisblood, and feeling that in this way he would be entirely freed from thepage of life which did not now trouble him much. He was still Cromptonof Crompton, with his head as high as ever. The Civil War had swept overthe land like a whirlwind. Tom Hardy had been among the first to enlistin the Southern army, and been killed in a battle. The Colonel had heardof his death with a pang, and also with a certain feeling of relief, knowing that he was about the only one who possessed a knowledge of hisfolly, or his whereabouts. There was still Jake, who wrote occasionally, asking for his _lill Miss_ and telling of Mandy Ann, whom the war hadmade free, and who had married Ted, and was living in her own houseoutside the clearing. Everything was out of the way except Eudora, who, before he had proposed his trip to Europe, took herself from him in amost summary manner. The restraint laid upon her was becoming more thanshe could bear, and she rebelled against it. "I shall elope some day--see if I don't, " she said to Peter, who stillremained in the family, and was her confidant in most things. "I shallsay 'yes' to the first man who proposes, and leave this prison for theworld, and the grand sights which Adolph says are everywhere. Here I am, cooped up with no young society, and seldom allowed to attend a picnic, or party, or concert, and I do so enjoy the latter, only I often feel asif I could do better than the professionals. Adolph says I can, and heknows. " Adolph Candida was her music teacher, who, alone of the young men inCrompton, had free access to the house. He was a fine fellow as well asteacher, and had done much to develop Dora's taste and love for music, which had strengthened with her years, until her voice was wonderful forits scope and sweetness. Naturally there sprang up between the youngpeople an affection which ripened into love, and Candida was told byEudora to ask her father's sanction to their marriage. That she couldstoop to care for her music teacher the Colonel never dreamed, and wasspeechless with surprise and anger when asked by the young Italian forher hand. To show him the door was the work of a moment, and then Dorawas sent for. She came at once, with a look in her eyes which made theColonel hesitate a little before he told her what he had done, and whathe expected her to do. "If you disobey me in the slightest, you are no longer a daughter of myhouse, " he said, in the cold, hard tone which Dora knew so well, and hadfeared so much. But the fear was over now. Something had transformed the timid girl intoa woman, with a courage equal to the Colonel's. For a time she stoodperfectly still, with her eyes fixed upon the angry man, listening tohim until he spoke of her as the daughter of the house; then, with agesture of her hands, which bade him stop, she exclaimed, "I did notknow I was daughter of anything. For fifteen years I have lived here, and though you have been kind to me in your way, you have surroundedyourself with an air of reserve so cold and impregnable that I havenever dared ask you who I am, since I was a child, and asked you aboutmy mother. You told me then never to mention that subject again, and Inever have. But do you think I have forgotten that I had a mother? Ihave not. I do forget some things in a strange way. They come in amoment and go, and I cannot bring them back, but the face I think wasmother's is not one of them. Of my father I remember nothing. I havebeen told that when you brought me here you said he was a scoundrel! Areyou he? Are you my father?" The Colonel was white as a sheet, and his lips twitched nervously, as ifit were hard for them to frame the word No, which came at lastdecidedly. Over Dora's face a look of disappointment passed, and herhands grasped the back of a chair in front of her, as if she neededsupport. "If you are not my father, who and what was my mother?" was her nextquestion, and the Colonel replied, "She was an honest woman. Besatisfied with that. " "I never for a moment thought her dishonest, " the girl exclaimed, vehemently. "I remember her as some one seen in a dream--a frail littlebody, with a sweet face which seldom smiled. There were other facesround us--dusky ones--negroes, weren't they?" Her eyes compelled the Colonel to bow assent, and she continued, "Ithought so, and our home was South; not a grand home like this, but acabin, I think. Wasn't it a cabin?" Again the Colonel bowed, and Dora went on, "There came a day when it wasfull of people, and somebody was in a box, and I sat in Shaky's lap. Ihave never forgotten him. He was all the father I knew. " The Colonel drew a long breath, and she went on, "He held me up, andbade me kiss the white face in the box. That was my mother?" Again her eyes made the Colonel bow assent, and she continued, "Afterthat there is a blank, with misty recollections of another box on thetable, and a walk across hot sands with Shaky, and then I came here, where you have tried hard to blot all the past from my memory, as if itwere something of which to be ashamed. But I shall find my mother'sfamily some day, and Shaky, if he is living, and shall know all aboutit. There was a girl, too--Mandy Ann. I called the doll you gave me forher. She took care of me when Shaky didn't. He is more distinct. He tookyou to the graves the day you came for me, and I went with you andshowed you my play-house under the palm tree--the poor little thing, but dearer to me than the best you have ever given me, because it washedged round with love, even if it were the love of negroes. Things arecoming back to me now so vividly, pressing on my brain which feels as ifit would burst, and I remember the blacks, and their prayer meetings, and the songs they sang, and their hallelujahs and amens sound in myears, and I think they always have, and helped me on and up when I havebeen practising difficult music. When a child at school I was oftentaunted and mocked for what the children called my negro brogue andtalk. We had several battles in which I generally beat, although I wasone against a dozen. There is a good deal of fight in me which I musthave inherited from my father, who, I suppose, was a Southerner, if youare not he. " The Colonel only glared at her, and she continued, "I have been told, too, that there is a negro twang in my voice, and I am glad of it, andtry to imitate the sounds which come to me from a past I so dimlyremember, and which I think are echoes from some negro _prar_ meeting. You see I have not forgotten the dialect of my early surroundings, andsome day--I tell you again, I shall find the place and the graves of mypeople, and know what you have kept from me so carefully. " "Better not. You'll be sorry if you do. Your mother's family wereCrackers, " the Colonel said. "You would not be proud of the connection, although they were respectable people. " If Dora had ever heard of Crackers she knew very little about them, andcared less. She was greatly excited, and her eyes flashed and glowedwith that light which Mr. Mason and Peter had noticed years before, andfrom which the Colonel turned away as from something dangerous. "My mother was a Cracker? My father was a Mr. Harris--a Cracker, too. Iam not your daughter, as I have been weak enough at times to believe, and--yes, I will confess it--I was weak enough to be proud that I was aCrompton; but that is over now; my father and mother were Crackers. I ama Cracker, and Eudora Harris. I am eighteen, and my ownmistress--amenable to the authority of no one. I am glad for that, as itmakes me free to do as I please. Good evening. " She bowed and left the room, leaving him stunned that she dared defyhim, and half resolved to call her back and tell her the truth. But hedidn't, and it was years before he saw her again. The next morning she was missing. She had gone with Candida--where, hetook no pains to inquire. She sent him a New York paper, with a noticeof her marriage, and the names of herself and husband in the list ofpassengers sailing on the Celtic. He put the paper in the fire with thetongs, and after that a great silence fell upon the house, and theColonel grew more reserved than ever, and more peculiar. He forbade theservants to mention Dora's name, or tell him where she was, if theyknew. They didn't know, and many years went by, and to all intents andpurposes she was dead to those who had known her as a bright, beautifulgirl. Jake, who wrote to inquire for her, was told that she had run awayand married, and the Colonel neither knew nor cared where she was, andwas not to be troubled with any more letters, which he should notanswer. Jake was silenced, and there was no link connecting the Colonelwith the past, except his memory which lashed him like the stings ofscorpions. His hair turned white as snow; there was a stoop between hisshoulders, and his fifty-five years might have been sixty-five, he agedso fast, as time went on, and his great house became so intolerable tohim that he at last hailed with delight an event which, sad as it was insome respects, brought him something of life and an interest in it. PART II CHAPTER I HOWARD CROMPTON TO JACK HARCOURT "Crompton House, June --, 18--. "Dear Jack: "I have bearded the lion in his den and found him a harmless old cove, after all, with many of his fangs extracted. You know, I am the son ofhis half-brother, who was many years his junior. I fancy the two neveragreed very well, and when I wrote, proposing that I should visitCrompton House, I was surprised at the cordial reply, bidding me pack upmy traps and come at once. I packed up and came, and, if I know myself, I shall stay. I am the only near relative he has in the world. He has alarge estate to dispose of, was never married, and, of course, has nochildren, unless-- "There must everlastingly be an _unless_, or a _but_ somewhere, and hereit is--a big one in the shape of a woman--a lovely woman, too, if she isnearer forty than twenty. Don't you remember I once told you of a girlwhom my uncle brought home from the South, and who ran off with hermusic teacher, an Italian. Well, she is here--a wreck physically andmentally in one sense; not exactly insane, but with memory so impairedthat she can tell nothing of her past, or perhaps she does not wish to. She always says, when questioned about it, 'I don't remember, and itmakes my head ache to try. ' "It seems her first husband, Candida, took her abroad and gave her everyadvantage in music, both in Paris and Italy. When he died she marriedHomer Smith, an American, who was associated with him in some way. Afterhis return to America he got up what was known as the 'Homer Troupe. ' Hedropped his last name, thinking the _Smith_ Troupe would not sound aswell as Homer. His wife was the drawing card. She had a wonderful voiceas a girl, they say, with a peculiarly pathetic tone in it, like whatyou hear in negro concerts, and it was this and her beauty which tookwith the people. She hated the business, but was compelled to sing byher husband, who, I fancy, was a tyrant and a brute. They starred it inthe far West mostly, until her health and mind gave way, and she wentraving mad on the stage, I believe. He put her in a private asylum inSan Francisco. How long she was there I don't know, and she don't know. She was always a little queer, they say, and people predicted she wouldbe crazy some time. Her husband died suddenly in Santa Barbara. Justbefore he died he tried to say something, but could only manage to givehis physician the Colonel's address, and say, 'Tell him where my wifeis. ' "Off started the Colonel, lame, and gouty, and rheumatic as he is, andbrought her home, and has set her up as a kind of queen whose slightestwish is to be obeyed. To do her justice she has not many wishes. She isvery quiet, talks but little, and seems in a kind of brown study most ofthe time. Occasionally she rouses up and asks if we are sure he isdead--the he being her husband--the last one, presumably. When we tellher he is she smiles and says, 'I think I'm glad, for now I shall neverhave to sing again in public. ' Then she says in a very different tone, 'Baby is dead, too; and my head has ached so hard ever since that Icannot think or remember, only it was sudden and took my life away. ' "She has an old red cloak which at times she wraps around a shawl, andcuddles it as if it were a baby, crooning some negro melody she heardSouth. There must have been a little child who died, but she is notclear on the subject. Sometimes it is a baby; sometimes a grown girl;sometimes it died in one place; sometimes in another; but always justbefore she was going to sing, and the room was full of coffins until shesank down, and knew no more. Whether my uncle has taken pains to inquireabout the child, I don't know. He does not like children, and issatisfied to have Amy back, and is trying to atone for his formerharshness. He calls her Amy, instead of Eudora, because the latter wasthe name by which she was known in the Homer Troupe, and he saw itflaunted on a handbill advertising the last concert in which she tookpart. "Don't think I have heard all this from him. He is tighter than the barkof a tree with regard to his affairs, and I do not think any one in thetown knows anything definite about her singing in public, or the asylum;but there is a servant, Peter, who has grown old in the family. He knowseverything, and has told me about my uncle bringing the child home, andhow she cried for days for Shaky, a colored man, and slept in the redcloak, and kept it around her in the day-time because he gave it toher. I have learned that she was never lawfully adopted, and that myuncle has made no will. Still she must be something to him, butcertainly not his lawful child, or why his reticence with regard to her. I am the only near relative bearing the Crompton name. I have mademyself very necessary to him--am in fact, in a way, a son of the house. He is very much broken, and if he dies without a will-- "Well, all things come to him who waits, and I can afford to wait insuch comfortable quarters. Do you catch on, and call me a scamp withyour Puritanical notions? Not so fast, old fellow. You have chosen toearn your living delving at the law. I earn mine by being so useful tomy uncle that he will not part with me. He has already made me a kind ofagent to attend to his business, so that I look upon myself aspermanently fixed at Crompton House for as long as I choose to stay. Itis a grand old place, with an income of I do not know how manythousands, and if I should ever be fortunate enough to be master, Ishall say that for once in his life Howard Crompton was in luck. I wantyou to come here, Jack, when you have finished visiting your sister. Iasked my uncle if I could invite you, and he said, 'Certainly; I like tohave young people in the house. It pleases Amy. ' "This is wonderful, as they say he used to keep young people away, almost with lock and key, when she was young. But now anything whichpleases Amy pleases him. "And now for another matter which involves a girl, Eloise Smith. Who isshe, you ask? Well, she is neither high born, I fancy, nor city bred;nor much like the girls from Wellesley and Lasell, with whom we used toflirt. She is a country school-ma'am, and is to be graduated this monthin the Normal School in Mayville, where you are visiting. What is she tome? Nothing, except this: She has haunted me ever since I heard of her, and I can't get rid of an idea that in some way she is to influence mylife. You know I was always given to presentiments and vagaries, and sheis the last one. I might not have thought much of her if my uncle werenot in a great way on her account. Long ago when they changed the nameof the town from Troutburg to Crompton in his honor, he built aschool-house on his premises, and gave it to the town. Since then he hasfelt that he had a right to control it, and say who should teach, andwho shouldn't. For a long time the people humored him, and made himschool inspector, whose business it was to examine the teachers withregard to their qualifications. With his old time notions, he had somevery old-time questions, which with others, he always propounded. As atest of scholarship they were ridiculous; but he was Col. Crompton, andthe people shrugged their shoulders and laughed at what they called theCrompton formula. Here are a few of the questions: First, What is logic?Second, Why does the wind usually stop blowing when the sun goes down? Idon't know; do you? and we are both Harvarders. The third introduces aman in old Colburn's Arithmetic, driving his sheep or geese to market. The fourth is a scorcher, and has to do with the diameter of agrindstone, after a certain number of inches have been ground from it. Then comes what I call the _pièce de résistance_, but which my unclecalled 'killing two birds with one stone. ' He has a fad on writing andspelling, and required his victims to put on paper the following: "'Mr. Wright has a right To write the rites of the church. ' "Blamed if I didn't get stuck on that last _rite_ when he gave it to me!If the teachers got safely through with the sheep, or geese, and thegrindstone, and Mr. Wright, and the rest of them, he gave them acertificate declaring them qualified to teach a district school. Inthese days of methods, and analysis, and different ways of looking atthings, all that is exploded, and the Crompton people have dropped myuncle, who is furious, and charges it to young blood, and the normalschools which have sprung up, and in which he does not believe. 'Nomatter how many diplomas a girl may have, ' he says, 'proving that shehas stood up in a white gown, and read an esay nobody within four feetof the rostrum could hear, or care to hear, if they could, she ought topass a good solid examination to see if she were rooted and grounded inthe fundamentals, ' and when he heard that a normal graduate was engagedfor District No. 5, he swore a blue streak at the girl, the trustee whohired her, and the attack of gout which keeps him a prisoner in thehouse, and will prevent his interviewing Miss Smith, as he certainlywould if he were able. I tried to quiet him by offering to interview hermyself. Think of me in a district school-house, talking to the teacherabout the diameter of a grindstone! The absurdity must have struck myuncle. You should have seen the look he gave me over his spectacles, ashe said, 'You, who know nothing, except ball games, and boat races, andraising the devil generally, interview a girl with a diploma! You wouldprobably end by making love to her, but I won't have it; mind, I won'thave it! Remember, you are a Crompton, and no Crompton ever marriedbeneath him!' Here he stopped suddenly, and turned so white that I wasalarmed, and asked what ailed him. "'Nothing, ' he said, 'nothing but a twinge. I had an awful one. ' "I suppose he referred to his foot, which was pretty bad that day. Aftera little, quite to my surprise, he said, 'If you knew anything yourself, you might manage to see if this Smith girl knows anything. Amy can coachyou. She is rooted and grounded. She was taught in the old school-house, which I would never have given the town but for her. ' "What he meant I don't know. What I do know is that Amy has told me whythe wind stops blowing when the sun goes down, but I'll be hanged if Iunderstand much about the rarefaction of the air. Do you? She was veryglib with the sheep and the geese, but the grindstone made her headache, and she gave it up. I think, however, I have all the knowledgenecessary to judge whether a girl is rooted and grounded, and now I wantto know something about the girl. Manage to see her while you are inMayville. Attend the commencement exercises. She is sure to read anessay in a white gown. Write me what she is like, and if I am likely tofall in love with her. Come as soon as you can. "Always your friend, "HOWARD CROMPTON. " CHAPTER II JACK HARCOURT TO HOWARD CROMPTON Mayville, July --, 18--. "Dear Howard: "That you are a scamp of the first water goes without saying, insinuating yourself into an eccentric old man's confidence in hopes tobe his heir! I dare say, Amy is his daughter, and you will have to workfor a living after all, and serve you right, too. But have a good timewhile you can, and I'll help you after a little, as I accept yourinvitation with pleasure. "Now for the girl! I have seen her, and if there was ever a case of loveat first sight, I'm that case. It was this way. Mayville is not a verylively place, and when my sister, Mrs. Lovell, who you know has a summerhome here, suggested one morning that we attend the commencementexercises of the Normal School, saying, that twenty-five or thirty younggirls were to be graduated, I concluded that it was better than nothing. I hate such places, as a rule, they are so close and stuffy, and theessays so long and dull, and the girls all look pretty much alike, and Ibegged Bell to get a seat as near the door as possible, so I could goout when it became unendurable. Just then your letter was brought to me, and after reading it, nothing could have kept me from Eloise Smith. Iasked Bell if she knew her. "'I don't know many of the girls by name, ' she said, 'but I have heardof Eloise Smith. She sings in the choir, and is a basket-boarder of Mrs. Brown's. ' "'What the mischief is a basket-boarder?' I asked, and Bell explainedthat girls sometimes hire a room, and bring their food from home, andhave the family with whom they lodge cook it for them, or cook itthemselves on the family stove. A kind of picnic to get an education, you see, and just think of all we spent uselessly in college. Why, itwould keep a lot of basket-boarders. Well, we started for the chapel, which was literally crammed, and the thermometer at ninety. You know, Mr. Lovell is wealthy, and from New York, and that makes Bell a kind ofswell woman in the place, while I fancy your humble servant hadsomething to do with the attention we received. Instead of a seat by thedoor, we were pushed to the front, within ten feet of the rostrum, and Iwas wedged in with Bell on one side of me, afraid I'd jam her sleeves, and on the other side was a woman, who weighed at least two hundred, andwas equally afraid of her sleeves. In front of me was a hat so big thatI couldn't begin to see all the stage, and but for Eloise I'd have gotout some way, I was so uncomfortable with Bell fanning on one side tillthat rheumatic spot on my shoulder, which troubled me some at Harvard, began to ache, and the fat woman the other side mopping her face with ahandkerchief saturated with cheap perfumery, and the big hat in frontflopping and nodding this way and that, and no place to stretch my longlegs. "There was a prayer, a song circle, and _et ceteras_, and a greatflutter in a row of white dresses, and many colored ribbons to my left. 'The Graduates, ' Bell whispered, and the business of the day began. There were eight in all to read essays--nice looking girls, and muchlike the Lasells and Wellesleys we used to know. As for theessays--well, there was either a good deal of bosh in them, or aprofundity of learning and thought to which Jack Harcourt neverattained. But the people cheered like mad whenever one was ended, andsent up flowers, while I grew hotter and hotter, and when the seventhwent up, and unfolded the 'Age of Progress and Reason, ' which looked asif it might last an age, I made up my mind to bolt, and said so to Bell. "'Keep still; there's only one more after this one, and that is EloiseSmith, ' she said. "I thought of you, and settled myself for another fifteen minutes, whilea red-haired girl in glasses went through the 'Age of Progress andReason' with great applause, and a basket of flowers, and bowed herselfoff the stage. There was a little delay. Somebody had fainted. I wonderthey didn't all faint, the air was so hot and thick; and to crown all, the window near us had to be shut, because that fat woman didn't want adraught on her back! When they got the fainting person out, and thewindow shut, I saw the flutter of a white dress, and knew the eighth andlast essay was coming. "'That's Eloise, ' Bell said, as a slender little girl walked on to therostrum, looking as fresh, and cool, and sweet as a--well, as the whitelilies of which I am so fond. "'By George!' I said, so loud that those nearest me must have heard me, and wondered what ailed me. "Perhaps she heard me, for she looked at me with her beautiful eyes, which steadied me, and kept me quiet all through her essay. Don't askme what it was about. I don't know. I was so absorbed in the girlherself, she was so graceful, and pretty, and self-possessed, and hervoice was so musical that I could think of nothing but her; and when shefinished I cheered louder than anybody else, and kept on cheering asthey do in plays when they want them to come back, till Bell nudged myside, and whispered, 'Are you crazy? Everybody is looking at you. ' "I was a little ashamed to be spatting away alone, but it pleased thefat woman, who proved to be Mrs. Brown, the keeper of thebasket-boarders. "'That's Miss Smith. She done nice, didn't she, and she or'to of hadsome flowers, ' she said to me; and then I remembered with a pang thatnot a flower had been sent up to her--the flower of them all--and wishedI had a whole green-house to give her. "Did she think of it? I wondered, as I watched her after she sat down. The big hat had moved a little, and I could see the top of Eloise'shead, with its crown of reddish-brown hair, on which a gleam of sunshinefrom a window fell, bringing out tints of gold, as well as red. Thatsounds rather poetical, don't it? for a prosy chap who professes neverto have been moved by any piece of femininity, however dainty. I'llconfess I was moved by this little girl. She is very slight and veryyoung, I judge. I like Mrs. Brown, and do not think her perfumery bad, or herself very fat, and am glad they had the window shut for her. Iwouldn't have her in a draught for anything, because she told me Eloisewas the nicest girl she ever had in her house, and the best scholar inher class. Of course she is; I'd swear to that. She may not be rootedand grounded in the fundamentals your queer old uncle thinks necessary, and I doubt if she knows about the grindstone, and the rest of it. I'dlaugh to see a great hulking fellow like you questioning her on suchsubjects. I've a great mind to write out the lingo, and send it to heranonymously, so she will be prepared to satisfy your uncle, who, Ifancy, is the Great Mogul of Crompton. "I got quite chummy with Mrs. Brown before the exercises were over, andshe told me Eloise lived in North Mayville with her grandmother, andthat she was real glad she had a place to teach in Crompton, for sheneeded it. "'Poor?' I asked, feeling ashamed of myself for the question. "But Mrs. Brown saw nothing wrong in it, and answered, 'Very. ' "Just then Bell nudged me again, and said, 'Let's go. We can get outnow. You don't care to see them receive their diplomas?' "But I did, and sat it out till Eloise had hers, and I saw her faceagain, and saw, too, what I had not noticed before, that her dresslooked poor and plain beside the others. Of course she's poor; but whatdo I care for that? I am a good deal struck, you see, and if there werenothing else to bring me to Crompton, Eloise would do it. So expect mein September about the time her school commences. When will that be? "Very truly, "JACK HARCOURT. " CHAPTER III ELOISE It was a brown, old-fashioned house such as is common in New England, with low ceilings, high windows, and small panes of glass, and in thecentre a great chimney of a fashion a hundred years ago. In the grassplot at the side, where clothes were bleached and dried, there shouldhave been a well-sweep and curb to complete the picture, but insteadthere was a modern pump where an elderly woman was getting water, andthrowing away three or four pails full, so that the last might be freshand sparkling for the coffee she was to make for the early breakfast. Above the eastern hills the sun was rising, coloring everything with arosy tinge, and the air was full of the song which summer sings, offlowers and happy insect life, when she is at her best. But the womanneither heard the song nor saw the sunshine, her heart was so heavy withthoughts of the parting which was so near. "I can't let her know how bad I feel, " she said, fighting back hertears, as she prepared the dainty breakfast which she could scarcelytouch, but which her grand-daughter, Eloise, ate with the healthyappetite of youth, and then turned her attention to strapping her trunk, while her grandmother began to fill a paper box with slices of bread andbutter, and whatever else she could find, and thought Eloise would likeon the road. "There, I've got it done at last, and hope it will hold till I getthere, the old lock is so shaky, " Eloise said, rising to her feet, andshedding back from her face a mass of soft, fluffy hair. "Please don't put up any more lunch. I can never eat it all, " shecontinued, turning to her grandmother; then, as she saw the tearsdropping from the dim, old eyes, she sprang forward, and exclaimed, "Don't cry. You know we promised we would both be brave, and it is notso very long to Christmas. I shall certainly be home then, and Cromptonis not so very far away. " With a catching kind of sob, the elder woman smiled upon the bright faceuplifted to hers, and said: "I didn't mean to cry, and I am going to bebrave. I am glad you have the chance. " "So am I, " the girl replied, her spirits rising as her grandmother'stears were dried. "Ever since I was engaged to go to Crompton I havefelt an elation of spirits, as if something were going to come of it. Ifit were not for leaving you, and I had heard from California, I shouldbe very happy. When a letter comes, forward it at once, and if necessaryI shall go there during the holidays, and bring her home. I am glad wehave her room all ready for her. I must see it once more. " Running upstairs she opened the door of a large chamber, and stood for amoment inspecting it. Everything was plain and cheap, from the pinewashstand to the rag carpet on the floor; but it was cosey andhome-like, and the girl who had worked in it so much, papering andpainting it herself, with her grandmother's help, and then arrangingand rearranging the furniture until it suited her, thought it fine, andsaid to herself, "She'll like it better than any room she ever had atthe grandest hotel. I wish she were here. Mother's room, good-by. " She kissed her hand to it and ran downstairs, for it was time to go. Thetrain was drawing up at the station, a short distance from hergrandmother's door, and in a few minutes she was speeding away towardsCrompton. At nearly the same hour Jack Harcourt was starting from NewYork for his promised visit to Crompton. His letter has given someinsight into his character, but a look at his face will give a better. It was not a very handsome face, but it was one which every man, andwoman, and child would trust, and never be deceived. For a young man oftwenty-six he had seen a good deal of life, both at home and abroad, butthe bad side had made but little impression upon him. "It slips from Jack like water from a duck's back, while we poorwretches get smirched all over, " Howard Crompton was wont to say of him, when smarting from some temptation to which he had yielded, and whichJack had resisted. They had been friends since they were boys of eighteen in Europe, andHoward had nursed him through a fever contracted in Rome. They had alsobeen chums in Harvard, where both had pulled through rather creditably, and where Jack had acted as a restraint upon Howard, who was fonder oflarks than of study. "Are you sure he is the right kind of friend for you?" Jack'ssister--who was many years his senior, and who stood to him in the placeof a mother--sometimes said to him; and he always answered, "He isn't abad sort, as fellows go. Too lazy, perhaps, for a chap who has nothingbut expectations from a crabbed, half-cracked old uncle, and not alwaysquite on the square. But he is jolly good company, and I like him. " Something of this sort he said to his sister, who was in her New Yorkhome on the day when he was starting for Crompton, and had expressed herdoubts of Howard's perfect rectitude in everything. "He isn't a saint, " he said to her, "but I don't forget how he stuck tome in that beastly place on the Riviera, while every soul of the partybut him hurried off, afraid of the fever. He is having a grand time atCrompton, and I'm going to help him a while, and then buckle down tohard work in the office. So good-by, and don't worry. " He kissed her and hurried off to the station, bought the "Century, " putseveral expensive cigars in the pocket of his overcoat, took a chair ina parlor car, and felt, as the train sped away out of the city, that itwas good to live, and that Crompton held some new pleasure andexcitement for him, who found sunshine everywhere. Moving in the same direction and for the same point was another train, in which Eloise sat, dusty and tired, and homesick for the oldgrandmother and the house under the big poplar tree. Added to this was aharrowing anxiety for news from California. "If I do not hear by Christmas, I shall certainly take an extra week inmy vacation, and go there, " she thought; and then she began to wonderabout Crompton, and District No. 5, and if she would have any troublewith the big boys and girls, and how she would like Mrs. Biggs, who hadboarded the school teachers for twenty years, and was to board her; andif by any chance she would ever see the inside of the Crompton House, ofwhich she had heard from a friend who had visited in the town and hadgiven glowing descriptions of it. At last, as the air in the car grew cooler, she fell asleep, and did notwaken till the sun was down, and a great bank of black clouds waslooming up in the west, with mutterings of thunder, and an occasionalflash of lightning showing against the dark sky. She might not havewakened then if the car had not given a lurch, with a jar which broughtevery one to his feet. The train was off the track, and it would be twoor three hours before it was on again, the conductor said to the crowdeagerly questioning him. There was nothing to do but wait, and Eloisedid it philosophically. She had dined from her lunch box in the middleof the day, and was now glad that her grandmother had put so much in it, as it not only served her for supper, but also a tired mother and twohungry children. As the car began to grow close again, she left it for abreath of the fresh air, which blew over the hills as the storm camenearer. She heard some one say it was time for the New York Express, which was to pass them at Crompton, and it soon came thundering on, butstopped suddenly when it found its progress impeded. She saw thepassengers alight to ascertain the cause of the hindrance, and heardtheir impatient exclamations at the delay, which would seriouslyinconvenience some of them. "It may be midnight before we reach Crompton. I wonder if Howard willmeet me at that late hour, " she heard a young man say, the smoke fromhis cigar blowing in her face as he passed where she was sitting on astump. "He is sure to be there. I saw him day before yesterday, and he is wildto have you come. I fancy he finds it rather dull with only a cranky oldman and a half-crazy woman for associates. Howard wants life and fun, "was the reply of his companion, and then the two young men were out ofhearing. Who Howard was, or the cranky old man and half-crazy woman, Eloise hadno idea, nor did she give them a thought. One thing alone impressedher, --the late hour when she would probably arrive at Crompton. Wouldany one be there to meet her, or any conveyance, and if not, how was sheto find her way to Mrs. Biggs? "Grandma says never cross a river till you reach it, when you willprobably find a plank, if nothing more, " she thought, and settledherself to wait through the long hours which elapsed before the welcome"All aboard!" was sounded, and the two trains were under way, --theaccommodation in front, and the express in the rear. The storm had broken before the trains started, and it increased in suchviolence that when Crompton was reached it was raining in torrents. Thewind was like a hurricane, with alternate flashes of lightning which litup the darkness, and peals of thunder which seemed to shake the trainsas they stopped to let off their passengers. There were but two, theyoung man from the parlor car, and the girl from the accommodation. Thegirl was almost drenched to the skin in the downpour before she couldopen her cotton umbrella, which was at once turned inside out. Holdingher satchel with one hand and struggling to keep her hat on her headwith the other, she was trying to reach the shelter of the station, where a faint light was shining, when the violence of the wind and raindrove her backwards, almost into the arms of a young man hurrying pasther, in a slouched hat and water-proof coat. Thinking him an official, she seized his arm and said, "Oh, please, sir, tell me is there any onehere from Mrs. Biggs's, or any way to get there?" Her question was inopportune, for at that moment the stranger's umbrellamet a like fate with her own, and was turned inside out, while hers, loosened by the opening of her hand, went sailing off into the darknessand rain. She thought she heard an oath before the stranger replied thathe knew nothing of Mrs. Biggs, and did not think any conveyance wasthere at that hour. "Hallo, Jack! Is that you? and did you ever know such an infernal storm?Nearly takes one off his feet. My umbrella has gone up; so will yours ifyou open it. Didn't see you till I was right on you, " was his nextexclamation, as a vivid flash of lightning lit up the platform, andshowed Eloise two young men clasping hands within three feet of her. Howard Crompton had been to the station at the appointed time, andlearned of the delay of the train in which he expected his friend. Latera telephone had told him when the belated train would arrive, and thecarriage was again ordered, the coachman grumbling, and the Colonelswearing to himself at having the horses go out in such a storm. ToHoward he said nothing. That young man had so ingratiated himself intohis uncle's good opinion, as to be nearly master of the situation. Hewrote and answered most of the Colonel's letters, collected his rents, and looked after his business generally, and did it so well that theColonel was beginning to feel that he could not get on without him, andto have serious thoughts of making it worth his while to stayindefinitely. Nothing could have been further from Howard's wishes than going out solate at night, and in such a storm, but the one unselfish passion of hislife was his attachment to Jack Harcourt. He was not very well pleasedwith the wetting he got, as his umbrella was turned inside out; nor atall interested in the girl asking so timidly for Mrs. Biggs, and in hispleasure at meeting Jack he forgot her entirely, until the same flash oflightning which showed her the two men showed them her white face, withan appealing expression on it which Jack never passed by, whether itwere matron or maid who needed his help. Who the drooping little figurewas, with the water running down her jacket and off her hat in streams, he had no idea from the glimpse he had of her features as the lightningplayed over them for a moment. That she was in trouble was evident, andin return to Howard's greeting, he said, "This is a corker of a storm, and no mistake, and I do believe I am wet through, but, --" and he spokea little lower, --"there's a girl here near us, --alone, too, I dobelieve. " "Yes, I know, " Howard replied. "The station master will see to her. Comeon to the carriage. The horses are plunging like mad. Sam can't holdthem much longer. " He moved away, but Jack stood still, for a second flash of lightning hadshown him Eloise's face again. It was very pale, and tears, as well asrain, were on her cheeks. "Can I do anything for you?" he said, opening his umbrella, and holdingit over her. His voice was that of a friend, and Eloise recognized it as such, andanswered, "I don't know. I am a stranger. I want to go to Mrs. Biggs's. Do you know where she lives?" "I am a stranger, too, and have never heard of Mrs. Biggs, " Jackreplied; "but the station agent will know. He ought to be here. Hallo!you, sir! Why are you not attending to your business? Here is a younglady, " he called out, as the agent at last appeared coming slowly towardthem, holding a lantern with one hand, and his cap on with the other. "I didn't s'pose there was anybody here but Mr. Crompton's friend. Whois she? Where does she want to go? There ain't no conveyance here fornowhere at this hour, " he said, throwing the light of his lantern fullyon Eloise, whose face grew, if possible, a shade paler, and whose voiceshook as she replied, "I want to go to Mrs. Biggs's. I am to board withher. I am the new school teacher, Miss Smith. Can I walk there when thestorm is over? How far is it?" "Great guns!" Jack said under his breath, holding the whole of hisumbrella now over the girl instead of half, while the agent replied, "Walk to Widder Biggs's! I'd say not. It's two good miles from here. You'll have to sit in the depot till it stops rainin' a little, and I'llfind you a place till mornin'. Tim Biggs was here when the train or'toof come, and said he was expectin' a schoolmarm. Be you her?" "Yes, oh, yes; thank you. Let me get into the station as soon as I can. My umbrella is gone, and I am so cold and wet, " Eloise said, withcatches in her breath between the words. "Hold on a minit, " the agent continued. "The Crompton carriage goeswithin quarter of a mile of the Widder Biggs's. I guess the young manwill take you. I will ask him. " "No, let me. I'm sure he will, " Jack interrupted him, and thrusting hisumbrella into Eloise's hand, he stumbled through the darkness to thecorner where he heard Howard calling to him, "Jack, Jack, where inthunder are you?" "Here, " Jack replied, making for the voice, and saying to Howard when hereached him, "Howard, that's Eloise Smith, the girl I wrote youabout, --the school teacher. She hasn't a dry rag on her. Her umbrella islost. She wants to go to Widow Biggs's. The agent says it is not farfrom the Crompton Place. Can't we take her? Of course we can. I'll gofor her. " He hurried off as well as he could, leaving Howard in no very amiableframe of mind. He had laughed at Jack's rhapsodies over Eloise Smith, and said to himself, "His interest in her will never be very lasting, nomatter how pretty she is. Jack Harcourt and a basket-boarder! Ha, ha!Rich. Still, I'd like to see her. " After that he had nearly forgotten her in his absorbing efforts to keepthe right side of his uncle, and entertain Amy. And now she was here, and Jack was proposing to have him take her to Widow Biggs's, which wasa quarter of a mile beyond the park gates, Sam said, when consulted asto the widow's whereabouts. There was no help for it, but he didn't likeit, and there was a scowl on his face as he waited for Jack, who cameat last with Eloise and the agent, whose lantern shed a dim light on thehandsomely-cushioned carriage when the door was open. "I'm not fit to get in there, I am so wet, " Eloise said, drawing back alittle. "As fit as we are, " Jack replied, almost lifting her in, and tilting hisumbrella till one of the sticks struck Howard in the eye, increasing hisdiscomposure, and making him wish both Eloise and Mrs. Biggs in a muchdryer place than he was. "Now, Howard, in with you. There's a little lull in the rain. We'll takeadvantage of it, " Jack continued, as he followed Howard into thecarriage, where both sat down opposite Eloise, who crouched in hercorner, afraid she did not know of what. Certainly not of the man whohad been so kind to her, and who she wished was sitting in front of her, instead of the one who did not speak at all, except to ask Sam how thedeuce they were to know when they reached the Widow Biggs's. "Easy enough. It is a squat-roofed house with lalock and piney bushes inthe yard. " "Yes, but how are we to see a squat roof with lalocks and pineys on thisbeastly night?" Howard rejoined, in a tone which told that he was notanticipating his trip to the widder Biggs's. "Drive on, for heaven'ssake, " he continued, "and don't upset us. It is darker than a pocket. " "No, sir, not if I can help it. I never knew the horses so 'fraid. Easy, Cass--easy Brute, " Sam answered, as in response to a flash of lightningBrutus and Cassius both stood on their hind feet and pawed the air withterror. "Easy, easy, boys. Lightnin' can't strike you but once, " Samcontinued soothingly to the restless, nervous horses, who were at lastgotten safely from the station, and started down the road which leadthrough the village to Crompton Place. CHAPTER IV THE ACCIDENT For a short time the carriage went on smoothly and swiftly through thetown, where the street lamps of kerosene gave a little light to thedarkness. Once out of town in the country Sam became less sure of hisway, and as he could not see his hand before him, he finally left thematter to the horses, trusting their instinct to keep in the road. "I shall know when I reach the gate, and so will Brute and Cass; butwe've got to go farther to the Widder Biggs's, and darned if I b'lievethey'll know the place, " he thought, with a growing conviction of hisinability to recognize Mrs. Biggs's squat roof and lilacs and peonies. The storm which had abated for a short time was increasing again. Thepeals of thunder were more frequent, and with each flash of lightningthe horses grew more unmanageable, until at last they flew along thehighway at a speed which rocked the carriage from side to side, andbegan at last to alarm its occupants. Eloise in her corner was holdingfast to the strap, when a lurid flame filled the carriage for an instantwith a blaze of light. She had removed her hat, and her face, silhouetted against the dark cushions, startled both the young men withits beauty. It was very white, except the cheeks which were flushed withexcitement. Her lips were apart, but her chief beauty was in her eyes, which were full of terror, and which shone like stars as they lookedfrom one young man to the other. "Oh, I am afraid. Let me out. I'd rather walk, " she cried, starting toher feet and grasping the handle of the door. "Please be quiet. There is no danger. You must not get out, " Howardsaid, laying both his hands on hers, which he held for a moment, andpressed by way of reassuring her as he pushed her gently back into herseat. She felt the pressure and resented it, and releasing her hands put thembehind her, lest in the darkness they should be touched again. The samelightning which had showed her face to Howard had also given her aglimpse of his black eyes kindling with surprise and admiration at abeauty he had not expected. A lurch of the carriage sent Jack from hisseat, and Eloise felt him close beside her. Was he going to squeeze herhands, too? She didn't know, and was holding them closely pressed behindher, when there was another flash, a deafening peal of thunder, a crash, and the next she knew the rain was falling upon her face, her head waslying against some one's arm, and two pairs of hands were tugging at hercollar and jacket. "Do you think she is dead?" was asked, in the voice which had told hernot to be afraid. "Dead!" a second voice replied. "She cannot be dead. She must not be. Miss Smith, Miss Smith! Where are you hurt?" It was on the arm of this speaker she was lying, and she felt his breathon her face as he bent over her. With a great effort she moved her headand answered, "I'm not dead, nor hurt either, except my foot, which istwisted under me. " "Thank God!" Jack said, and instantly the two pairs of hands groped inthe dark for the twisted foot. "Oh!" Eloise cried, sitting upright, as a sharp pain shot from her ankleto her head. "Don't touch me. I can't bear it. I am afraid it is broken. What has happened, and where is the carriage?" "Home by this time, if Brutus and Cassius have not demolished it intheir mad fright, " Howard said, explaining that at the last heavy pealof thunder the horses had swerved from the road and upset the carriageat the entrance to the park; that Sam had been thrown to some distancefrom the box, but had gathered himself up, and gone after the horsestearing up the avenue. "I shouted to him to come back with a lantern asquickly as possible. He'll be here soon, I think. Are you in greatpain?" "When I move, yes, " Eloise replied, and then, as the full extent of thecatastrophe burst upon her, she began to cry, --not softly to herself, but hysterically, with sobs which smote both Howard and Jack like blows. It was a novel predicament in which they found themselves, --nearmidnight, in a thunderstorm, with a young girl on the ground unable towalk, and neither of them knowing what to do. Howard said it was adeuced shame, and Jack told her not to cry. Sam was sure to come with alantern soon, and they'd see what was the matter. As he talked he puther head back upon his shoulder, and she let it lie there withoutprotest. After what seemed a long time, Sam came up with a lantern. The carriagewas badly injured, he said, having been dragged through the avenue onits side. Brutus had a gouge on his shoulder from running into a tallshrub; he had hurt his arm when he fell from the box, and the Colonelwas not in a very pious state of mind on account of his damagedproperty. Eloise heard it all, but did not realize its import, her foot waspaining her so badly. Jack had helped her up when Sam came, but shecould not walk, and her face looked so white when the lantern light fellupon it, that both men feared she was going to faint. "What shall we do?" Howard asked, standing first on one foot and then onthe other, and feeling the water ooze over the tops of his shoes. "Take her to the Crompton house, of course. It must be nearer than Mrs. Biggs's, " Jack suggested. Before Howard could reply, Eloise exclaimed, "Oh, no, I can hop on onefoot to Mrs. Biggs's if some one helps me. Is it far?" The two men looked inquiringly at each other and then at Sam, who wasthe first to speak. In the Colonel's state of mind, with regard to hiscarriage and his horses, he did not think it advisable to introduce ahelpless stranger into the house, and he said, "I'll tell you what; didyou ever make a chair with your hands crossed--so?" He indicated what he meant, and the chair was soon made, and Eloiselifted into it. "That's just the thing; but you'll have to put an arm around each of ournecks to steady yourself, " Jack said. "So! That's right! hold tight!" hecontinued, as Eloise put an arm around each neck. Sam was directing matters, and taking up the lantern and Jack'sumbrella, which he had found lying in the mud, he said, "I'll light theway and hold the umbrella over you. It don't rain much now. " "My hat and satchel, please, " Eloise said, but neither could be found, and the strange cortége started. For an instant the ludicrousness of the affair struck both young men, convulsing them with laughter to such an extent that the chair came nearbeing pulled apart and Eloise dropped to the ground. She felt it givingway, and, taking her arm from Howard, clung desperately to Jack. "Don't let me fall, please, " she said. "No danger; hold fast as you are, " Jack answered cheerily, ratherenjoying the feeling of the two arms clasping his neck so tightly. What Howard felt was streams of water trickling down his back from theumbrella, which Sam held at exactly the right angle for him to get thefull benefit of a bath between his collar and his neck. He did not likeit, and was in a bad frame of mind mentally, when, after what seemed aneternity to Eloise, they came to three or four squat-roofed houses in arow, at one of which Sam stopped, confidently affirming it was theWidder Biggs's, although he could not see the "lalock and pineys. " "Knock louder! Kick, if necessary, " Howard said, applying his own footto the door as there came no answer to Sam's first appeal. There was a louder knock and call, and at last a glimmer of lightinside. Somebody was lighting a candle, which was at once extinguishedwhen the door was open, and a gust of wind and rain swept in. "Are you Mrs. Biggs?" Sam asked, as a tall figure in a very shortnight-robe was for a moment visible. "Mrs. Biggs! Thunder, no! Don't you know a man from a woman? She livessecond house from here, " was the masculine response. The door was shut with a bang, and the cortége moved on to the thirdhouse, which, by investigating the lilac bushes and peonies, Sam madeout belonged to the Widder Biggs. It was harder to rouse her than it hadbeen to rouse her neighbor. She was a little deaf, and the noise of thewind and rain added to the difficulty. When she did awaken her firstthought was of burglars, and there was a loud cry to her son Tim to comequick and bring his gun, for somebody was breaking into the house. "Robbers don't make such a noise as that! Open your window and see who'sthere, " was Tim's sleepy answer, as Sam's blows fell heavily upon thedoor, accompanied with thuds from Howard's foot. Mrs. Biggs opened her window cautiously, and thrust out her head, minusher false hair, and enveloped in a cotton nightcap. "Who is it? What has happened? Anybody sick or dead?" she asked; and Samreplied, "Miss Smith is here with a broken laig, for't I know!" "Miss Smith! A broken leg! For the land's sake, Tim, get up quick!" thewidow gasped. Closing the window and putting on a skirt, she descended to the kitchen, lighted an oil lamp, and, throwing open the door, looked at the groupoutside. She was prepared for Sam and Miss Smith, and did not mind herdeshabille for them. But at the sight of two gentlemen, and one of themyoung Mr. Crompton, she came near dropping her lamp. "Gracious goodness!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Crompton! And I half-dressed!Wait till I get on some clothes, and my hair, and my teeth. I am asight to behold. " "Never mind your teeth, nor your hair, nor your best gown, " Sam said, pushing open the door Mrs. Biggs had partially closed, and entering thehouse, followed by Howard and Jack, with Eloise still clinging to Jack'sneck, and half fainting with the pain in her ankle which had increasedfrom hanging down so long. Tim had come by this time, fastening his suspenders as he came, andcaring less for his appearance than his mother. She had disappeared, butsoon returned with teeth, and hair, and clothes in place, and herselfready for the emergency. Following Tim's directions they had put Eloiseon a couch, where she lay with her eyes closed, and so still that theythought she had fainted. "Bring the camphire, Timothy, and the hartshorn, and start up the oilstove for hot water, and move lively. " Mrs. Biggs said to her son. "Idon't believe she's broke her laig, poor thing. How white she is, " shecontinued, laying her hand on Eloise's forehead. This brought the tears in a copious shower, as Eloise sat up and said, "It is my ankle. I think it is sprained. If you could get off my boot. " She tried to lift it, but let it drop with a cry of pain. "I'll bet it's sprained, and a sprain is wus than a break. I had onetwenty years ago come Christmas, and went with my knee on a chair twoweeks, and on crutches three, " was Mrs. Biggs's consoling remark, as sheheld the lamp close to the fast-swelling foot, to which the wet bootclung with great tenacity. "Oh, I can't bear it, " Eloise said, as the process of removing her bootcommenced; then, closing her eyes, she lay back upon the cushions, while one after another, Mrs. Biggs, Howard, Jack, and Tim worked at therefractory boot. It was such a small foot, Jack thought, pitying the young girl, as hesaw spasms of pain upon her face, where drops of sweat were standing. Hewiped these away with Mrs. Biggs's apron, lying in a chair, and smoothedher hair, and took one of her clenched hands in his, and held it whilethe three tried to remove the boot. "'Tain't no use, --it's got to be cut off, --mine did. Tim, bring me thebutcher knife, --the sharpest one, " Mrs. Biggs said. Eloise shuddered, and thought of the only other pair of boots shehad, --her best ones, which were to have lasted a year. But there was noalternative. The boot must be cut off, and Jack continued to hold herhands while, piece by piece, the wet leather dropped upon the floor. "Now for the stockin'; that'll come easier, " Mrs. Biggs said. "Must you take that off now?" Eloise asked, her maidenly modestyprevailing over every other feeling. Howard and Jack understood, and went to the window, while the stockingfollowed the fate of the boot; and when they came back to the couchEloise's foot was in a basin of hot water, and Mrs. Biggs was gentlymanipulating it, and declaring it the worst sprain she ever knew, excepther own, which, after twenty years troubled her at times, and told herwhen a storm was coming. "Ought she to have a doctor?" Jack asked, and Mrs. Biggs replied, "Adoctor? What for, except to run up a bill. I know what to do. She'llhave to keep quiet a spell; wormwood and vinegar and hot water will dothe rest. Tim, go up garret and get a handful of wormwood. It's thebundle of 'arbs to your right. There's catnip, and horehound, andspearmint, and sage, and wormwood. Be lively, and put it to steep insome vinegar, and bring me that old sheet in the under bureau drawer forbandages. " She seemed to know what she was about. Eloise was in good hands, and thetwo water-soaked young men were about to leave when she said, "I guessone of you will have to carry her to her chamber. I can't trust Tim, he's such a blunderhead. " "No, no! Oh, no! I can walk somehow, " Eloise said, starting to her feet, and sinking back as quickly. "Let me. I'll carry her!" Howard and Jack both exclaimed; but somethingin Eloise's eyes gave the preference to Jack, who lifted her as easilyas if she had been a child, and carried her up the narrow stairs to theroom which at intervals had been occupied by one teacher after anotherfor nearly twenty years, for it was understood that Mrs. Biggs was toboard the teachers who had no home of their own in the district. But never had so forlorn or wretched an one been there as poor Eloise. The world certainly looked very dreary to her, and her lip quivered asshe said good-by to Jack, and tried to smile in reply to his assurancethat she would be better soon, and that he would call and see her on themorrow. Then he was gone, and Eloise heard the footsteps and voices ofthe three men as they left the house and hurried away. She was soon inbed, and as comfortable as Mrs. Biggs could make her. That good lady wasa born nurse as well as a gossip, and as she arranged Eloise for whatthere was left of the night, her tongue ran incessantly, first on herown sprain, --every harrowing detail of which was gone over, --then on thetwo young men, Howard Crompton and t'other one, who was he? She knew Mr. Howard, --everybody did. He was Col. Crompton's nephew, and he ruled theroost at the Crompton House, folks said, and would most likely be theColonel's heir, with Miss Amy, as folks called her now. Had Miss Smithever heard of her? Eloise never had, and the pain in her ankle was so sharp that she gavelittle heed to what Mrs. Biggs was saying. She did not know either ofthe young men, she said. Both had been kind to her, and one, shethought, was a stranger, who came in the train with her. "Oh, yes, " Mrs. Biggs answered briskly. "I remember now. Cindy, --that'sMiss Stiles, the housekeeper at Crompton Place, --told me Mr. Howard wasto have company, --another high buck, I s'pose, though Howard don't donothin' worse than drive horses pretty fast, and smoke most all thetime. Drinks wine at dinner, they say, which I disbelieve in on accountof Tim, who never took nothin' stronger'n sweet cider through a straw. " At last, to Eloise's relief, Mrs. Biggs said good-night, and left herwith the remark, "I don't s'pose you'll sleep a wink. I didn't the firstnight after my sprain, nor for a good many nights neither. " CHAPTER V AMY "If this isn't a lark I never had one, " Howard said to Jack, when theywere safely housed and had changed their clothes, not a thread of whichwas dry. Jack, whose luggage had not come, and who was obliged to borrow fromHoward's wardrobe, looked like an overgrown boy in garments too smallfor him. But he did not mind it, and with Howard discussed the events ofthe evening, as they sat over the fire the latter had lighted in hisroom. Naturally Eloise was the subject of their conversation. "I wrote you I had a presentiment that she was to come into my life insome way, but I had no idea it was to be this way, " Howard said, as hepuffed at his cigar and talked of their adventure and Eloise. That she was very handsome and had pretty little feet went withoutsaying, and that both were sorry for her was equally, of course. Jackwas the more so, as his was the more unselfish and sympathetic nature. "By Jove, didn't she bear the cutting of that boot like a hero, and howis she ever to get to school with that ankle?" he said; "and I think sheought to have a doctor to see if any bones are broken. Suppose you getone in the morning, and tell him not to send his bill to her but to me. " Howard looked up quickly, and Jack went on, "I wrote you that Mrs. Brown said she was poor, and I should know it by her boots. " "Her boots!" Howard repeated, and Jack continued, "Yes, wet as they wereI noticed they were half-worn, and had been blacked many times. Shecan't afford to pay many doctor's bills, and I ask you again, how is sheto get to school?" Howard did not know, unless they made another chair and carried her. "I wouldn't mind it much for the sake of her arm around my neck. I canfeel it yet. Can't you?" he said. Jack could feel it and the little wet hand which once or twice hadtouched his face, but something in his nature forbade his talking aboutit. It might have been fun for them, but he knew it was like death tothe girl, and that she had shrank from it all, and only submittedbecause she could not help it. He was very sorry for her, and thought ofher the last moment before he fell asleep, and the first moment he awokewith Howard in the room telling him it was after breakfast time, and hisuncle, who did not like to be kept waiting, was already in a temper andblowing like a northeaster. The Colonel, who was suffering from an attack of rheumatic gout, wasmore irritable than usual. He had not liked having his horses andcarriage go out in the rain, and had sat up waiting for the return ofhis nephew, and when Sam came in, telling what had happened to thecarriage and horses, and that he must go back with a lantern to the parkgates and see if the new school mistress was alive, he went into aterrible passion, swearing at the weather, and the late train, and theschool mistress who he seemed to think was the cause of the accident. "What business had she in the carriage? Why did she come in such astorm? Why didn't she take the 'bus, and if the 'bus wasn't there, whydidn't she--?" He didn't know what, and it took all the tact of Peter, who was still in the family and old like his master, to quiet him. Then next morning his gout was so bad that he was wheeled into thedining-room, where he was fast growing angry at the delay of breakfast, and beginning to swear again when Peter, who knew how to manage him, went for Amy. Nothing quieted the Colonel like a sight of Amy, with hersweet face and gentle ways. "Please come. It's beginning to sizzle, " Peter frequently said to herwhen a storm was brewing, and Amy always went, and was like oil on thetroubled waters. "What is it?" she now asked, and the Colonel replied, "What is it! Ishould say, what is it! There's the very old Harry to pay. Brutus has abig hole in his breast, the carriage is smashed, silk cushions allstained with a girl's blue gown, and that girl the school-teacher Ididn't want; and she's broken her leg or something when they tippedover, and Howard and his friend carried her to Widow Biggs's, and theLord knows what didn't happen!" Amy had a way of seeming to listen very attentively when the Coloneltalked to her, and always smiled her appreciation and approbation ofwhat he said. Just how much she really heard or understood was doubtful. Her mind seemed to run in two channels, --one the present, the other thepast, --and both were blurred and indistinct, --especially the past. Sheunderstood about the young girl, however, and at once expressed hersympathy, and said, "We must do something for her. " To do something for any one in sickness or trouble was her firstthought, and many a home had been made glad because of her since shecame to Crompton. "Certainly; do what you like, only don't bring her here, " the Colonelreplied, his voice and manner softening, as they always did with Amy. She was a very handsome woman and looked younger than her years. Thestorm which had swept over her had not impaired her physical beauty, buthad touched her mentally in a way very puzzling to those about her, andrather annoying to the Colonel, who was trying to make amends for theharshness which had driven her from his home. Sometimes her quiet, passive manner irritated him, and he felt that he would gladly welcomethe old imperiousness with which she had defied him. But it was gone. Something had broken her on the wheel, killing her spirit completely, orsmothering it and leaving her a timid, silent woman, who sat for hourswith a sad, far-off expression, as if looking into the past and tryingto gather up the tangled threads which had in a measure obscured herintellect. "The Harrises are queer, " kept sounding in the Colonel's ears, with athought that the taint in the Harris blood was working in Amy's veins, intensified by some great shock, or series of shocks. Once, after he brought her home, he questioned her of her life as asinger, and of the baby, which she occasionally mentioned, but he neverrepeated the experiment. There was a fit of nervous trembling, --a lookof terror in her eyes, and a drawn expression on her face, and for amoment she was like the girl Eudora when roused. Then, putting her handbefore her eyes as if to shut out something hateful to her, she said, "Oh, don't ask me to bring up a past I can't remember without such apain in my head and everywhere, as if I were choking. It was verydreadful, --with _him_, --not with Adolf, --he was so kind. " "Did he ever beat you?--or what did the wretch do? _Smith_, I mean, " theColonel asked, and Amy replied, "Oh, no; it wasn't that. It was aconstant grind, grind, --swear, swear, --a breaking of my will, till I hadnone left. He never struck me but once, and then it was throwingsomething instead of a blow. It hit me here, and it has ached eversince. " She put her hand to one side of her temple, and went on, "It was thenight I heard baby was dead, and I said I could not sing, --but he mademe, and I broke down, and I don't know much what happened after till youcame. I can't remember. " "Yes, but the baby, --where did it die, and when?" the Colonel asked. Amy had been getting quiet as she talked, but at the mention of thebaby, she began to tremble again, and beat the air with her hands. "I don't know, I don't know, " she said. "He took her away, and she died. It is so black when I try to think how it was, and it goes from me. Waita bit!" She sat very still a moment, and then in a more natural voicesaid, "It may come back sometime, and then I will tell you. It makes meworse to talk about it now. It's this way: The inside of my head shakesall over. The doctor said it was like a bottle full of something whichmust settle. I _am_ settling here where everybody speaks so low andkind, but when I am a little clear, with the sediment going down, if youshake up the bottle, it is thick and muddy again, and I can't remember. " "By Jove!" the Colonel said to himself, "that bottle business isn't abad comparison. She is all shaken up, and I'll let her settle. " He did not question her again of her life with Homer Smith, or of thebaby. Both were dead, and he felt that it was just as well that theywere. Homer Smith ought to be dead, and as to the baby it would havebeen very upsetting in the house, and might have been queer, like theHarrises, or worse yet, like its _cuss_ of a father. On the whole, itwas better as it was, although he was sorry for Amy, and would do all hecould to make her happy, and some time, perhaps, she would remember, andtell him where the baby was buried, and he'd have it brought toCrompton, and put in the Crompton vault. As for Homer Smith, his carcasemight rot in the desert of Arizona, or anywhere, for aught he cared. Hewas very gentle and patient with Amy, and watched the settling of thebottle with a great deal of interest. Sometimes he wondered how much sheremembered of her Florida life, if anything, and what effect the mentionof Jaky and Mandy Ann would have upon her, and what effect it would haveupon her if he took her to the palmetto clearing, and found the negroes, if living. But pride still stood in the way. More than thirty-five yearsof silence were between him and the past, which to all intents was asdead as poor Dory; and why should he pull aside the dark curtain, andlet in the public gaze and gossip. He couldn't and he wouldn't. All hecould do for Amy in other ways he would, and for her sake he controlledhimself, mightily, becoming, as Peter said, like a turtle dove comparedto what he once was, when the slightest crossing of his will roused himinto fury. Harsh, loud tones made Amy shiver, and brought a look into her eyeswhich the Colonel did not like to see, and with her he was usually verydocile, or if roused, the touch of her hand and the expression of hereyes subdued him, as they did now when he told her of his brokencarriage and ruined cushions and the young girl for whom Amy at oncewished to do something. "Certainly, " he had said; "only don't bring her here, " and he wasbeginning to wonder where Howard was, and to feel irritated at thedelay, when the latter came in with Jack, and found a tolerably urbaneand courteous host. Naturally the conversation turned upon the storm and accident, theparticulars of which were briefly gone over, while Amy stirred hercoffee listlessly and did not seem to listen. She was very lovely, Jackthought, with no sign of her mental disorder, except the peculiarexpression of her eyes at times. Her dress was faultless, her mannerperfect, her language good, and her smile the sweetest and saddest hehad ever seen, and Jack watched her curiously, while the conversationdrifted away from Eloise, in whom the Colonel felt no interest. She wasa graduate, and probably knew nothing of what he thought essential for ateacher to know. She was not rooted and grounded in the fundamentals. Probably she had never heard of the grindstone, or the sheep, and couldnot work out the problems if she had. She was superficial. She belongedto a new generation which had put him and his theories on the shelf. Herblue dress had stained the cushions of his carriage, and there was apuddle of water in the hall where Sam had put down her satchel and hat, which had been found in the driveway near the stable. They had beenthrown from the carriage, and lain in the rain all night. The hat wassoaked through and through, and the ribbons were limp and faded; but hedid not care a rap what became of them, he said to himself, when Howardspoke of them and their condition, saying that bad as they were hepresumed she wanted them. Amy on the contrary was instantly on the alert, and as they passedthrough the hall from the dining-room, and she saw the poor crushed hat, she said to Jack, "Is it hers?" "Yes, and I'm afraid it is ruined, " Jack answered, taking it in his handand examining it critically. "I will fix it, " Amy replied, and, carrying it to her room, she tried tobend it into shape and renovate the bows of ribbon. But it was beyond her skill. "She can never wear it. I must send her one of mine, " she said, selecting a hat which she wore when walking in the park. "You must takeit to the young lady at Mrs. Biggs's. What is her name? I don't think Iunderstood; they were all talking together and confused me so, " she saidto her maid, who had heard of the adventure from Sam, but had not caughtthe right name. "It is Louise something. I don't remember what, " she replied. "Louise! That sounds like baby's name, and it makes my head ache tothink of it, " Amy said sadly, going to the window, and looking out atthe rain and fog, for the weather had not cleared. It was a wet morning, and Howard, who liked his ease, shrugged hisshoulders when Jack suggested that they should call upon Miss Smith. "She ought to have her satchel and her hat, " Jack said, and Howardreplied, "Oh, Amy sent Sarah off with a hat half an hour ago. She wouldsend all her wardrobe if she thought the girl wanted it, and, by George!why didn't she send a pair of boots? She has dozens of them, I daresay, " he continued, as he recalled the bits of leather they had cut fromEloise's foot, and left on Mrs. Biggs's floor. Jack had spoken of her boots, and he readily acceded to Howard'sproposition to ask Amy if she had any cast-offs she thought would fitMiss Smith. "They must wear about the same size, the girl is so slight, "Howard said as he went to Amy's room, where he found her still standingby the window drumming upon the pane as if fingering a piano and hummingsoftly to herself. She never touched the grand instrument in thedrawing-room, and when asked to do so and sing, she answered, "I can't;I can't. It would bring it all back and shake up the bottle. I hate thememory of it when I sang to the crowd and they applauded. I hear themnow; it is baby's death knell. I can never sing again as I did then. " And yet she did sing often to herself, but so low that one couldscarcely understand her words, except to know they were some negromelody sung evidently as a lullaby to a child. As Howard came up to herhe caught the words, "Mother's lil baby, " and knew it was what shesometimes sang with the red cloak hugged to her bosom. "Miss Amy, " he said, "I wonder if you haven't a pair of half-worn bootsfor the young lady at Mrs. Biggs's? We had to cut one of hers off, herfoot was so swollen. " Amy was interested at once, and ordered Sarah, who had returned fromMrs. Biggs's, to bring out all her boots and slippers, insisting thatseveral pairs be sent for the girl to choose from. Sarah suggested thatslippers would be better than boots, as the young lady could not wearthe latter in her present condition. "Yes, " Amy said, selecting a pair of white satin slippers, with highFrench heels and fanciful rosettes. "I wore them the night he told mebaby was dead. I've never had them on since. I don't want them. Givethem to her. They are hateful to me. " Amy was in a peculiar mood this morning, such as sometimes came upon herand made Peter say she was a chip of the old block, meaning the Colonel, who he never for a moment doubted was her father. Sarah's suggestionthat white satin slippers would be out of place made no difference. Theymust go. She was more stubborn than usual, and Sarah accounted for it bysaying in a low tone to Howard, "Certain spells of weather always affecther and send her back to a night when something dreadful must havehappened. Probably the baby she talks about died. She's thinking aboutit now. Better take the slippers. I've heard her talk of them before andthreaten to burn them. " "All right, " Howard said. "Miss Smith can send them back if she does notwant them. " The slippers were made into a parcel so small that Howard put them inhis pocket and said he was ready. It had stopped raining, and as theyoung men preferred to walk they set off through the park, laughing overtheir errand and the phase of excitement in which they found themselves. Jack liked it, and Howard, too, began to like it, or said he should ifthe girl proved as good-looking by daylight as she had been in thenight. CHAPTER VI AT MRS. BIGGS'S Notwithstanding Mrs. Biggs's prediction that she would not sleep a wink, Eloise did sleep fairly well. She was young and tired. Her ankle did notpain her much when she kept it still, and after she fell asleep she didnot waken till Mrs. Biggs stood by her bed armed with hot coffee andbandages and fresh wormwood and vinegar. "Do you feel like a daisy?" was Mrs. Biggs's cheery greeting, as she putdown the coffee and bowl of vinegar in a chair and brought some waterfor Eloise's face and hands. "Not much like a daisy, " Eloise answered, with a smile, "but better thanI expected. I am going to get up. " "Better stay where you be. I did, and had 'em wait on me, " Mrs. Biggssaid; but Eloise insisted, thinking she must exercise. She soon found, however, that exercising was a difficult matter. Herankle was badly swollen, and began to ache when she moved it, nor didMrs. Biggs's assurance that "it would ache more until it didn't ache sobad" comfort her much. She managed, however, to get into a chair, andtook the coffee, and submitted to have her ankle bathed and bandaged andher foot slipped into an old felt shoe of Mrs. Biggs's, which was outat the toe and out at the side, but did not pinch at all. "Your dress ain't dry. You'll catch your death of cold to have it on. You must wear one of mine, " Mrs. Biggs said, producing a spotted calicowrapper, brown and white, --colors which Eloise detested. It was much too large every way, but Mrs. Biggs lapped it in front andlapped it behind, and said the length would not matter, as Eloise couldonly walk with her knee in a chair and could hold up one side. Eloiseknew she was a fright, but felt that she did not care, until Mrs. Biggstold her of the hat which the lady from Crompton Place had sent her, andthat Sarah had said the young gentlemen would probably call. "I've been thinking after all, " she continued, "that it is better to beup. The committee man, Mr. Bills, who hired you, will call, and youcan't see him and the young men here. I'm a respectable woman, and haveboarded the teachers off and on for twenty years, --all, in fact, exceptRuby Ann, who has a home of her own, --and I can't have my charactercompromised now by inviting men folks into a bedroom. You must come downto the parlor. There's a bed-lounge there which I can make up at night, and it'll save me a pile of steps coming upstairs. " "How am I to get there?" Eloise asked in dismay, and Mrs. Biggs replied, "It'll be a chore, I guess, but you can do it. I did when my ankle wasbad. I took some strong coffee, same as I brought you, had my foot doneup, and slid downstairs, one at a time, with my lame laig straight out. I can't say it didn't hurt, for it did, but I had to grin and bear it. Christian Science nor mind cure wasn't invented then, or I should ofused 'em, and said my ankle wasn't sprained. There's plenty of nicepeople believes 'em now. You can try 'em on, and we'll manage somehow. " Eloise was appalled at the thought of going downstairs to meet people, and especially the young men from Crompton, clad in that spotted brownand white gown, with nothing to relieve its ugliness, not even a collar, for the one she had worn the previous day was past being worn againuntil it had been laundered. She looked at her handkerchief. That, too, was impossible. "Mrs. Biggs, " she said at last, "have you a handkerchief you can loanme?" "To be sure! To be sure! Half a dozen, if you like, " Mrs. Biggsanswered, hurrying from the room, and soon returning with a handkerchieflarge enough for a dinner napkin. It was coarse and half-cotton, but it was clean, and Eloise tied itaround her neck, greatly to Mrs. Biggs's surprise. "Oh, " she said, "you wanted it for that? Why not have a lace ruffle?I'll get one in a jiffy. " Eloise declined the ruffle. The handkerchief was bad enough, but a laceruffle with that gown would have been worse. "Now, I'll call Tim to go in front and keep you from falling. He is kindof awkward, but I'll go behind and stiddy you, and you grit your teethand put on the mind cure, and down we go, " Mrs. Biggs said, calling Tim, who came shambling up the stairs, and laughed aloud when he saw Eloisewrapped in his mother's gown. "Excuse me, I couldn't help it; mother has made you into such abundle, " he said good-humoredly, as he saw the pained look in Eloise'sface. "I'll get your trunk the next train, and you can have your ownfixin's. What am I to do?" This last was to his mother, who explained the way she had gonedownstairs when she sprained her ankle twenty years ago come Christmas. "She must sit down somehow on the top stair and slide down with onebefore her, --that's you, --and one behind, --that's me, --and she's to puton the mind cure. Miss Jenks says it does a sight of good. " Tim looked at his mother and then at Eloise, whose pitiful face appealedto him strongly. "Oh, go to grass, " he said, "with your mind cure! It's all rot! I'llcarry her, if she will let me. I could of done it last night as well asthem fine fellows. " He was a rough young boy of sixteen, with uncouth ways; but there wassomething in his face which drew Eloise to him, and when he said, "ShallI carry you?" she answered gladly, "Oh, yes, please. I don't think Ihave any mind to put on. " Lifting her very gently in his strong arms, while his mother kept sayingshe knew he'd let her fall, Tim carried her down and into the best room, where he set her in a rocking-chair, and brought a stool for her lamefoot to rest upon, and then said he would go for her trunk, if she wouldgive him her check. There was something magnetic about Tim, and Eloisefelt it, and was sorry when he was gone. The world looked very drearywith the fog and rain outside, and the best room inside, with its stiffhair-cloth furniture, glaring paper and cheap prints on the wall--one ofthem of Beatrice Cenci, worse than anything she had ever seen. She wasvery fastidious in her tastes, and everything rude and incongruousoffended it, and she was chafing against her surroundings, when Mrs. Biggs came bustling in, very much excited, and exclaiming, "For theland's sake, they are comin'! They are right here. They hain't let muchgrass grow. Let me poke your hair back a little from your forehead, --so!That's right, and more becomin'. " "Who are coming?" Eloise asked. "Why, Mr. Crompton and his friend. I don't know his name, " Mrs. Biggsreplied, and Eloise felt a sudden chill as she thought of the figure shemust present to them. If she could only look in the glass and adjust herself a little, or ifMrs. Biggs would throw something over the unsightly slipper and theankle smothered in so many bandages. The mirror was out of the question. She had combed her hair with a side comb which had come safely throughthe storm, but she felt that it was standing on end, and that she was avery crumpled, sorry spectacle in Mrs. Biggs's spotted gown, with thehandkerchief round her neck. Hastily covering her foot with a fold ofthe wide gown, she clasped her hands tightly together, and leaning herhead against the back of her chair, drew a long breath and waited. She heard the steps outside, and Mrs. Biggs's "Good-mornin'; glad to seeyou. She is expectin' you, or I am. Yes, her laig is pretty bad. Swelledas big as two laigs, just as mine was twenty years ago come Christmas, when I sprained it. Tim brought her downstairs where she can see folks. She's in the parlor. Walk in. " Eloise's cheeks were blazing, but the rest of her face was very pale, and her eyes had in them a hunted look as the young men entered theroom, preceded by Mrs. Biggs in her working apron, with her sleevesrolled up. "Miss Smith, this is Mr. Crompton, " she said, indicating Howard; "andthe t'other one is--his name has slipped my mind. " "Harcourt, " Jack said, feeling an intense sympathy for the helplessgirl, whose feelings he guessed and whose hand he held a moment with aclasp in which she felt the pity, and had hard work to keep the tearsback. Howard also took her hand and felt sorry for her, but he did not affecther like Jack, and she did not like his eyes, which she guessed saweverything. He had a keen sense of the ridiculous, and the contrastbetween Eloise and the gown which he knew must belong to Mrs. Biggsstruck him so forcibly that he could scarcely repress a smile, as heasked how she had passed the night. Mrs. Biggs answered for her. Indeed, she did most of the talking. "She slep' pretty well, I guess; better'n I did when I sprained my ankletwenty years ago come Christmas. I never closed my eyes, even in a catnap, and she did. I crep' to her door twice to see how she was gettin'on, and she was--not exactly snorin'--I don't s'pose she ever doessnore, --but breathin' reg'lar like, jess like a baby, which I didn't doin a week when I sprained my ankle. " She would have added "twenty years ago come Christmas, " if Jack had notforestalled her by asking Eloise if her ankle pained her much. "Yes, " she said, while Mrs. Biggs chimed in, "Can't help painin' her, swelled as 'tis, --big as two ankles; look. " She whisked off the bottom of her dress which Eloise had put over herfoot, and disclosed the shapeless bundle encased in the old feltslipper. "Look for yourselves; see if you think it aches, " she said. This was too much for Eloise, who, regardless of pain, drew her foot upunder the skirt of her dress, while her face grew scarlet. Both Howardand Jack were sorry for her, and at last got the conversation intoanother channel by saying they had brought her satchel and hat, whichthey feared were ruined, and asking if she had seen the hat Miss Amy hadsent her. "Land sakes, no! I told her about it, but I hain't had time to show itto her, " Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, starting from the room, while Howardexplained that his cousin had tried in vain to renovate the drenchedhat, and, finding it impossible, had sent one of her own which shewished Miss Smith to accept with her compliments. "How do you like it?" Mrs. Biggs asked, as she came in with it. It was a fine leghorn, with a wreath of lilacs round the crown, andEloise knew that it was far more expensive than anything she had everworn. "It is very pretty, " she said, "and very kind in the lady to send it. Tell her I thank her. What is her name?" Jack looked at Howard, who replied, "She has had a good many, none ofwhich pleased my uncle, the last one least of all; so he calls her MissAmy, and wishes others to do so. " Eloise was puzzled, but the sight of Mrs. Biggs tugging at her wetsatchel to open it diverted her mind. "Your things is sp'ilt, most likely, but you'd better have 'em out. Forthe mercy's sake, look!" she said, passing the satchel to Eloise, whowas beyond caring: for what was spoiled and what was not. "There'ssomebody knockin'. It's Mr. Bills, most likely, the committee man, cometo see you; I told Tim to notify him, " Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, hurryingout, and saying to Howard as she passed him, "You can visit a spellbefore I fetch him in. She needs perkin' up, poor thing. " It proved to be a grocer's boy instead of Mr. Bills, and Mrs. Biggs cameback just as Howard was presenting the slippers. "I did not think they were just what you wanted, " Howard explained, ashe saw the look of surprise on Eloise's face. "Miss Amy is not alwaysquite clear in her mind, but rather resolute when it is made up; andwhen we told her we had to cut off your boot, she insisted upon sendingthese. " At this point Mrs. Biggs appeared, throwing up both hands at what shesaw, and exclaiming, "Wall, if I won't give up! Satin slips for aspraint laig. Yes, I'll give up!" She looked at Howard, who did not reply, but turned his head to hide hislaugh from Eloise, while Mrs. Biggs went on, "I don't see how she canever get her feet into 'em. I can't mine, and I don't b'lieve she can. Better send 'em back;" and she looked at Eloise, who, if she was proudof any part of her person, was proud of her feet. Flushing hotly she said, "They are not suitable for me, of course, but Ithink I _could_ get one on my well foot. " "I know you could; try it, " Jack said. Stooping forward Eloise removed her boot, although the effort brought ahorrible twinge to her lame ankle and made her feel faint for a moment. "Put it on for me, please, " she said to Mrs. Biggs, who, mistaking theright-hand slipper for the left, began tugging at it. "I told you so, " she said. "Your foot is twice as big. " "Try this one, " Jack suggested, "or let me;" and he fitted the slipperat once to the little foot, while Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, "Wall, I vum, itdoes fit to a T! If anything, it's too big. " In spite of her pain and embarrassment there was a look of exultation inEloise's eyes, as they met those of Jack, who was nearly as pleased asherself. "You will keep them and wear them some time, " he said; and when Eloisedeclined, saying they would be of no use to her, Howard, who had beenwatching this Cinderella play with a good deal of interest, and wishinghe had been the prince to fit the slipper instead of Jack, said toEloise, "I think it better for you to keep them. Miss Amy will not liketo have them returned, and if they were, she'd give them to some oneelse, or very likely send them to the Rummage Sale we are to have intown. " "That's so, " Mrs. Biggs chimed in. "There is to be a rummage sale, andRuby Ann has spoke for Tim's old clothes and mine, especially our shoes. Keep 'em by all means. " Eloise was beginning to feel faint again, and tired with all this talkand excitement, and painfully conscious that Howard's eyes were dancingwith laughter at the sight of her feet, --one swollen to three times itsnatural size and pushed into Mrs. Biggs's old felt shoe, and the otherin Miss Amy's white satin slipper. "Oh, I wish you would take it off!" she gasped, feeling unequal toleaning forward again, and closing her eyes wearily. She meant Mrs. Biggs, but Jack forestalled that good woman, and in aninstant had the slipper off and the boot on, doing both so gently thatshe was not hurt at all. "Thanks!" Eloise said, drawing her well foot under the spotted calico, and wishing the young men would go. How long they would have staid is uncertain if there had not come asecond knock at the kitchen door. This time it was really Mr. Bills, andMrs. Biggs went out to meet him, while Eloise felt every nerve quiverwith dread. She must see him and tell him how impossible it would be forher to commence her duties on Monday. Perhaps he would dismiss heraltogether, and take another in her place, and then--"What shall I do?"she thought, and, scarcely knowing what she said, she cried, "Oh, Ican't bear it!" while the tears rolled down her cheeks, and Howard andJack gathered close to her, --the laugh all gone from Howard's eyes, anda great pity shining in Jack's. "Excuse me, " she continued, "I don't mean to be childish, but everythingis so dreadful! I don't mind the pain so much; but to be here away fromhome, and to lose the school, as I may, and--and, --I want a handkerchiefto wipe my face, --and this is ruined. " She said this last as she took from her satchel the handkerchief whichhad been so white and clean when she left home, and which now was wetand stained from a bottle of shoe blacking which had come uncorked andsaturated everything. She had borne a great deal, and, as is often thecase, a small matter upset her entirely. The spoiled handkerchief wasthe straw too many, and her tears came faster as she held it in onehand, and with the other tried to wipe them away. "Take mine, please; I've not used it, " Jack said, offering her one offine linen, and as daintily perfumed as a woman's. She took it unhesitatingly. She was in a frame of mind to take anything, and smiled her thanks through her tears. "I know I must seem very weak to you to be crying like a baby; but youdon't know how I dread meeting Mr. Bills, or how much is depending uponmy having this school, or what it would be to me to lose it, if he can'twait. Do you think he will?" She looked at Jack, who knew nothing whatever of the matter, or of Mr. Bills, but who answered promptly, "Of course he will wait; he must wait. We shall see to that. Don't cry. I'm awfully sorry for you; we bothare. " He was standing close to her, and involuntarily laid his hand on herhair, smoothing it a little as he would have smoothed his sister's. Sheseemed so young and looked so small, wrapped up in Mrs. Biggs's gown, that he thought of her for a moment as a child to be soothed andcomforted. She did not repel the touch of his hand, but cried the harderand wiped her face with his handkerchief until it was wet with hertears. "Mr. Bills wants to know if he can come in now, " came as an interruptionto the scene, which was getting rather affecting. "In just a minute, " Jack said. Then to Eloise, "Brace up! We'll attendto Mr. Bills if he proves formidable. " She braced up as he bade her, and gave his handkerchief back to him. "I shan't need it again. I am not going to be foolish any longer, and Ithank you so much, " she said, with a look which made Jack's pulse beatrapidly. "We'd better go now and give Mr. Bills a chance, " he said to Howard, whohad been comparatively silent and let him do the talking and suggesting. Howard could not define his feeling with regard to Eloise. Her beautyimpressed him greatly, and he was very sorry for her, but he could notrid himself of the conviction which had a second time taken possessionof him that in some way she was to influence his life or cross his path. He bade her good-by, and told her to keep up good courage, and felt alittle piqued that she withdrew her hand more quickly from him than shedid from Jack, who left her rather reluctantly. They found Mr. Billsoutside talking to Mrs. Biggs, who was volubly narrating the particularsof the accident, so far as she knew them, and referring constantly toher own sprained ankle of twenty years ago, and the impossibility ofMiss Smith's being able to walk for some time. With his usual impetuousness Jack took the initiative, and said to Mr. Bills: "Your school can certainly wait; it must wait. A week or two canmake no difference. At the end of that time, if she cannot walk, she canbe taken to and from the school-house every day. To lose the school willgo hard with her, and she's so young. " Jack was quite eloquent, and Mr. Bills looked at him curiously, wondering who this smart young fellow was, pleading for the newschool-teacher. He knew Howard, who, after Jack was through, said hehoped Mr. Bills would wait; it would be a pity to disappoint the girlwhen she had come so far. "Perhaps a week or two will make no difference, " Mr. Bills said, "thoughthe young ones are getting pretty wild, and their mothers anxious tohave them out of the way, but I guess we'll manage it somehow. " He knew he should manage it when he saw Eloise. She could not tell himof the need there was of money in her grandmother's home, or the stillgreater need if she took the trip to California which she feared shemust take. She only looked her anxiety, and Mr. Bills, whose heart Mrs. Biggs said was "big as a barn, " warmed toward her, while mentally hebegan to doubt her ability to "fill the bill, " as he put it, she lookedso young and so small. "I'll let her off easy, if I have to, " he thought, and he said, "Folks'll want school to begin as advertised. You can't go, but there'sRuby Ann Patrick. She'll be glad to supply. She's kep' the school fiveyears runnin'. She wanted it when we hired you. She's out of a job, andwill be glad to take it till you can walk. I'll see her to-day. You lookyoung to manage unruly boys, and there's a pile of 'em in Deestrick No. 5 want lickin' half the time. Ruby Ann can lick 'em. She's five feetnine. You ain't more'n five. " Eloise did not tell him how tall she was. In fact, she didn't know. Shemust look very diminutive in Mr. Bills's eyes, she thought, and hastenedto say, "I taught boys and young men older than I am in the normal atMayville, and never had any trouble. I had only to speak to or look atthem. " "I b'lieve you, I b'lieve you, " Mr. Bills said. "I should mind youmyself every time if you looked at me, but boys ain't alike. There's TomWalker, ringleader in every kind of mischief, the wust feller you eversee. Ruby Ann had one tussle with him, and came off Number One. He'dmost likely raise Cain with a schoolmarm who couldn't walk and went oncrutches. " "Oh-h!" Eloise said despairingly. "I shall not have to do that!" "Mebby not; mebby not. Sprained ankles mostly does, though. I had towhen I sprained mine. I used to hobble to the well and pump cold wateron it; that's tiptop for a sprain. Well, I must go now and see Ruby Ann. Good-day. Keep a stiff upper lip, and you'll pull through. Widder Biggsis a fust rate nurse, and woman, too. Little too much tongue, mebby. Hung in the middle and plays both ways. Knows everybody's history andage from the Flood down. She'll get at yours from A to izzard. Good-day!" He was gone, and Eloise was alone with her pain and homesickness anddiscouragement. Turn which way she would, there was not much brightnessin her sky, except when she thought of Jack Harcourt, whose hand on herhair she could feel just as he had felt her wet hand on his neck hoursafter the spot was dried, ft seemed perfectly natural and proper that heshould care for her, just as it did that the lady at the Crompton Houseshould send her a hat. It was lying on a chair near her with theslippers, and she took it up and examined it again very carefully, admiring the fineness of the leghorn, the beauty of the lilac wreath, and the texture of the ribbons. "I shall never wear it, " she thought. "It is too handsome for me; but Ishall always keep it, and be glad for the thoughtfulness which promptedthe lady to send it. " Then she wondered if she would ever see the lady and thank her inperson, or go to the Crompton House; and if her trunk would ever comefrom the station, so that she could divest herself of the detestablecotton gown and put on something more becoming, which would show him shewas not quite so much a guy as she looked in Mrs. Biggs's wardrobe. Thehim was Jack, not Howard. He was not in the running. She cared as littlefor him as she imagined he cared for her. And here she did himinjustice. She interested him greatly, though not in the way sheinterested Jack, whom he chaffed on their way home, telling him he oughtto offer his services as nurse. "I wonder you did not wipe her eyes as well as give her yourhandkerchief, " he said. "I dare say you will never have it laundered, lest her tears should be washed out of it. " "Never!" Jack replied, and, taking the handkerchief from his pocket andfolding it carefully, he put it back again, saying, "No, sir; I shallkeep it intact. No laundryman's hands will ever touch it. " "Pretty far gone, that's a fact, " Howard rejoined, and then continued:"I say, Jack, we'd better not talk of Miss Smith before the Colonel. Itwill only rouse him up, and make him swear at normal graduates ingeneral, and this one in particular. You know I wrote you that he gavethe lot and built the school-house, and for years was inspector ofCrompton schools, --boss and all hands, --till a new generation came upand shelved him. He fought hard, but had to give in to young blood andmodern ideas. He had no voice in hiring Miss Smith, --was not consulted. His choice was a Ruby Ann Patrick, a perfect Amazon of an old maid;weighs two hundred, I believe, and rides a wheel. You ought to see her. But then she is rooted and grounded, and uncle does not think Miss Smithis, though she was pretty well grounded last night when she sat on thatsand heap with her foot twisted under her. I'm not a soft head like you, to fall in love with her at first sight; but I'm awfully sorry for her, and I don't wish to hear the Colonel swear about her. " Jack had never seen Howard more in earnest, and his mental comment was, "Cares more for her than I supposed. He'll bear watching. Poor littlegirl! How white she was at times, and how tired her eyes looked; andbright, too, as stars. I wonder if she really ought not to have adoctor. " He put this question to Howard, who replied: "No, that Biggs woman is afull team on sprained ankles. She'll get her up without a doctor, and Idon't suppose the girl has much to spend on the craft. " "Yes, but what is a little money to you or me, if she really needs adoctor?" Jack said thoughtfully, while Howard laughed and answered, "Don't be an idiot, and lose your heart to a schoolma'am because shehappened to have had her arm around your neck when we carried her inthat chair. I can feel it yet, and sometimes put up my hand when halfawake to see if it isn't there, but I am not going to make a fool ofmyself. " As they were near home Jack did not reply, but he could have told oftimes when half awake and wide awake he felt the arms and the hands andthe hot breath of the girl clinging to him in the darkness and rain, andsaw the eyes full of pain and dumb entreaty not to hurt her more thanthey could help, as they cut the soaked boot from the swollen foot. Buthe said nothing, and, when the house was reached, went at once to hisown room, wondering what he could do to make her more comfortable. Acting upon Howard's advice, Eloise was not mentioned, either at lunchor at dinner. Amy had evidently forgotten her, for she made no inquiryfor her. Neither did the Colonel. She was, however, much in the minds ofthe young men, and each was wondering how he could best serve her. Howard thought of a sea chair, in which his uncle had crossed the ocean. He had found it covered with dust in the attic, and brought it to hisroom to lounge in. It would be far more comfortable for Eloise than thatstiff, straight-backed, hair-cloth rocker in which she had to sit soupright. He would send it to her with Amy's compliments, if he couldmanage it without the knowledge of Jack, who he would rather should notknow how much he was really interested in Eloise. Jack was also planningwhat he could do, and thought of a wheel chair, in which she could betaken to and from school. He might possibly find one in the village bythe shore. He would inquire without consulting Howard, whose jokinggrated a little, as it presupposed the impossibility of his reallycaring for one so far removed from his station in life as Eloise seemedto be. Could she have known how much she was in the minds of the young men atCrompton Place, she would not have felt quite as forlorn anddisconsolate as she did during the long hours of the day, when she sathelpless and alone, except as Mrs. Biggs tried to entertain her with aflow of talk and gossip which did not interest her. A few of theneighbors called in the evening, and it seemed to Eloise that every onehad had a sprained ankle or two, of which they talked continually, dwelling mostly upon the length of time it took before they were able towalk across the floor, to say nothing of the distance from Mrs. Biggs'sto the school-house. That would be impossible for two or three weeks atleast, and even then Miss Smith would have to go on crutches mostlikely, was their comforting assurance. "I've got some up garret that I used twenty years ago. Too long for her, but Tim can cut them off. They are just the thing. Lucky I kept them, "Mrs. Biggs said, while Eloise listened with a feeling like death in herheart, and dreamed that night of hobbling to school on Mrs. Biggs'scrutches, while Jack Harcourt helped and encouraged her, and HowardCrompton stood at a distance laughing at her. CHAPTER VII RUBY ANN PATRICK She had taught the school in District No. 5 summer and winter for fiveyears. She had been a teacher for fifteen years, her first experiencedating back to the days when the Colonel was school inspector, and hisformula in full swing. She had met all his requirements promptly, knewall about the geese and the grindstone, and the wind, and Mr. Wright, and had a certificate in the Colonel's handwriting, declaring her to berooted and grounded in the fundamentals, and qualified to teach adistrict school anywhere. As Mr. Bills had said to Eloise, she was fivefeet nine inches high and large in proportion, with so much strength andvital force and determination, that the most unruly boy in District No. 5 would hesitate before openly defying her authority. She had conqueredTom Walker, the bully of the school, and after the day when he was madeto feel the force there was in her large hand, he had done nothing worsethan make faces behind her back and draw caricatures of her on hisslate. As a rule, Ruby Ann was popular with the majority of the people, andthere had been some opposition to a change. It was hardly fair, theysaid to the Colonel, who took so much interest in the school, and whowas sure to feel angry and hurt if deprived of the privilege ofcatechising the teachers in the office he had erected for that purposeon his grounds. He had not only built the school-house, but had kept itin repair, and had added a classroom for the older scholars becausesomebody said it was needed, and had not objected when it was only usedfor wraps and dinner pails, and balls and clubs in the summer, and inthe winter for coal and wood and sleds and skates and other thingspertaining to a school of wide-awake girls and boys. This was the conservative party, but there was another which wanted achange. They had been in a rut long enough, and they laughed at theColonel's formula, which nearly every child knew by heart. The Colonelwas too old to run things, --they must have something up to date, andwhen the president of Mayville Normal School applied for a situation forEloise she was accepted, and Ruby Ann went to the wall. She was greatlychagrined and disappointed when she found herself supplanted by a normalgraduate, of whom she had not a much higher opinion than the Colonelhimself. When she heard of the accident and that her rival was disabled, she was conscious just for a moment of a feeling of exultation, as ifEloise had received her just deserts. She was, however, a kind-hearted, well-principled woman, and soon cast the feeling aside as unworthy ofher, and tried to believe she was sorry for the girl, who, she heard, was very young, and had been carried in the darkness and rain to Mrs. Biggs's house in Howard Crompton's arms. "I would almost be willing to sprain my ankle for the sake of beingcarried in that way, " Ruby thought, and then laughed as she tried tofancy the young man bending beneath the weight of her hundred andninety pounds. It was at this juncture that Mr. Bills came in asking if she would takeMiss Smith's place until she was able to walk. It might be two weeks, and it might be three, and it might be less, he said. Any way, theydidn't want a cripple in the school-house for Tom Walker to raise HailColumby with. Would Ruby Ann swaller her pride and be a substitute? "It is a good deal to ask me to do after I have been turned out ofoffice, " she said, "but I am not one to harbor resentment. Yes, I'lltake the school till Miss Smith is able. How does she look? I hear sheis very young. " "Well, she's some younger than you, I guess, and looks like a child asshe sits down, " Mr. Bills replied. "Why, you are big as two ofher, --yes, three, --and could throw her over the house. " Ruby's face clouded, and Mr. Bills went on: "She is handsome as blazes, with a mouth which keeps kind of quivering, as if she wanted to cry, orsomething, and eyes--well, you've got to see 'em to know what they arelike. They are just eyes which make an old man like me feel, --I don'tknow how. " Ruby laughed, but felt a little hurt as she thought of her own small, light-blue eyes and lighter eyebrows, which had never yet made any man, young or old, feel "he didn't know how. " She knew she was neither youngnor handsome nor attractive, but she had good common sense, and afterMr. Bills was gone she sat down to review the situation, and resolved toaccept it gracefully and to call upon Eloise. It would be certainly _enregle_ and Christian-like to do so, she thought, and the next afternoonshe presented herself at Mrs. Biggs's door and asked if Miss Smith wereable to see any one. Mrs. Biggs belonged to the radical party which favored a change ofteachers. Five years was long enough for one person to teach in the sameplace, she said, and they wanted somebody modern and younger. She laid agreat deal of stress upon that, and on one occasion, when giving heropinion over her gate to a neighbor, had added "smaller andbetter-looking. " Ruby was not a favorite with Mrs. Biggs, whom she hadcalled an inveterate gossip, hunting up everbody's history and age, andmaking them out two or three years older than they were. She had livedat home and kept Mrs. Biggs out of a boarder five years. She had calledTim a lout, and kept him after school several times when his motherneeded him. Consequently Mrs. Biggs's sympathies were all with Eloise, who was young and small and good-looking, and she flouted the idea ofhaving Ruby hired even for a few days. "It's just a wedge to git her in again, " she had said to Tim, with whomshe had discussed the matter. "I know Ruby Ann, and she'll jump at thechance, and keep it, too. She can wind Mr. Bills round her fingers. I'drather have Miss Smith with one laig than Ruby Ann with three. TomWalker ain't goin' to raise Ned with such a slip of a girl. " "I ruther guess not, when I'm there, " Tim said, squaring himself up asif ready to fight a dozen Tom Walkers, when, in fact, he was afraid ofone, and usually kept out of his way. Mrs. Biggs had not expected Ruby Ann to call, and her face wore avinegary expression when she opened the door to her. "Yes, I s'pose you can see her, but too much company ain't good forsprained ankles, " she replied in response to Ruby's inquiry if she couldsee Miss Smith. "You'll find her in the parlor, but don't stay long. Talkin' 'll create a fever in her laig. " Ruby was accustomed to Mrs. Biggs's vagaries, and did not mind them. "I'll be very discreet, " she said, as she passed on to the parlor, curious to see the girl who had been preferred to herself. She had heard from Mr. Bills that Eloise "was handsome as blazes, " butshe was not prepared for the face which looked up at her as she enteredthe room. Something in the eyes appealed to her as it had to Mr. Bills, and any prejudice she might have had melted away at once, and she begantalking to Eloise as familiarly as if she had known her all her life. Atfirst Eloise drew back from the powerfully built woman, who stood up sotall before her, and whose voice was so strong and masculine, and whoseeyes travelled over her so rapidly, taking in every detail of her dressand every feature of her face. Mrs. Biggs's disfiguring cotton gown hadbeen discarded for a loose white jacket, which, with its knots of pinkribbon, was very becoming, and Ruby found herself studying it closely, and wondering if she could make one like it, and how she would look init. Then she noticed the hands, so small and so white, and felt anirresistible desire to take one of them in her broad palm. "I do believe I could hold three like them in one of mine, " she thought, and sitting down by Eloise's side, she laid her hand on the one restingon the arm of the chair. There was something so friendly and warm and so sympathetic in thetouch that Eloise wanted to cry. With a great effort she kept her tearsback, but could not prevent one or two from standing on her long lashes, and making her eyes very bright as she answered Ruby's rapid questionswith regard to the accident. "And I hear Mr. Howard Crompton brought you here himself. That wassomething of an honor, as he seldom goes out of his way for any one, "she said, with a keen look of curiosity in her eyes. "I never thought of the honor, " Eloise replied. "I could think ofnothing but the pain, which was terrible, and now everything is sodreary and so different from what I hoped. Do you think it will be longbefore I can walk?" "No; oh no, " Ruby answered cheerily. "Let me see your foot. It isswollen badly, " she said, as she replaced the old shawl Mrs. Biggs hadthrown across it. "What have you on it? Wormwood and vinegar, I know bythe odor. You should have a rubber band, and nothing else. It is cleanerand saves trouble. That's what I used, and was well in no time. " "Have you had a sprained ankle, too?" Eloise asked, and Ruby Annreplied, "Certainly. Nearly every one has at some time in his life. Itis as common as the measles. " "I believe it, " Eloise rejoined with a laugh. "So many have called tosee me, and almost every one had had a sprain, --some as many as three;and each one proposed a different remedy. " "Naturally; but you try the rubber band. I'll bring you one, andmassage your ankle, and have you well very soon. " These were the first hopeful words Eloise had heard, and her heartwarmed towards this great blond woman, who was proving herself a friend, and who began to tell her of the school and her own experience asteacher in District No. 5, which, she said, was the largest and mostimportant district in town, with the oldest scholars both summer andwinter. "There are some unruly boys, especially Tom Walker, but I am sobig and strong that I conquered him by brute force, and had no troubleafter one battle. You will conquer some other way. Tom is verysusceptible to good looks, --calls me a hayseed, and a chestnut, and amuff. It will be different with you, " and Ruby pressed the hand she washolding. Then she spoke of Col. Crompton, who used to examine theteachers, and before whom she had been five times; usually answering thesame questions, especially those contained in the "Formula, " and towhich Eloise would not be subjected. "What is the Formula?" Eloise asked, and Ruby told her, while Eloiselistened bewildered, and glad that she was to escape an ordeal she couldnever pass with credit. It was easy to be confiding with Ruby, and Eloise soon found herselftalking freely of her life and school days in Mayville, and thenecessity there was for her to teach, and the bitter disappointment itwould be to lose the school on which so much depended. "My father is dead, " she said, "and my mother is--" she hesitated, whilea deep flush came to her cheeks, "she is an invalid, and there is no oneto care for her now but me. She is in California, and I may have to gofor her, and must have the money. " Just for a moment, when Mr. Bills asked her to take Eloise's place, there had been in Ruby's mind a half-formed hope that she might bewholly reinstated in her old place as a teacher. But it was gone now, and Jack Harcourt himself was not more kindly disposed to the helplessgirl than she was. "You shall not lose the school, nor the time either, " she saidimpulsively. "I am to take it till you are able, and then I shall stepout. In the mean time, I shall do all I can for you, --shall enlist TomWalker on your side, and you will have no trouble. " She arose to go, then sat down again and said, "I hope you will be ableto attend our Rummage Sale. " "Rummage Sale!" Eloise repeated, remembering to have heard the word inconnection with the slippers Miss Amy had sent her. "I don't think Iquite understand. " "Don't you know what a Rummage Sale is?" Ruby Ann asked, explaining whatit was, and saying they were to have one in a vacant house not far fromMrs. Biggs's, the proceeds to go for a free library for District No. 5. "I am one of the solicitors, " she continued, "but as you are a strangeryou may not have anything to contribute. " As Rummage Sales were just beginning to dawn on the public horizonEloise had never heard of them, but she became interested at once, because Ruby Ann was so enthusiastic, and said, "I have two or threewhite aprons I made myself. You can have one of them if you thinkanybody will buy it. " "Buy it!" Ruby repeated, rubbing her hands in ecstasy. "It will bring abig price when they know it was yours and you made it. I'll see that ithas a conspicuous place. And now I must go and see Mrs. Biggs againabout the sale. Good-by, and keep up your courage. " She stooped and kissed Eloise, who heard her next in the kitchen talkingto Mrs. Biggs, first of rubber bands and massage, and then of theRummage Sale. When she was gone Mrs. Biggs came in and sat down andbegan to give her opinion of the Rummage Sale, and massage and rubberbands, and first the Rummage. A good way to get rid of truck, and RubyAnn said they took everything. She had a lot of old chairs and a warmingpan and foot-stove, and she s'posed she might give the spotted brown andwhite calico wrapper which Eloise had worn. It was faded and out ofstyle. Yes, on the whole, she'd give the wrapper. She never liked itvery well, she said; and then she spoke of the rubber band Ruby Ann hadrecommended instead of wormwood and vinegar, and of which she did notapprove. What did Ruby Ann know? though, to be sure, she was old enough. How old did Eloise think she was? Eloise had not given her age athought, but, pressed for an answer, ventured the reply that she mightbe verging on to thirty. "Verging on to thirty! More likely verging on to forty, " Mrs. Biggssaid, with a savage click of the needles with which she was knitting Tima sock. "I know her age, if she does try to look young and wear a sailorhat, and ride a wheel in a short gown! I'd laugh to see me ridin' awheel, and there ain't so much difference between us neither. I know, for we went to school together. She was a little girl, to be sure, andsat on the low seat and learnt her a-b-c's. I was four or five yearsolder, and sat on a higher seat with Amy Crompton, till the Colonel tookher from the district school and kep' her at home with a governess. " Mrs. Biggs was very proud of the acquaintance she had had with AmyCrompton, when the two played together under the trees which shaded theschool-house the Colonel had built as _expiatory_ years before, and shecontinued: "Amy, you know, is the half-cracked lady at the CromptonHouse who sent the hat and slippers. She's been married twice, --run awaythe first time. My land! what a stir there was about it, and what a highhoss the Colonel rode. Who her second was nobody knows, --some scamp bythe name of Smith, --that's your name, and a good one, too, but about thecommonest in the world, I reckon. There's four John Smiths in town, andJoel Smith, who brings my milk, and George Smith I buy aigs of, andforty odd more. They say the Colonel hates the name like pisen. Won'thave anybody work for him by that name. Dismissed his milkman because hewas a Smith, and between you and I, I b'lieve half his opposition to youwas your name. Why, it's like a red rag to a bull. " "I didn't know he was opposed to me personally, " Eloise said, and Mrs. Biggs replied, "Of course not; how could he be? He never seen you. It'sthe normal, and bein' put out of office--he and Ruby Ann. They've runthings long enough. They say he did swear offel at the last schoolmeetin' about normals and ingrates and all that, --meanin' they'd forgotall he'd done for 'em; but, my land, you can't b'lieve half you hear. Idon't b'lieve nothin', and try to keep a close mouth 'bout what I dob'lieve. I ain't none o' your gossips, and won't have folks sayin' theWidder Biggs said so and so. " Here Mrs. Biggs stopped to take breath and answer a rap at the kitchendoor, where George Smith was standing with a basket of eggs. Eloisecould hear her badgering him because he charged too much and because hishens did not lay larger eggs, and threatening to withdraw her patronageif there was not a change. Then items of the latest news were exchanged, Mrs. Biggs doing her part well for one who never repeated anything andnever believed anything. When George Smith was gone she returned to herseat by Eloise and resumed her conversation, which had been interrupted, and which was mostly reminiscent of people and incidents in Crompton, and especially of the Crompton House and its occupants, with a secondfling at Ruby Ann. CHAPTER VIII MRS. BIGGS'S REMINISCENCES "Maybe I was too hard on Ruby Ann, " she said, measuring the heel ofTim's sock to see if it were time to begin to narrow. "She's a prettyclever woman, take her by and large, but I do hate to see a dog frisklike a puppy, and she's thirty-five if she's a day. You see, I know, 'cause, as I was tellin' you, there was her and me and Amy Cromptongirls together. I am forty, Amy is thirty-eight or thirty-nine, and RubyAnn is thirty-five. " Having settled Ruby's age and asked Eloise hers, and told her she lookedyoung for nineteen, the good woman branched off upon the grandeur of theCrompton House, with its pictures and statuary and bric-à-brac, itsflowers and fountains, and rustic arbors and seats scattered over thelawn. Eloise had heard something of the place from a school friend, butnever had it been so graphically described as by Mrs. Biggs, and shelistened with a feeling that in the chamber of her childhood's memory apicture of this place had been hung by somebody. "Was it my father?" she asked herself, and answered decidedly, "No, " asshe recalled the little intercourse she had ever had with him. "Was itmy mother?" she next asked herself, and involuntarily her tears startedas she thought of her mother, and how unlikely it was that she had everbeen in Crompton. Turning her head aside to hide her tears from Mrs. Biggs, she said, "Tell me more of the place. It almost seems as if I had been there. " Thus encouraged, Mrs. Biggs began a description of the lawn party whichshe was too young to remember, although she was there with her mother, and had a faint recollection of music and candy and lights in the trees, and an attack of colic the night after as a result of overeating. "But, my land!" she said, "that was nothin' to the blow-out on Amy'ssixteenth birthday. The Colonel had kep' her pretty close after he tookher from school. She had a governess and she had a maid, but I must sayshe didn't seem an atom set up, and was just as nice when she met usgirls. 'Hello, Betsey, ' she'd say to me. That's my name, Betsey, but Icall myself 'Lisbeth. 'Hello, Betsey, ' I can hear her now, as shecantered past on her pony, in her long blue ridin' habit. Sometimesshe'd come to the school-house and set on the grass under the appletrees and chew gum with us girls. That was before her party, which beatanything that was ever seen in Crompton, or will be again. The avenueand yard and stables were full of carriages, and there were eighteenwaiters besides the _canterer_ from Boston. " "The what?" Eloise asked, and Mrs. Biggs replied, "The _canterer_, don'tyou know, the man who sees to things and brings the vittles and hiswaiters. They say he alone cost the Colonel five hundred dollars; but, my land! that's no more for him than five dollars is for me. He fairlyswims in money. Such dresses you never seen as there was there thatnight, and such bare necks and arms, with a man at the door, a man atthe head of the stairs to tell 'em where to go, and one in thegentlemen's room, and two girls in the ladies' rooms to button theirgloves and put on their dancing pumps. The carousin' lasted tilldaylight, and a tireder, more worn-out lot of folks than we was younever seen. I was nearly dead. " "Were you there?' Eloise asked, with a feeling that there was someincongruity between the Crompton party and Mrs. Biggs, who did not careto say that she was one of the waitresses who buttoned gloves and put onthe dancing pumps in the dressing-room. "Why, yes, I was there, " she said at last, "though I wasn't exactly inthe doin's. I've never danced since I was dipped and jined the church. Do you dance, or be you a perfessor?" Eloise had to admit that she did dance and was not a professor, althoughshe hoped to be soon. "What persuasion?" was Mrs. Biggs's next question, and Eloise replied, "I was baptized in the Episcopal Church in Rome. " "The one in York State, I s'pose, and not t'other one across the seas?"Mrs. Biggs suggested, and Eloise answered, "Yes, the one across the seasin Italy. " "For goodness' sake! How you talk! You don't mean you was born there?"Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, with a feeling of added respect for one who wasactually born across the seas. "Do you remember it, and did you know thePope and the King?" Eloise said she did not remember being born, nor did she know the Popeor the King. "I was a little girl when I left Italy, and do not remember much, except that I was happier there than I have ever been since. " "I want to know! I s'pose you've had trouble in your family?" was Mrs. Biggs's quick rejoinder, as she scented some private history which shemeant to find out. But beyond the fact that her father was dead and her mother inCalifornia, she could learn nothing from Eloise, and returned to thepoint from which they had drifted to the Episcopal Church in Rome. "I kinder mistrusted you was a 'Piscopal. I do' know why, but I can mostalways tell 'em, " she said. "The Cromptons is all that way of thinkin'. Old Colonel is a vestedman, I b'lieve they call 'em, but he swearsofful. I don't call that religion; do you? But folks ain't alike. Idon't s'pose the Church is to blame. There's now and then as good a'Piscopal as you'll find anywhere. Ruby Ann has jined 'em, and goes itstrong. B'lieves in candles and vestures; got Tim into the choir oneSunday, and now you can't keep him out of it. Wears a--a--I don't knowwhat you call it, --something that looks like a short night-gown, and Ihave to wash it every other week. I don't mind that, and I do b'lieveTim is more of a man than he was, and he sings beautiful. And hain'tlearnt nothin' bad there yet, but the minister does some things I don'tapprove; no, don't approve. What do you think he does right beforefolks, in plain sight, sittin' on the piazza?" Eloise could not hazard a guess as to the terrible sin of which Mr. Mason, the rector of St. John's, was guilty, and said so. "Well, " and Mrs. Biggs's voice sank to a whisper as she leaned forward, "_he smokes a cigar in broad daylight_! What do you think of that for aminister of the gospel?" She was so much in earnest, and her manner so dramatic, that Eloiselaughed the first real, hearty laugh she had indulged in since she cameto Crompton. Smoking might be objectionable, but it did not seem to herthe most heinous crime in the world, and she had a very vividremembrance of a coat in which there lurked the odor of many Havanas, and to which she had clung desperately in the darkness and rain on thenight which seemed to her years ago. She did not, however, express anyopinion with regard to the Rev. Arthur Mason's habits, or feelespecially interested in him. But Mrs. Biggs was, and once launched onthe subject, she told Eloise that he was from the South, and had notbeen long in the place; that he was unmarried, and all the girls wereafter him, Ruby Ann with the rest, and she at least half a dozen yearsolder. "But, land's sake! What does that count with an old maid when a youngminister is in the market, " she said, adding that, with the exception ofsmoking, she believed the new minister was a good man, though for somereason Col. Crompton did not like him, and had only been to church oncesince he came, and wouldn't let Miss Amy go either. This brought her back to the Cromptons generally, and during the nexthalf hour Eloise had a pretty graphic description of the Colonel and hiseccentricities, of Amy, when she was a young girl, of the way she cameto the Crompton House, and the mystery which still surrounded her birth. "My Uncle Peter lived there when she came, and lives there now, --a kindof vally to the old Colonel, " she said, "and he's told me of themornin' the Colonel brung her home, a queer-looking little thing, --inher clothes, I mean, --and offul peppery, I judge, fightin' everybody whocame near her, and rollin' on the floor, bumpin' and cryin' for a niggerwho had took care of her somewhere, nobody knows where, for the Colonelnever told, and if Uncle Peter knows, he holds his tongue. She was aterrible fighter at school, if things didn't suit her, but she's quietenough now; seems 's if she'd been through the fire, poor thing, andthey say she don't remember nothin', and begins to shake if she tries toremember. The Colonel is very kind to her; lets her have all the moneyshe wants, and she gives away a sight. Sent you a hat and slips, almostnew, and had never seen you. That's like Amy, and, my soul, there she isnow, comin' down the road with the Colonel in the b'rouch. Hurry, andyou can see her; I'll move you. " Utterly regardless of the lame foot, which dragged on the floor and hurtcruelly, Mrs. Biggs drew Eloise to the window in time to see a handsomeopen carriage drawn by two splendid bays passing the house. The Colonelwas muffled up as closely as if it were midwinter, and only a part ofhis face and his long, white hair were visible, but he was sittingupright, with his head held high, and looked the embodiment ofaristocratic pride and arrogance. The lady beside him was very slight, and sat in a drooping kind of posture, as if she were tired, orrestless, or both. To see her face was impossible, for she was closelyveiled, and neither she nor the Colonel glanced toward the house as theypassed. "I am so disappointed. I wanted to see her face, " Eloise said, watchingthe carriage until it was hidden from view by a turn in the road. "Yousay she is lovely?" and she turned to Mrs. Biggs. "Lovely don't express it. Seraphic comes nearer. Looks as if she hadsome great sorrow she was constantly thinking of, and trying to smile asshe thought of it, " Mrs. Biggs replied. Then, as Eloise looked quicklyup, she exclaimed, "Well, if I ain't beat! It's come to me what I'vebeen tryin' to think of ever sense I seen you. They ain't the samecolor; hers is darker, but there is a look in your eyes for all theworld as hers used to be when she was a girl, and wan't wearin' herhigh-heeled shoes and ridin' over our heads. Them times she was as likethe Colonel as one pea is like another, and her eyes fairly snapped. Other times they was soft and tender-like, and bright as stars, with alook in 'em which I know now was kinder, --well, kinder crazy-like, youknow. " Eloise had heard many things said of her own eyes, but never before thatthey were crazy-like, and did not feel greatly complimented. Shelaughed, however, and said she would like to see the lady whose eyeshers were like. Before Mrs. Biggs could reply there was a step outside, and, tiptoeingto the window, she exclaimed, in a whisper, "If I won't give it up, there's the 'Piscopal minister, Mr. Mason, come to call on you! Ruby Annmust of told him you belonged to 'em. " She dropped her knitting, and, hurrying to the door, admitted the Rev. Arthur Mason, and ushered him at once into the room where Eloise wassitting, saying as she introduced him, "I s'pose you have come to seeher. " It was an awkward situation for the young man, whose call was notprompted by any thought of Eloise. His business was with Mrs. Biggs, who had the reputation of being the parish register and townencyclopædia, from which information regarding everybody could begleaned, and he had come to her for information which he had been toldshe could probably give him. He had been in Crompton but three months, and had come there from a small parish in Virginia. On the first Sundaywhen he officiated in St. John's he had noticed in the audience a tall, aristocratic-looking man, with long white hair and beard, who made theresponses loud and in a tone which told the valuation he put uponhimself. In the same pew was a lady whose face attracted his attention, it was so sweet and yet so sad, while the beautiful eyes, he was sure, were sometimes full of tears as she listened with rapt attention to whathe was saying of our heavenly home, where those we have loved and lostwill be restored to us. It scarcely seemed possible, and yet he thoughtthere was a nod of assent, and was sure that a smile broke over her facewhen he spoke of the first meeting of friends in the next world, themother looking for her child, and the child coming to the gates ofParadise to meet its mother. Who was she, he wondered, and who was theold man beside her, who held himself so proudly? He soon learned whothey were, and hearing that the Colonel was very lame, and the lady aninvalid, he took the initiative and called at the Crompton House. TheColonel received him very cordially, and made excuses for Amy'snon-appearance, saying she was not quite herself and shy with strangers. He was very affable, and evidently charmed with his visitor, until, asthe conversation flowed on, it came out that the rector was aSoutherner by birth, although educated for the ministry at the North, and that his father, the Rev. Charles Mason, was at present filling avacancy in a little country church in Enterprise, Florida, where he hadbeen before the war. The Rev. Arthur Mason could not tell what it wasthat warned him of an instantaneous change in the Colonel's manner, itwas so subtle and still so perceptible. There was a settling himselfback in his chair, a tighter clasping of his gold-headed cane with whichhe walked, and which he always kept in his hand. He was less talkative, and finally was silent altogether, and when at last the rector arose togo, he was not asked to stay or call again. Peter was summoned to showhim the door, the Colonel bowing very stiffly as he went out. How he hadoffended, if he had done so, the rector could not guess, and, hearingwithin a week or two that the Colonel was indisposed, he called again, but was not admitted. Col. Crompton was too nervous to see any one, hewas told, and there the acquaintance had ended. The Crompton pew was notoccupied until Howard came and was occasionally seen in it. Evidentlythe new rector was a _persona non grata_, and he puzzled his brain for areason in vain, until a letter from his father threw some light upon thesubject and induced him to call upon Mrs. Biggs. As usual she was very loquacious, scarcely allowing him a word, andringing changes on her own and Eloise's sprained ankle, until he beganto fear he should have no chance to broach the object of his visitwithout seeming to drag it in. The chance came on the return of theCrompton carriage, with the Colonel sitting stiff and straight and Amydrooping under her veil beside him. Here was his opportunity, and therector seized it, and soon learned nearly all Mrs. Biggs knew of Amy'sarrival at Crompton House and the surmises concerning her antecedents. "She's a Crompton if there ever was one, and why the Colonel should keepso close a mouth all these years beats me, " was Mrs. Biggs's closingremark, as she bowed the rector out and went back to Eloise, who feltthat she was getting very familiar with the Crompton history, so far asMrs. Biggs knew it. CHAPTER IX LETTER FROM REV. CHARLES MASON "Enterprise, Fla. , Sept. --, 18--. "My dear Arthur: "I was glad to hear that you were so pleasantly situated and liked yourparish work. I trust it is cooler there than here in Florida, where thethermometer has registered higher day after day than it has before inyears. I rather like it, however, as I am something of a salamander, andthis, you know, is not my first experience in Florida. I was herebetween thirty and forty years ago, before I was married. In fact, I metyour mother here at the Brock House, which before the war was frequentedby many Southerners, some of whom came in the summer as well as in thewinter. "It was while I was here that an incident occurred which made a strongimpression upon my mind, and was recalled to it by your mention of_Crompton_ as the town where you are living. On one of the hottest daysof the season I attended a funeral, the saddest, and, in some respects, the most peculiar I ever attended. It was in a log-house some miles fromthe river, and was that of a young girl, who lay in her coffin with apathetic look on her face, as if in death she were pleading for somewrong to be righted. I could scarcely keep back my tears when I lookedat her, and after all these years my eyes grow moist when I recall thatfuneral in the palmetto clearing, with only Crackers and negroes inattendance, a demented old woman, a dark-eyed little girl, the onlyrelatives, and a free negro, Jake, and Mandy Ann, a slave, belonging toMrs. Harris, the only real mourners. Mandy Ann attended to the child andold woman, while Jake was master of ceremonies, and more intelligentthan many white people I have met. Such a funeral as that was, with thecries and groans and singing of both whites and blacks! One old woman, called Judy, came near having the _power_, as they call a kind of fit ofspiritual exaltation. But Jake shook her up, and told her to behave, asit was a 'Piscopal funeral and not a pra'r meetin'. Mandy Ann also shookup the old lady, Mrs. Harris, and screamed in her ear through a trumpet, while the little dark-eyed child joined in the refrain of the negroes'song, "'Oh, it will be joyful When we meet to part no more. ' "It was ludicrous, but very sad, and Jake's efforts to keep order werepitiful. He called his young mistress Miss Dory, and was most anxious toscreen her from the least suspicion of wrong. When I questioned him withregard to the parentage of the little girl, he wrung his hands andanswered, 'I do' know for shu', but fo' God it's all right. She tole meso, fo' she died, an' Miss Dory never tole a lie. She said to find ElderCovil, who knew, but he's done gone off Norf, or somewhar. ' "I felt sure it was all right when I saw the girl's face. It must havebeen beautiful in life, and no taint of guilt had ever marred itsinnocence. There could have been no fault at her door, exceptconcealment, and the reason for that was buried in her grave. I heard ofa stranger who visited the clearing three or four years before thefuneral. Jake was away, but Mandy Ann was there and full of the'gemman, ' who, I have no doubt, was the girl's husband and a greatscamp. I left Florida within a week after that funeral, and have neverbeen here since, until I came to take charge for a time of the churchwhich has been erected here. I should never have known the place, it haschanged so since the close of the war and the influx of visitors fromthe North. The hotel, which has been greatly improved and enlarged, isalways full in the season, and it is one of the most popular winterresorts on the river. "One of my first inquiries was for the negroes Jake and Mandy Ann. Thelatter is married and lives near the hotel, with as many children, Ithought, as the old woman who lived in a shoe, the way they swarmed outwhen I called to see their mother. She had gone to Jacksonville to see'ole Miss Perkinses, who was dyin', and had sent for her 'case she donelive with her when she was a girl, ' one of the pickaninnies said. When Iasked for Jake I was told he was still in the palmetto clearing. No onecould tell me anything about the little girl who must now, if living, bea woman of nearly forty. Indeed, no one seemed to remember her, sochanged are the people since the war. Jake, I was sure, had notforgotten, and a few days ago I went to see him. He is an old man now, and if there is such a thing as an aristocratic negro, he is one; withhis face black as ebony, his hair white as snow, and his eyes full ofintelligence and fire, especially when he talks of Miss Dory and 'degood ole times fo' she went to Georgy and met de Northern cuss. ' That iswhat he calls the man who came for the little girl after the oldgrandmother died. "I will tell you the story of his coming as Jake told it to me in thelittle enclosure where Miss Dory is buried, and where there is a verypretty monument to her memory, with 'Eudora, aged 20, ' upon it. He wasworking in the yard, which was a garden of bloom, and over the grave andaround the monument a Marshal Niel had twined itself, its clusters ofroses filling the air with perfume. Pushing them a little aside, so thatI could see the lettering more distinctly, he said, 'That's what he toleme to put thar, jess "Eudora, aged 20. " I've left room for another namewhen I'm perfectly shu'. I don't want to put no lie on a grave stun, ifher name wan't Crompton. ' "'Crompton!' I repeated, thinking of your parish. "'Yes, Mas'r Mason, fo' God I b'lieve it's Crompton shu'. He comed an'fetched lil chile Dory, the lil girl you seen at the funeral, what seemsonly yestiddy, one way and in another a big lifetime sense we buried hermother here. ' "'Who is Mr. Crompton, and how did he know about the child?' I asked, and Jake replied, 'He is somebody from the Norf, and he'd sent money toMas'r Hardy in Palatka for Miss Dory, who put it away for de chile. After she died Mas'r Hardy was gwine to Europe, an' tole me 'twas Col. Crompton, Troutburg, Massachusetts, who sent the money, but he wouldn'tsay nothin' else, 'cept that Col. Crompton had gin him his confidenceand he should keep it. I'm shoo that Miss Dory sent letters throughMas'r Hardy to de Colonel, an' he writ to her. Not very offen, though. She'd sen' one to Mas'r Hardy, an' he'd sen' it Norf, an' then she'dwait and wait for de answer, an' when it came you or'to seen her facelight up like sun-up on de river in a May mornin'. An' her eyes, --shehad wonnerful eyes, --would shine like de stars frosty nights inVirginny. Maybe 'twas mean, but sometimes I watched her readin' deletter, her han's flutterin' as she opened it like a little bird's wingswhen it's cotched. I think she was allus 'spectin' sumptin' what nevercomed. The letters was short, but it took her a mighty time to read 'em, 'case you see she wasn't good at readin' writin', an' I 'specs deColonel's handwrite wasn't very plain. She used to spell out de longwords, whisperin' 'em out sometimes, her face changin' till all debrightness was gone, an' it was more like a storm on de river thansun-up. Den she'd fold de letter, an' take up de lil chile an' kiss it, an' say, "I've got _you_. We'll never part. " Den she'd burn de letter. Ispecs he tole her to, an' she was shoo to mind. Den she'd go at herreadin' book agin, or writin', tryin' to larn, but 'twixt you an' I'twan't in her, an', no direspec' nuther, de Harrises couldn't larn frombooks. Dey's quick to 'dapt theirselves to what they seen, an' shedidn't see nothin'. "'Once she said to me when de big words troubled her an' floor'd me, "Ican never be a lady dis way. Ef he'd take me whar he is, an' 'mongst hispeople, I should larn thar ways, but what can I do here wid--" Shedidn't say "wid Jake an' Mandy Ann an' ole granny, an' de rest of 'em, "but she meant it. If it hadn't been for the lil chile she could of goneto school. I tole her oncet I'd sen' her an' take care of de lil chilean' ole Miss, --me an' Mandy Ann. The tears come in her eyes as she astwhar I'd git de money, seein' we was layin' up what come from de Norffor de chile. I'd done thought that out lyin' awake nights an' plannin'how to make her a lady. I'se bawn free, you know, an' freedom was sweetto me an' slavery sour, but for Miss Dory I'd do it, an' I said, "I'llsell myself to Mas'r Hardy, or some gemman like him. " Thar's plentywants me, an' would give a big price, an' she should have it all for herschoolin'. "'You orter have seen her face then. Every part of it movin' to oncet, an' her eyes so bright I could not look at 'em for the quarness thar wasin 'em, an' I'll never forget her voice as she said, "That can't be;but, Jakey, you are de noblest man, black or white, I ever seen, an' mybest frien', an' I loves you as if you was my brodder. " "'Dem's her very words, an' I would of sole myself for her if I could. But de lam gin up after a while. All de hope an' life went out of her, an' she died' an' you done 'tended her funeral, --you 'members it, --asfust class as I could make it. I tole you sumptin' den, but not allthis. It wasn't a fittin' time, but seein' you brings it all back. MandyAnn an' me said we'd keep lil chile a while, bein' ole Miss was alive, though she was no better than a broomstick dressed in her clothes. Shedidn't know nothin', not even that Miss Dory was dead, an' kep' askin'whose chile it was, --ef it was Mandy Ann's, an' why it was hyar. Itkinder troubled her, I think, it was so active an' noisy, an' sung somuch. Used to play at pra'r meetin' an' have de pow' powerful, as shehad seen de blacks have it when Mandy Ann took her to thar meetin's. Seems ef she liked thar ways better than what I tried to teach her fromde Pra'r Book, an' they is rather more livelier for a chile. All deneighbors was interested in her, an' ole Miss Thomas most of all. She'sde one what stood out de longest agin Miss Dory, 'case she didn't tellsquar what she'd promised not to. But she gin in at de funeral, an' wasmighty nice to the lil chile. When ole Miss Lucy died she comed in herdemocrat wagon, as she did for Miss Dory, an' coaxed lil chile inter herlap, an' said she showed she had good blood, an' or'to be brung up alady, an' it wasn't fittin' for her to stay whar she was, an' if I knewde fader I mus' write to him. "'I knew dat as well as she did, an' after consultin' wid Mandy Ann an'prayin' for light, it come dat I must sen' on, an' I did, hopin' hewouldn' come, for to part wid de lil chile was like tearin' my vitalsout, an' Mandy Ann's, too. He did come, --a big, gran' man, wid a lookwhich made me glad Miss Dory was in heaven 'stead of livin' wid him. He'd been hyar oncet before. Mebby I tole you, at de funeral. My mindgets leaky, an' I can't 'member exactly, an' so repeats. ' "'I think not, ' I said, 'and if you did, I have forgotten, and amwilling to hear it again. ' "We were sitting now on a bench close by what Jake said had been thelittle girl's play-house, which she called her _Shady_, because it wasunder a palm tree. "'Yes, he comed, ' Jake said, 'two or three weeks after Miss Dory comedhome from Georgy, whar she was visitin' her kin. Mandy Ann tole me 'bouthim, --how he walked an' talked to Miss Dory, till when he went away herface was white as the gown she put on when she hearn he was comin'. Yousee, Mandy Ann was on de boat wid him, an' tole her. She was all of atwitter, like you've seen de little hungry birds in de nest when darmudder is comin' wid a worm, --an' she was jess as cold an' slimpsy an'starved when he went away as dem little birds is when de mudder is shoton de wing an' never comes wid de worm. You know what I mean. Shes'pected somethin' an' didn't get it. ' "Jake was very eloquent in his illustrations, and I looked admiringly athim as he went on: 'I was in Virginny vallyin' for Mas'r Kane, a finegemman who gin me big wage, an' I was savin' it up to buy some thingsfor de house, 'case I reckoned how Miss Dory seen somethin' different inGeorgy. Her kin was very 'spectable folks, an' she might want somefixin's. Thar was nobody hyar but ole Miss Lucy, who'd had some kind ofa spell an' lost most of her sense, an' didn't know more'n a chile. Mandy Ann got somebody to write me that Miss Dory had a beau, --a gran'man, an' I was that pleased that I ast the price of a second-han'pianny, thinkin' mebby she'd want to larn, 'case she sung so nice. Den Inever hearn anoder word, 'cept from Miss Dory, till Mas'r Hardy writMas'r Kane to sen' me home, 'case I was needed. I s'posed ole Miss Lucyhad had another fit, an' started thinkin' all de way up de river how I'dsee Miss Dory standin' in de do' wid de smile on her face, an' de lightin her eyes, an' her pleasant voice sayin' to me, "How d'ye, Jake, I'semighty glad to see you. " 'Stid o' that she wasn't thar, an' Mandy Anncome clatterin' down de stars, an' I hearn a baby cry. In my s'prise Isaid, "What's dat ar? Has ole Miss got a baby?" "'Mandy Ann laughed till she cried, den cried without laughin', an' toleme wid her face to de wall, an' I was so shamed I could of hid in desan', an' Mandy Ann, they tole me, did run inter de woods at fust tohide herself. Den she smarted up an' fit for Miss Dory, who said nothin''cept, "Wait, it will all be right. I tole him I would wait. I'm a goodgirl, " an' fo' Heaven, I b'lieved her, though some o' de white trashdidn't at fust, but they all did at the last. Maybe I'm tirin' you?' "'No, ' I said, 'go on, ' and he continued: 'I'se tole you most all dathappened after dat till she died an' you comed to de funeral. "'When ole miss died, I writ to de Colonel, as I tole you, an' he comed, gran', an' proud, an' stiff, an' I tole him all 'bout Miss Dory same asI have you, --p'raps not quite so much, --p'raps mo'. I don't remember, 'case as I said my memory is ole an' leaky, and mebby I ain't tellin' itright in course as I tole him. Some was in de house, an' some out hyar, whar I said, "Dis is her grave. She's lyin' under de san', but I'll fixher up in time an' she shall sleep under de roses. " "'I tole him everything was done in order, an' how you preached about deResurrection an' de Life, an' how sweet she look in her coffin, an'Mandy Ann's puttin' her ring on de weddin' finger, an' his mouf trembledlike, up and down, an' I b'lieve ef thar had been a tear in his dried-upheart he'd of shed it. "'Oncet, when he seemed kinder softened, I ast him squar, " Ain't you herhusband?" "'Thar was such a quar look in his eyes, --a starin' at me a minit, --an'then he said, "I am nobody's husband, an' never shall be. " "'I b'lieve he lied, an' wanted to knock him down, but wouldn't rightthar by her grave. He tole me I was to have all the money Miss Dory hadbeen layin' up, an' he would send me mo' for the stun. I ast what Ishould put on it, an' he said, "What was on her coffin plate?" "Eudora, aged 20, " I tole him. "Put the same on the stun, " he said. Hetole me I was to stay on de place, an' have all I made. Then thar wasMandy Ann, who 'longed to de lil chile. She was to stay hyar, he said, an' he'd pay her wage which she could keep herself. He'd settle wid delil chile when de time come, an' set Mandy Ann free. I think he meantit, but he was spar'd de trouble, for de wah corned like a big broom an'swep' slavery away, an' mos' everyting souf wid it, an' Mandy Ann wasfree any way widout de Colonel. "'After de chile went away I got to broodin' over Miss Dory's wrongs, till I'se so worked up agin de Colonel, dat when de wah broke out I wasminded to 'list, hopin' I'd meet him somewhar in battle an' shoot him. Den I cooled down an' staid home an' raised things an' worked for depoor folks hyar, --de women, whose husban's an' brudders had gone to dewah. Ted, --dat's de boy on de "Hatty" long ago, --went to de wah wid agreat flourish, promisin' Mandy Ann he'd shoot the Colonel shu' ef hegot a chance. An' what do you think? At de fust crack of de cannon in defust battle he seen, he cut an' run, an' kep' on runnin' till he gothyar, beggin' me an' Mandy Ann to hide him, 'case he was a deserter. Iheld my tongue, an' let Mandy Ann do as she pleased, an' she hid himtill de Federals come, when he jined them, an' did get hit, but 'twas onde back or shoulder, showin' which way he was runnin'. "'Den Mandy Ann married him, an' has ten chillenses, an' washes an'scrubs for de Brock House an' everybody, while Ted struts roun' wid acigar in his mouf, an' says he has neber seen a well day sense dewah, --dat his shoulder pains him powerful at times, --an' he is tryin' toget a pension, an' Mandy Ann is helpin' him. Beats all what women won'tdo for a man if they love him, no matter how big a skunk he is. MissDory died for one, an' Mandy Ann is slavin' herself to deff for one. I'se mighty glad I'se not a woman. ' "Here Jake stopped a moment, presumably to reflect on the waywardness ofMiss Dory and Mandy Ann caring for two skunks, --one the Colonel and oneTed, whose last name I did not know till I asked Jake, who replied, 'Hamilton--a right smart name, I'm told, an' 'long'd to de quality. Oleman Hamilton come from de norf somewhar, an' bought Ted's mother, alikely mulatto. Who his fader was I doan know. He's more white danblack, an' is mighty proud of his name, --Hamilton, --'case somebody tolehim thar was once a big man, Hamilton, an' when Mandy Ann had twin boys, she was tole to call 'em Alexander an' Aaron, --sumptin', --I doan justlyremember what. It makes me think of a chestnut. ' "'Burr, ' I suggested, and he replied, 'Yes, sar, dat's it, --AaronBurr, --anoder big man, --an' dey calls de twins Alex and Aaron. Fineboys, too, wid Mandy Ann's get-up in 'em. Dar's two mo' twins, --littlegals; beats all what a woman Mandy Ann is for twins, --an' she calls 'emJudy and Dory, --one for young Miss, an' t'other for de rag doll lilchile took norf wid her and called Judy, for an ole woman who has goneto de Canaan she used to sing about--"Oh, I'se boun' for de lan' ofCanaan. " She was powerful in pra'r, an' at de fust meetin' after de wah, an' she knew she was free, I b'lieve you could of hearn her across delake to Sanford, she shout "Glory, bress de Lawd!" so loud. But for allshe was free, she wouldn't leave ole Miss Thomas. "I likes my mistis, an' I ain't gwine to leave her wid somebody else to comb her har, an'make her corn bread, " she said, when dey tried to persuade her to go toPalatky. She staid wid ole Miss, who buried her decent, an' has goneherself to jine her an' Miss Dory in de better land, which seems to meis not far away; an' offen, when I sees de sun go down in a glory of redan' purple an' yaller, --I'se mighty fond of yaller, --I says to myself, "It's dat way dey goes to de udder world, whar, please God, I'll go someday fore berry long, --for I tries to be good. " "There was a rapt look in Jake's face as he turned it to the west, and Iwould have given much to know that my future was as assured as his. " Here the first part of Mr. Mason's letter closed abruptly, as a friendcame to call, but he added hastily, "To-morrow I'll finish, and tell youabout the child who now occupies all Jake's thoughts, praying every daythat he may see her again. " CHAPTER X PART SECOND OF REV. MR. MASON'S LETTER "I was interrupted yesterday, and hardly know where to begin again, orwhat I have written, as Jake was a little mixed and went forward andback at times, showing that his memory was, as he said, leaky, but whenhe struck the child he was bright as a guinea. 'Lil Chile' and 'HoneyBee' he calls her. He told me of her running into the house to meet theColonel, with her soiled frock, and her face and hands besmeared withmolasses; of her tussle with Mandy Ann, who wanted to wash her face andchange her clothes, and of her fine appearance at the last in a whitegown, her best, which he had bought and Mandy Ann made not long before, and which the Colonel would not take with him. So they kept it, andMandy Ann washed and ironed it, and put it away with some sweet herbs, and aired it every year till she was married, when Jake cared for ittill Mandy Ann's twins were born, --Alex and Aaron. Then Mandy Annborrowed it for them to be christened in, one of them one Sunday and onethe next, so that both had the honor of wearing it, while Jake wassponsor, 'For, ' said he, 'Mandy Ann has gin up them hollerin' meetin'swhar white folks done come to see de ole darkies have a kind of powow, as dey use to have befo' de wah. Clar for't if de folks from de Norfdon't gin de blacks money to sing de ole-time songs an' rock an' weaveback an' forth till dey have de pow'. I don't think much of dat ar, jess'musin' theyselves wid our religion;' and Jake looked his disgust, andcontinued: "'Mandy Ann like mighty well to jine 'em, but I hole her back, an' nowshe's 'Piscopal, ef she's anything, --an' when de girl twins come, --Doryan' Judy, --she borrowed lil chile's gown agin. Dat make fo' times, an'then I shet de gates, an' said, "No mo' gown, an' no mo' twins, " an'thar hain't been no mo'. "'But I'se got a good ways from lil chile, who wan't an atom shy of deColonel, though he was of her, an' when he took her han' I could almostsee him squirm like. I think he tried to be kind, an' he gin her a lilivory book he had on his watch-chain, but you see he didn't feel it. Hedidn't care for children, and it seemed as if he wanted to get away fromthis one. But he couldn't. She was his'n; I'd bet my soul on dat. He hadto come after her an' took her, though 'twas 'bout the wust job he everdid, I reckon. She fit like a tiger cat about gwine wid him, an' 'strue's you bawn, I don't b'lieve she'd gone ef he hadn't took me wid himto Savannah. I can't tell you, Mas'r Mason, 'bout de partin' thar. 'Twasdrefful, an' I kin see her now rollin' on de flo', wid her heels an'han's in de air, an' she a-sayin' she mus' stay wid Shaky. I bought hersuch a pretty red cloak, all lined wid white silk, an' wrapped her init, an' took her on to de boat, an' left her thar, she thinkin' I wascomin' back, an' the last I seen of her, as the boat moved off, she wasjumpin' up an' down, an' stretchin' her arms to me, an' the Cunnelholdin' her tight, or I b'lieve she'd sprung overboard. He'd a goodtime gettin' her home, I reckon. She was the very old Harry when herdander was up, ' and the old negro laughed as he thought of what theColonel must have borne on that journey with his troublesome charge. "There came a few lines to him, he said, telling of Col. Crompton's safearrival home, and that the child was well. After a while the war brokeout, and communication with the North was cut off. The friend inPalatka, who had returned from Europe and joined the Confederate Army, was killed, and the letter which Jake sent to Col. Crompton when peacewas restored was not answered for a long time. At last the Colonel wrotethat Eudora had married against his wishes and gone to Europe, and Jakewas not to trouble him with any more letters concerning her. "An' that's all I knows of her, ' he said, 'whether she's dead or alive, or whar she is; but if I did know I b'lieve I'd walk afoot to de Norf tosee her. She ain't my lil chile Dory no mo', but I allus thinks of herlike dat, an' I keeps de cradle she was rocked in by my bed, an'sometimes, when I'se lonesome nights, an' can't sleep for thinkin' ofher, I puts my han' out an' jogs it with a feelin' the lil one is thar, an' every day I prays she may come back to me, an' I b'lieve she will. Yes, sar, it comes to me that she will. ' "The tears were running down the old man's face when, on our going tothe house, he showed me the cradle close to his bed, a rude, old-fashioned, high-topped thing, such as the poorest families usedyears ago. There was a pillow, or cushion, in it, and a little patchworkquilt, which, he said, Mandy Ann pieced and made. He showed me, too, asecond or third school reader, soiled and worn and pencil marked, andshowing that it had been much used. "'This was Miss Dory's, ' he said; 'the one she studied de most, tryin'to learn, an' gettin' terribly flustered wid de big words. I can see hernow, bendin' over it airly an' late; sometimes wid de chile in her laptill she done tuckered out, an' laid it away with a sithe as if glad tobe shet of it. She couldn't larn, an' de Lord took her whar dey don'task what you knows, --only dis: does you lub de Lord? an' she did, delamb. ' "Jake was still crying, and I was not far from it as I saw in fancy thatpoor young girl trying to learn, trying to master the big words andtheir meaning, in the vain hope of fitting herself for companionshipwith a man who had deserted her, and who probably never had for her morethan a passing fancy, of which he was ashamed and would gladly ignore. "'I showed him de book, ' Jake said, 'an' tole him how she tried to larn, an' I tried to help her all I could, an' then he did have some feelin'an' his eyes got red, but he didn't drap a tear; no, sar, not a drap! Heast me could he have de book, an' I said, "No, sar, not for nothin'. It's mine, " an' he said, proud-like, "As you please. " He was mighty goodto me an' Mandy Ann 'bout money, an' when I writ him she was married, hesent her two hundred dollars, which she 'vested in a house, or Ted wouldof spent it for fine close an' cigarettes. He must be gettin' ole, as Ibe, an' they call de town Crompton, after him, 'stid of Troutburg. ' "Remembering your parish, I told him I had a son settled in Crompton, Massachusetts. I hardly thought there were two towns of the same namein one State, and I'd inquire if Col. Crompton lived there. His facebrightened at once, and when I left him, he grasped my hand and said, 'Bress de Lawd for de grain of comfort you done give me. If she is tharI'd walk all de road from Floridy to see her, if I couldn't git thar noother way. Thankee, Mas'r Mason, for comin' to see me. I'se prettyreg'lar at church, an' sets by de do', an' allus gives a nickel formyself an' one for Miss Dory dead an' for Miss Dory livin', an' I makesMandy Ann 'tend all I can, though she'd rather go whar she says it'slivelier. She is mighty good to me, --comes ebery week an' clars up an'scoles me for gittin' so dirty. She's great on a scrub, Mandy Ann is. Muss you go? Well, I'm glad you comed, an' I s'pec's I've tole you somethings twiste, 'case of my memory. Good-by. ' "He accompanied me to the door, and shook hands with all the grace of aborn gentleman. Then I left him, but have been haunted ever since by apicture of that old negro in his lonely cabin, jogging that empty cradlenights when he cannot sleep, and contrasting him with Col. Crompton, whoever and wherever he may be. Perhaps you can throw some light on thesubject. The world is not so very wide that our sins are not pretty sureto find us out, and that some Col. Crompton has been guilty of a greatwrong seems certain. Possibly he is one of your parishioners, and youmay know something of the second Dory. I shall await your answer withsome anxiety. "Your father, "CHARLES MASON. " This was the letter which had sent the Rev. Arthur to call on Mrs. Biggs, with no thought of Eloise in his mind. She was not yet an activefactor in the drama which was to be played out so rapidly. Returning tohis boarding place, the rector read his father's letter a second time, and then answered it. A part of what he wrote we give: "I have just come from an interview with a woman who is credited withknowing the history of the place forty years back, and I have no doubtthat Shaky's Col. Crompton is living here in Crompton Place, the richestman in town and largest contributor to the church. There is a ladyliving with him who people believe is his daughter, although he hasnever acknowledged her as such. Mrs. Biggs, the woman I interviewed, gave me a most graphic account of the manner of her arrival at CromptonPlace, when she was a little girl like the one you describe. She has alovely face, but is a little twisted in her brain. She did run away withher music teacher, and her name is Amy Eudora. There was no mention madeof Harris. They call her Miss Amy. There can't be much doubt of heridentity with Jaky's lil chile. Send him on, and Mandy Ann, too, --andthe four twins, Alex and Aaron, Judy and Dory. I'll pay half their fare!There's enough of the old Adam in me to make me want to see themconfront the proud Colonel, who ignores me for reasons I could notfathom, until I received your letter. Then I suspected that because I amyour son he feared that some pages of his life, which he hoped wereblotted out by time and the ravages of war, might be revealed. He is anold man, of course, but distinguished-looking still, though much brokenwith rheumatic gout, which keeps him mostly at home. My respects toShaky, whom I hope before long to hear ringing the bell at CromptonPlace. Is that wicked? I suppose so, but I cannot help it. "ARTHUR. " CHAPTER XI SUNDAY CALLS The day following the rector's call on Mrs. Biggs was Sunday, and themorning was wet and misty, with a thick, white fog which crept up fromthe sea and hid from view objects at any distance away. "This is nearly as bad as London, " Howard said to Jack when, afterbreakfast, they stood looking out upon the sodden grass and droopingflowers in the park. "Have you a mind to go to church?" Jack shrugged his shoulders, and replied, "Not I; it's too damp. Are yougoing?" Howard had not thought of doing so until that moment, when an idea camesuddenly into his mind, and he answered, "I think so, --yes. Some oneought to represent the Crompton pew. It is out of the question for myuncle to go, and he would not if he could. He has taken a violentprejudice against the new rector, for no reason I can think of. He is agood fellow, --the rector, I mean, --and not too straight-laced to smoke acigar, and he knows a fine horse when he sees one, and preaches splendidsermons. I think I shall go and encourage him. " He did not urge Jack to accompany him, nor would Jack have done so if hehad. There was an idea in his mind, as well as in Howard's, which heintended to carry out, and half an hour after Howard started forchurch, he, too, left the house and walked slowly through the park inthe direction of Mrs. Biggs's. "I don't know as it is just the thing to call on Sunday, " he thought, hesitating a little as he came in sight of the house, "but it seems anage since I saw her. I'll just step to the door and inquire how she is. " His knock was not answered at first, but when he repeated it he heardfrom the parlor what sounded like--"The key is under the mat, " in avoice he knew did not belong to Mrs. Biggs. That good woman was inchurch. Tim had gone to the choir in St. John's, and Eloise was alone. Ruby Ann had been to see her the night before with her massage andrubber band, both of which had proved so successful that Eloise wasfeeling greatly encouraged, and the outlook was not quite so forlorn aswhen she first landed at Mrs. Biggs's, helpless and homesick and halfcrazed with pain. Her ankle was improving fast, although she could notwalk; but she had hopes of taking her place in school within a week orten days. Mrs. Biggs had wondered why the young men from Crompton Placedid not call on Saturday, and Eloise had felt a little disappointed whenthe day had passed and she did not see them. "'Tain't noways likely they'll come to-day. Folks know my principles, and that I don't b'lieve in Sunday visiting, " she said as she tidied upthe room before starting for church. "Nobody'll come, unless it is RubyAnn with her massage, that's no more good than a cat's foot; so I'lljust give the parlor a lick and a promise till to-morrow, and 'fise youI'd be comfortable in that wrapper. " But Eloise insisted upon the white dressing jacket with pink ribbons, in which Mrs. Biggs said she looked "like a picter, " regretting that theyoung men could not see her. "If it wasn't for desiccating the Sabbath I wish them high bucks wouldcall, " she added, as she gave a final whisk to the duster and went toprepare for church. "I'm goin' to lock the door and put the key underthe mat, so nobody can get in if they want to. I might lose it if Icarried it to meetin'. I did once, and had to clamber inter the butrywinder, " was her last remark as she left the house; and Eloise heard theclick of the key and knew she was locked in and alone. She was not afraid, but began to imagine what she could do in case of afire, or if any one were to come knocking at the door. "Sit still andnot answer, " she was thinking when Jack came rapidly up the walk. Shesaw his shadow as he passed the window, and her heart gave a greatbound, for she knew who was "desiccating" the Sabbath by calling uponher. The first knock she did not answer, but when the second came, louder and more imperative than the first, she called out, "The key isunder the mat, " regretting her temerity in an instant, and trembling asshe thought, "What if I am doing something improper to admit him, andMrs. Biggs should disapprove!" The thought sent the blood to her cheeks, which were scarlet as Jackcame in, eager and delighted to find her alone. "Locked up like a prisoner, " he said, as he took her hand, which he heldlonger than was at all necessary, while he looked into her eyes, wherethe gladness at seeing him again was showing so plainly. When he last saw her she was arrayed in Mrs. Biggs's spotted calico, andhe was quick to note the change. He had thought her lovely before; shewas beautiful now, with the brightness in her eyes and the color comingand going so rapidly on her cheeks. Drawing a chair close to her, he satdown just where he could look at her as he talked, and could watch thevarying expression on her face. Once he laid his hand on the arm of herchair, but withdrew it when he saw her troubled look, as if she fearedhe was getting too familiar. He asked her about her sprain, and wasgreatly interested, or seemed to be, in the massage and rubber bandwhich were helping her so much. Then he spoke of Ruby Ann, the biggestwoman he ever saw, he believed, and just the one for a school-teacher. He was past the school-house the day before, he said. It seemed they hadhalf a day on Saturday and half a day on Wednesday. It was the boys'recess, and he never heard such a hullaballoo as they were making. Atall, lanky boy seemed to be the leader, whom the others followed. "That must be Tom Walker, the one who makes all the trouble, and whomMr. Bills and Mrs. Biggs think I can't manage, " Eloise said, with alittle gasp, such as she always felt when she thought of Tom, who, Timhad reported, was boasting of what he meant to do with the lameschoolmarm when she came. Jack detected the trouble in her voice, and asked who Tom Walker was. Itdid not take long for Eloise to tell all she knew, while Jack listenedthoughtfully, resolving to seek out Tom, and by thrashing, orthreatening, or hiring, turn him from any plan he might have againstthis little girl, who seemed to him far too young and dainty to bethrown upon the mercy of the rabble he had seen by the school-house withTom Walker at their head. "Don't worry about Tom. Big bullies like him are always cowards. You'llget along all right, " he said encouragingly, with a growing desire totake the helpless girl in his arms and carry her away from Tom Walkerand Mr. Bills and Mrs. Biggs, and the whole of her surroundings, whichshe did not seem at all to fit. He wanted to entertain her, and told her of an excursion on the water hehad taken the previous day with Howard Crompton, --the last of theseason, he said, and very enjoyable. He wished she had been there. Thenhe spoke of the Colonel, laughing at his peculiarities, and asking ifshe had ever heard of the Crompton "Formula. " She said she had from RubyAnn, and was glad she was not to be subjected to questioning on it, asshe knew she should fail in everything except the four _rights_. Shemight manage them, but it was not necessary for her to be examined byanybody, since her normal school diploma was a license to teach anywherein the State. "Hanged if I think I could manage the _rights_!" Jack said. "Spelling isnot my forte, and Howard, who is great at it, missed the last one. " "How is Mr. Howard?" Eloise asked, and Jack replied, "All right. Hasgone to church like a good Christian. I ought to have gone, but Ithought I'd come here, as you might be lonely here alone. " It flashed through Eloise's mind to wonder how he knew she was alone, but she made no comment, except to say that the rector, Mr. ArthurMason, called upon her the day before. "Did he?" Jack said. "I believe he is a fine fellow. Howard likes him, but for some reason the Colonel does not, and when Howard said he wasgoing to church, and suggested bringing Mr. Mason home to lunch, hegrowled out something about not liking company on Sunday. He is a queerold cove, and does not seem to care for anybody but Miss Amy. He isdevoted to her, and she is a lovely woman, and must once have beenbrilliant, but she puzzles me greatly. She seems to be rational on everysubject except her life in California. If any allusion is made to thatshe looks dazed at once, and says, 'I can't talk about it. I don'tremember. '" "My father died in California, and my mother is there now, " Eloise saidsadly. Jack had not supposed she had a mother. Mrs. Brown, who sat beside himat the commencement exercises in Mayville, had spoken of her as anorphan, and he replied, "I had somehow thought your mother dead. " "No; oh, no!" Eloise answered quickly. "She is not dead; she is--" She stopped suddenly, and Jack knew by her voice that her mother was apainful subject, and he began at once to speak of something else. He wasa good talker, and Eloise a good listener, and neither took any heed tothe lapse of time, until there was the sound of wheels before the house. A carriage had stopped to let some one out; then it went on, and HowardCrompton came up the walk and knocked at the door just as Jack had donean hour before. "Pull the bobbin and come in, " Jack called out, and, a good dealastonished, Howard walked in, looking unutterable things when he sawJack there before him, seemingly perfectly at home and perfectly happy, and in very close proximity to Eloise, who wondered what Mrs. Biggswould say if she came and found both the "high bucks" there. "Hallo!" Jack said, while Howard responded, "Hallo! What brought youhere?" "A wish to see Miss Smith. What brought you?" was Jack's reply, andHoward responded, "A wish to see Miss Smith, of course. You didn'tsuppose I came to see Mrs. Biggs, did you? Where is the old lady?" Eloise explained that she had gone to church, and Jack told of the keyunder the mat, and the talk flowed on; and Eloise could not forbeartelling them of Mrs. Biggs's wish not to have the Sabbath "desiccated"by visitors. "A regular Mrs. Malaprop, " Jack said, while Howard suggested that theyleave before she came home. "We can put the key under the mat, andshe'll never know of the 'desiccation, '" he said. Jack looked doubtfully at Eloise, who shook her head. "No, " she said, "I shall tell her you have been here. It would be adeception not to. " "As you like. And it's too late now, for here she comes!" Howard said, as Mrs. Biggs passed the window and stooped to find the key. It was not there. Turning the mat upside down, she failed to discoverit. The key was gone! "For goodness' sake, what can have happened?" they heard her say, as shepushed the door open and entered the room, where the two young menstood, one on either side of Eloise, as if to protect her. "Well, if Iain't beat!" the widow exclaimed, dropping into a chair and beginning tountie her bonnet strings as if they choked her. "Yes, I am beat. Hain'tyou been to meetin'?" she asked rather severely, her eyes falling onHoward, who answered quickly, "Yes, I have, and on my way home called toinquire for Miss Smith, and found this rascal here before me. He hadunlocked the door and taken possession. You ought to have him arrestedas a burglar, breaking into your house on Sunday. " "I s'pose I or'ter, " Mrs. Biggs said, "and I hope none of the neighborsseen you come in. Miss Brown acrost the way is a great gossip, and therehain't a speck of scandal ever been on my house in my life, and Ia-boardin' schoolma'ams for fifteen years!" Mrs. Biggs was inclined to be a little severe on the two young meninvading her premises, but Jack was equal to the emergency. She wastugging at her bonnet strings, which were entangled in a knot, intowhich the cord of her eyeglasses had become twisted. "I can swear that neither Mrs. Brown, nor any one else was looking fromthe window when I came in. She was probably at church, " Jack said, offering to help her, and finally undoing the knot which had proved toomuch for her. "There you are, " he said, removing the bonnet, and settingher false piece, which had become a little askew, more squarely on herhead. "You are all right now, and can blow me up as much as you please. I deserve it, " he added, beaming upon her a smile which would havedisarmed her of a dozen prejudices. Jack's ways were wonderful with women, both young and old, and Mrs. Biggs felt their influence and laughed, as she said, "I ain't goin' toblow, though I was took aback to see two men here, and I'd like to knowhow you knew where to find the key. " "I told him, " Eloise answered rather shamefacedly. Mrs. Biggs shot a quick glance at her, and then said, with a meaningnod, "I s'pose I'd of done the same thing when John and me was courtin', and young folks is all alike. " Eloise's face was scarlet, while Jack pretended suddenly to remember thelateness of the hour, and started to leave the room. As he did so hiseyes fell upon a table on which a few books were lying. "You must find these lively, " he said, turning them over and readingtheir titles aloud. "'Pilgrim's Progress, ' 'Foxe's Martyrs, ''Doddridge's Rise and Fall, ' 'Memoir of Payson, ' all solid and good, buta little heavy, 'United States History, ' improving, buttedious, --and, --upon my word, 'The Frozen Pirate'! That is jolly! Haveyou read it?" Before Eloise could reply Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, "Of course she hasn't, and I don't know how under the sun it got in here, unless Tim put ithere unbeknownst to me. I never read novels, and that is the wust I evergot hold of, and the biggest lie. I told Tim so. " She took it from the table and carried it from the room, followed by theyoung men, who laughed as they thought how the widow, who never readnovels, betrayed the fact that she had read "The Frozen Pirate. " CHAPTER XII THE MARCH OF EVENTS "I say, Howard, " Jack began, when they were out upon the road, "thatgirl ought to have something besides 'The Frozen Pirate' and 'Foxe'sMartyrs' to brighten her up, --books and flowers, and other things. Doyou think she'd take them?" Howard's head was cooler than Jack's, and he replied, "She would resentgifts from us, but would take them from Amy. Anyhow, we can try thatdodge. " "By Jove, you are right! We can send her a lot of things with Mrs. Amy'scompliments, " Jack exclaimed. "Flowers and books and candy, and--" He did not finish what was in his mind, but the next morning, immediately after breakfast, he pretended that he had an errand in thevillage, and started off alone, preferring to walk, he said, when Howardsuggested the carriage, and also declining Howard's company, which wasrather faintly offered. Howard never cared to walk when he could drive, and then he had a plan which he could better carry out with Jack awaythan with him present. He was more interested in Eloise than he wouldlike to confess to Jack or any one, and he found himself thinking of herconstantly and wishing he could do something to make her morecomfortable than he was sure she could be even in Mrs. Biggs's parlor. He was very fastidious in his tastes, and Mrs. Biggs's parlor was ahorror to him, with its black hair-cloth furniture, and especially therocker in which Eloise sat, and out of which she seemed in danger ofslipping every time she bent forward. He had thought of his uncle's seachair on the occasion of his first call, and now he resolved to send itin Amy's name. Something had warned him that in Eloise's make-up therewas a pride equal to his own. She might receive favors from Amy, as shehad the hat, and although a chair would seem a good deal perhaps, hewould explain it on the ground of Amy's great desire to help some onewhen he saw her. He'd send it at once, he thought, and he wrote a note, saying, "Miss Smith: Please accept this sea chair with the complimentsof Mrs. Amy, who thinks you will find it more comfortable than thehair-cloth rocker, of which I told her. As she seldom writes to any one, she has made me her amanuensis, and hopes you will excuse her. Yours, very truly, Howard Crompton, for Mrs. Amy. " It was a lie, Howard knew, but that did not trouble him, and callingSam, he bade him take it with the chair and a bunch of hothouse roses toMiss Smith. Sam took the chair and the note and the roses, and startedfor Mrs. Biggs's, stopping in the avenue to look at the shrub whereBrutus had received the gouge in his shoulder, and stopping again at apoint where some bits of glass from the broken window of the carriagewere lying. All this took time, so that it was after eleven when he atlast reached Mrs. Biggs's gate, and met a drayman coming in an oppositedirection with Jack Harcourt on the cart, seated in a very handsomewheel chair, and looking supremely happy. Jack had been very busy all the morning visiting furniture stores andinquiring for wheel chairs, which he found were not very common. Indeed, there were only three in the town, and one of these had been sent fromBoston for the approval of Col. Crompton when his rheumatic goutprevented him from walking. Something about it had not suited him, andit had remained with the furniture dealer, who, glad of a purchaser, hadoffered it to Jack for nearly half the original price. Jack did not carefor the cost if the chair was what he wanted. It was upholstered withleather, both the seat and the back, and could be easily propelled fromroom to room by Eloise herself, while Jack thought it quite likely thathe should himself some day take her out for an airing, possibly to theschool-house, which he had passed on his way to the village. There was ashorter road through the meadows and woods than the one past theschool-house, but Jack took the latter, hoping he might see Tom Walkeragain, in which case he meant to interview him. Nor was he disappointed, for sauntering in the same direction and chewing gum, with his cap onthe back of his head and his hands in his pockets, was a tall, wiryfellow, whom Jack instantly spotted as Tom Walker, the bully, who was toterrorize Eloise. "Now is my time, " Jack thought, hastening his steps and soon overtakingthe boy, who, never caring whether he was late or early at school, wastaking his time, and stopping occasionally to throw a stone at some birdon the fence or a tree. "Hallo, Tom!" Jack said in his cheery way as hecame up with the boy, whose ungracious answer was, "How do you know myname is Tom?" At heart Tom was something of an anarchist, jealous of and dislikingpeople higher in the social scale than he was, and this dislike extendedparticularly to the young gentlemen from the Crompton House, who hadnothing to do but to enjoy themselves. He did not like to be patronized, but there was something in Jack's voice which made him accompany hisspeech with a laugh, which robbed it of some of its rudeness. "Oh, I know you, just as, I dare say, you know me, Jack Harcourt, fromNew York, visiting at present at the Crompton House, " was Jack's reply, which mollified Tom at once. If Jack had called himself Mr. Harcourt Tom would have resented it asairs. But he didn't; he said _Jack_, putting himself on a par with theboy, who took the gum from his mouth for a moment, looked at it, replaced it, and began to answer Jack's questions, which at first werevery far from Eloise. But they struck her at last as they drew near theschool-house. "I'm late, as usual, " Tom said, rolling his gum from side to side in hismouth. "I presume I'll catch thunder, but I don't care. I'm not afraidof any schoolmarm I've ever seen, and I mean to carry the new one out ona couple of chips if she tries to boss me. " There was a look on Tom's face which Jack did not like, but he saidpleasantly, "No, you won't, when you see how helpless she is, and howshe needs a young gentleman like you to stand by her. " "I ain't a gentleman, " Tom answered, but his voice was a good dealsoftened. "I'm just Tom Walker, who they lay everything to, and who theboys expect to do all their dirty work for them. " "I see, " Jack answered; "you pick off the hot chestnuts. _I_ used to dothat when a little shaver, till I got my fingers blistered so badly Idecided to let some one else get burned in my place. " "Did you ever cut up at school?" Tom asked, with a growing interest inand respect for Jack, who replied, "Oh, yes, I was pretty bad sometimes, and am ashamed of it when I remember how I annoyed some of my teachers. I have asked pardon of one or two of the ladies when I have chanced tomeet them, but I never could have annoyed Miss Smith, nor will you whenyou know her. You haven't seen her yet?" "Nope!" Tom answered. "I hear she ain't bigger than my thumb, and awfulpretty, Tim Biggs says, and he is threatening to thrash anybody who ismean to her. I'd laugh to see him tackle me!" "He'll have no occasion to, for I predict you will be the warmestchampion Miss Smith has. See if you are not, " Jack said, offering hishand to Tom, as they had now reached the school-house. "He is certainly a good deal of a ruffian, " Jack said to himself as hewent on his way, while Tom was not quite so sure of the two chips onwhich he was to carry Eloise out if she tried to boss him. He'd wait andsee. That city chap from Crompton Place had certainly been veryfriendly, and had not treated him as if he was scum; and after takinghis seat and telling Ruby Ann, with quite an air when she asked why hewas so late, that he had been detained by Mr. Harcourt, who wanted totalk with him, he took from his desk his slate and rubbed out thecaricature he had drawn the day before of a young girl on crutchestrying to get up the steps of the school-house. He was intending to showit to Tim Biggs and make him angry, and to the other scholars and makethem laugh, and thus ferment a prejudice against Eloise, for no reasonat all except the natural depravity of his nature. The word "champion" kept sounding in his ears, and he wrote it two orthree times on his slate, where the girl on crutches had been. "I alwayssupposed champion belonged to prize-fighters, but Mr. Harcourt didn'tmean that kind. He meant I was to stand up for her and behave myself. Well, I'll see what kind of craft she is, " he thought. With this decision Tom took up his lessons, and had never been morestudious and well behaved than he was that day. Meanwhile Jack had gone on his way to the village and bought his chair, with some misgivings as to how Eloise would receive it, even from Mrs. Amy. "I guess I'd better go with it, and make it right somehow, " hethought, getting into the chair and riding along in state, while thepeople he met looked curiously at him. It was recess again when theyreached the school-house, where, as usual, Tom Walker was leading theplay. At sight of the dray he stopped suddenly, and then went swiftlyforward to the cart, and said to Jack, "Goin' to take her out in that?" Jack reddened a little, but answered pleasantly, "Perhaps. " "Well, I guess she'll like it better than the chips I told you about. I've thrown 'em away. " A ring from Ruby Ann's bell told the boys their recess was over, andwith a bow Tom hurried off, while Jack and his chair went on till theyreached Mrs. Biggs's door, just as Sam came up with the sea chair. Thatgood woman was washing in her back kitchen, but in response to thedrayman's knock she came hurriedly, wiping the soap-suds from her armsas she came, and holding up both hands as she saw the two chairsdeposited at the door, while Sam held the note and roses, and Jack stoodlooking a little shamefaced, as if he hardly knew what to say. "For the pity sakes and the old Harry, are you moving a furniture store, or what?" she asked. Jack began to explain that Mrs. Amy thought, or he thought--He could notquite bring himself to lie as glibly as Howard would have done, had hebeen there, and he stammered on, that he thought Miss Smith would soonbe able to get round in a wheel chair, which he hoped she would acceptwith the compliments of--He didn't say Mrs. Amy, but Mrs. Biggsunderstood, and nodded that she did, helping him out by saying it wasjust like Mrs. Amy, and adding that it looked a good deal like the chairthe Colonel had for a spell and then returned to Lowell & Brothers, where she saw it a few days ago in the window. Jack made no reply, and Mrs. Biggs continued, "I s'pose t'other chair isMrs. Amy's compliments, too. I'm sure I'm greatly obliged to her, andMiss Smith will be. She is quite peart this morning. Come in and seeher. " Jack did not think he would. He'd rather have Mrs. Biggs present hischair, feeling sure that her conscience was of the elastic kind, whichwould not stop at means if a good end was attained. "Thanks, " he replied. "Later in the day I may come in. Good-morning. " He walked away, leaving Mrs. Biggs alone with Sam, who was told to takethe chairs into Eloise's room. "Something from the Crompton House. From Mrs. Amy, they say. It is likeher to be sending things where she takes a notion as she has to you, "Mrs. Biggs said, while Eloise looked on in astonishment. She read Howard's note, and her surprise increased as she said, "I oughtnot to keep them. Col. Crompton would not like it if he knew. " "Yes, you ought. Mrs. Amy does what she likes without consulting theColonel, " Mrs. Biggs rejoined. "It would not do to send them back andupset her, and isn't there a verse somewhere in the Bible about takingwhat the gods give ye?" Eloise knew what she meant, and replied, "'Take the good the godsprovide, ' and they are certainly providing for me bountifully, but Imust at least write a note of thanks to Mrs. Amy for her thoughtfulnessand kindness. " To this Mrs. Biggs, who felt that she was in league with the young men, also objected. "Better not, " she said. "Better wait till you can go and thank her inperson. I'll have Tim wheel you up some day. He'd like nothing better. " To this Eloise finally assented, and at once exchanged the hair-clothrocker for the sea chair, which she found a great improvement. When Timcame from school he was told of the addition to the furniture in theparlor by his mother, who added, "I smelt a rat at once, and thought ita pity to spoil the young men's fun. Mrs. Amy don't know nothin' aboutthem chairs, no more than the man in the moon, and if Miss Smith hadmuch worldly sense she'd know they never came from Mrs. Amy. But shehain't. She's nothin' but a child, and don't dream that both them youngmen is jest bewitched over her. I don't b'lieve Mr. Howard meansearnest, but t'other one does. He's got the best face. I'd trust myselfwith him anywhere. " Tim laughed at the idea that his mother could not trust herself withanybody, but said nothing. He was Eloise's devoted slave, and offered towheel her miles if she cared to go; but she was satisfied with a fewturns up and down the road, which gave her fresh air and showed hersomething of the country. The wheel chair was a great success, as wellas the sea chair, in which she was sitting when the young men came inthe afternoon to call, bringing some books which Mrs. Amy thought wouldinterest her, and a box of candy, which Jack presented in his ownperson. He could not face her with Mrs. Amy as Howard could, and he felthimself a great impostor as he received her thanks for Mrs. Amy, who, hewas sure, had entirely forgotten the girl. No mention was ever made of her in Amy's presence or the Colonel's. Hewas not yet over his wrath at the accident to his carriage and horse, which, with strange perversity, he charged to the Normal. Brutus wasgetting well, but there would always be a scar on his shoulder, wherethe sharp-pointed shrub had entered the flesh. The carriage had beenrepaired, the stained cushions had been re-covered, and the Colonel hadsworn at the amount of the bill, and said it never would have happenedif the trustees had hired Ruby Ann in the first place, as they shouldhave done. He knew she now had the school, and felt a kind of grimsatisfaction that it was so. She was rooted and grounded, while theother one, as far as he could learn, was a little pink and white doll, with no fundamentals whatever. He had forgotten that Howard was to soundher, and did not dream how often that young man and his friend were atMrs. Biggs's, not sounding Eloise as to her knowledge, but growing moreand more intoxicated with her beauty and sweetness and entire absence ofthe self-consciousness and airs they were accustomed to find in mostyoung ladies. But for the non-arrival of the letter she was so anxious to get Eloisewould have been comparatively happy, or at least content. Her ankle wasgaining rapidly, and she hoped soon to take her place in school, Timhaving offered to wheel her there every day and back, and assuring herthat, mean as he was, Tom Walker was not mean enough to annoy her in herhelpless condition. For some reason Eloise had not now much dread of TomWalker, and expressed a desire to see him. "Tell him to call, " she said to Tim, who delivered her message ratherawkwardly, as if expecting a rebuff. "Oh, get out, " was Tom's reply, "I ain't one of your callin' kind, withcards and things, and she'll see enough of me bimeby. " The words sounded more ungracious than Tom intended. He said he was notthe calling kind, but the fact that he had been asked to do so pleasedhim, and two or three times he walked past Mrs. Biggs's in hopes to seethe little lady in whom he was beginning to feel a good deal ofinterest. He met Jack occasionally, and always received a bow ofrecognition and a cheery "How are you, Tom?" until he began to believehimself something more than a loafer and a bully whom every hand wasagainst. He was rather anxious for the little Normal to begin herduties, and she was anxious, too, for funds were low and growing lessall the time. "Wait till the Rummage is over. That is coming next week. You will wantto go to that and see the people you have not seen, and your scholars, too. They are sure to be there, " Ruby Ann said to her. Ruby Ann was greatly interested in the Rummage Sale, as she was inanything with which she had to do, and all her spare time from herschool duties was given to soliciting articles for it, and arranging fortheir disposition in the building where the sale was to be held. Eloisewas interested because those around her were, and she offered her whiteapron a second time as the only thing she had to give. "I guess I'll do it up and flute the ruffles, " Mrs. Biggs said. "'Tain'tmussy, but a little rinse and starch won't harm it. " She had given it a rinse and starch, and was ironing it when Jack camein, rather unceremoniously, as was his habit now that he came so often. This time he went to the kitchen door, as the other was locked, andfound Mrs. Biggs giving the final touches to the apron, which she heldup for his inspection. "Rummage, " she said. "Miss Smith's contribution. Ain't it a beauty?" Jack was not much of a judge of aprons, but something in this daintylittle affair interested him, and he wished at once that he knew of someone for whom he could buy it. His sister Bell never wore aprons to hisknowledge, neither did Mrs. Amy. It was too small for Ruby Ann, and itwould never do to give it back to Eloise. But he did not want any moneybut his own spent for it, and he believed he'd speak to Ruby Ann andhave it put aside for him. He could tell her he had a sister, and shecould draw her own inference. "I swan, if I was a little younger, I'd buy it myself, " Mrs. Biggs said, holding it up and slipping the straps over her shoulders and her handsinto its pockets. Jack felt relieved when she took it off, gave it another smooth with heriron, and folded it ready for the sale. "I am going to put it in a box, " she said, "with a card on it saying itis Miss Smith's contribution, and that she made every stitch herself. " Jack was now resolved that it should be his at any cost. As to its realvalue he had no idea, and when Mrs. Biggs said it "or'to bring a goodprice, and probably will seein' whose 'tis, " he replied, "I should sayso, --four or five dollars at least. " "For the Lord's sake, " Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, dropping her flatiron inher surprise. "Four or five dollars! Are you crazy?" "Do you think it ought to bring more?" Jack asked, and Mrs. Biggsreplied, "Was you born yesterday, or when? If it brings a dollar it'lldo well. Rummages ain't high priced. Four or five dollars! Well, if Iwon't give up!" Jack did not reply, but he was beginning to feel a good deal of interestin the Rummage Sale, and his interest increased when he went in to seeEloise, and heard from her that she was going down in the evening, asRuby Ann said it would be more lively then, with more people present andpossibly an auction. "Tim is to wheel me, " she said, "and has promised not to run into anyone, or tip me over. I feel half afraid of him, as he does stumblesome. " Jack looked at her a moment as she leaned back in her chair, her bluedressing sacque open at the throat showing her white neck. "Miss Smith, " he said, "_I_ shan't stumble. I'll take you. I'd like to. I'll make it right with Tim. " Eloise could not mistake the eagerness in his voice, and her cheeksflushed as she replied, "It is very kind in you and kind in Tim, whoperhaps will be glad to be rid of the trouble. " "Of course he will, " Jack said quickly. "Day after to-morrow, isn't it?I'll see you again and arrange just when to call for you, and now I mustgo. I'd forgotten that I was to drive with Howard this morning. Good-by. " He went whistling down the walk, thinking that a Rummage Sale was moreinteresting than anything which could possibly happen in the country, and that he'd telegraph to his sister to send something for it. As hestarted on his drive with Howard, he said, "Let's go first to thetelegraph office, I want to wire to Bell. " They drove to the office, and in a few minutes there flashed across thewires to New York, "We are going to have a Rummage Sale for the poor. Send a lot of things, old and new, it does not matter which;--only sendat once. " "I believe I made a mistake about the object of the sale. I said 'Forthe poor, ' and it's for a public library, isn't it?" he said to Howard, who replied, "Seems to me you are getting daft on the Rummage. I don'tcare for it much. It will be like a Jews' or pawnbroker's bazaar, withmostly old clothes to sell. " "No, sir, " Jack answered quickly. "It will not be at all like apawnbroker's shop. Bell will send a pile of things. I know her, and MissSmith is to be there in the evening, and it's going to be a greatsuccess. " "I see, " and Howard laughed immoderately. "It is going to be a greatsuccess because Miss Smith is to be there. Is she for sale, and how isshe going? Are we to take her in a hand chair, as we carried her thatnight in the rain?" "No, sir!" Jack answered, "I am to wheel her and have heaps of fun, while you mope at home. " Howard thought it very doubtful whether he should mope at home. It wouldbe worth something to see Jack wheeling Eloise, and worth a good dealmore to see her, as he knew she would look flushed and timid andbeautiful, with all the strangers around her. He had not felt muchinterest in the Rummage. Old clothes were not to his fancy, but he hadpromised a pair of half-worn boots to Ruby Ann, who had cornered him onthe street, and wrung from him not only his boots, but half a dozen ormore of the fifty neckties she heard he had strung on a wire around hisroom, so as to have them handy when he wanted to choose one to wear. Neckties were his weakness, and he never saw one which pleased himwithout buying it, and his tailor had orders to notify him of the lastfashion as it came out. It was quite a wrench to part with any of them, but as some were _passée_ he promised them to Ruby, but told her hehardly thought he should attend the sale. Now, however, he changed hismind. Eloise's presence would make a vast difference, and he should go;and he thought of a second pair of boots, and possibly a vest and a fewmore neckties he might add to the pile which he had heard from Peter wasto be sent the next day from the Crompton House to the Rummage. CHAPTER XIII GETTING READY FOR THE RUMMAGE SALE Never had District No. 5 been so stirred on the subject of any publicentertainment as on the Rummage Sale. It was something entirely new andunique, and the whole neighborhood entered into it with greatenthusiasm. Between the little village by the sea, which numbered abouttwo thousand, and the radius known as District No. 5, which could notboast half that number, there was a kind of rivalry, the districtclaiming that it excelled the village in the quality of its inhabitants, if not in quantity. Its people were mostly well educated andintelligent, and they had Col. Crompton, with his fine house andgrounds. He was gouty and rheumatic and past his prime it was true, buthe was still a power among them, and they were proud of him and proud ofthemselves, and delighted that they had been the first to carry out theidea of a Rummage Sale, which had been brought to them by a visitor fromwestern New York, who explained its workings, and gave almost fabulousaccounts of the money made by such sales. The village had intended tohave one, but District No. 5 was ahead, with the result that many of thevillagers joined in, glad to be rid of articles which had been stowedaway as useless. At first it seemed incredible that any one would buy clothing which foryears had hung in closets, or been packed in trunks away from moths andcarpet bugs. But what had been done in other places could be done inDistrict No. 5, and never was a more heterogeneous mass of goods ofevery description gathered together than was sent to the Rummage roomsthe day before the sale, and dumped upon tables and chairs and boxes, until they nearly reached the rather low ceiling. There were old bonnetsand hats, and boots and shoes and dresses, and coats and trousers andvests, and draperies and dishes, and stoves and chairs and tables andbedsteads, with books and old magazines and toys. There was Mrs. Biggs's foot-stove and warming-pan, which had been hermother's, and a brass kettle, which had belonged to her grandmother, andwhich Mrs. Parker, the lady from western New York, said was the mostvaluable of all the articles sent. Antiques were sure to sell to relichunters, and a big price must be put upon them, she told the committeewho looked in dismay at the piles of goods as they came pouring in, wondering how they were ever to bring anything like order out of theconfusion. They could not have done it without Mrs. Parker and Ruby Ann, the latter of whom had obtained permission to dismiss school for twodays, and worked early and late. She had laid siege to the CromptonHouse, from which most of the others shrank. The Colonel was a ratherformidable old fellow to meet, if he was in a mood with twinges in hisfoot, while Mrs. Amy was scarcely well enough known to the peoplegenerally to make them care to interview her. On the strength of having been to school with her and known her since"she was knee high, " Mrs. Biggs offered to call upon her, but declinedseeing the Colonel, who, she heard, didn't believe in the Rummage. RubyAnn, however, was selected as the fittest person to see both, and hadundertaken the task with her usual assurance and energy. She found Amy afine subject. The idea of giving always appealed to her, and she beganat once to think of what she would send. The dresses she had worn as aconcert singer were hateful to her, and she brought them from a closetand spread them upon chairs and tables, while Ruby looked on admiringlyand wonderingly, too, as fans and gloves and sashes and ribbons werelaid with the dresses, and Amy grew more excited and eager every moment. "We'll go to the attic now, " she said; "my doll house is there. " They climbed the stairs and found the house packed away as it had beenfor years. "It may as well be sold and make some child happy, " Amy said as she tookoff its wrappings. In it was Mandy Ann, the doll the Colonel had bought in Savannah, andJudy, lying on her face in a pile of dust. Amy took her up tenderly, saying, "Do you think anybody will buy her?" There was a little choke in her voice as she asked the question, for thesight of Judy had stirred memories which often flitted through her weakbrain and puzzled her, they were so misty and yet so sweet, like thenegro melodies she hummed to herself or sang to an imaginary baby. "Buy her? I guess they would, " Ruby Ann replied, all her blood astir atthe thought of the doll house, with Judy and Mandy Ann. She knew nothing of their antecedents, or how they were connected withAmy's childhood, but she felt intuitively that almost any price put uponthem would be paid because they belonged to Mrs. Amy, and particularlybecause of the dilapidated appearance of Judy, which was sure to rousethe mirth of the spectators. She was very doubtful as to whether sheought to take the dresses without consulting some one besides Amy, towhom she said, "Are you sure you want to give these away? They aredifferent from anything we shall have, and will seem out of place. " For a moment Amy looked at her with a strange glitter in her eyes, asshe said, "I hate them! I have been going to burn them more than once. You don't know what they represent to me. I shall burn them, or tearthem, if you don't take them. " She made a motion as if she were going to tear one of the lace flounces, when Ruby Ann stopped her by saying, "Don't, Mrs. Amy, --please don't. I'll take the dresses, of course. I only feared you might be giving toomuch, with the doll house and Mandy Ann and Judy. I want _them_, sure. " "Yes, " Amy said, her mood changing. "Take them all; but don't try toimprove them, --Mandy Ann and Judy, I mean. " There was another choke in her voice as she smoothed Judy's old browndress, and brushed a bit of bran from her face. There was no danger thatRuby would try to change either Mandy Ann or Judy. They were perfect asthey were, and telling Amy when the articles would be sent for, she lefther and went to interview the Colonel, anticipating a differentreception from what she had received from Mrs. Amy. "Better not handle him to-day; he had some awful twinges this morning, "Peter said, after she had "picked him clean, " as he expressed it, "andscarcely left him a shoe to his foot or a coat to his back. " Ruby knew she could not come again, and in spite of Peter's advice, resolved to beard the lion at once. She found him, with his lame foot ona cushion, and a not very encouraging look on his face. He had likedRuby ever since she first came to be examined as to her qualificationsfor a teacher, and he had found her rooted and grounded in thefundamentals, and he had taken sides stoutly for her when the questionof normal graduates came up and Eloise had won the day. Ruby Ann's headwas level, he always said, and when she was ushered into his room, hegreeted her with as much of a smile as he could command, with his footaching as it did. But the smile faded when she told him her errand, andsaid she was sure he would be glad to contribute either in money orclothing to so good a cause as the public library. The Colonel had notbeen consulted with regard to the library, except to be asked if hedidn't think it would be a fine thing for the school and neighborhoodgenerally. He was not very often consulted about anything now. Planswere made without him, and he was only asked to contribute, which hegenerally did. Now, however, his back was up, Peter said to Ruby Ann, warning her ofwhat she was to expect. He didn't believe in turning attics and cellarsand barns inside out and scattering microbes by the millions. How didany one know what germs were lurking in old clothes? He knew a man whodied of smallpox, and twenty-five years after his death a coat, whichhad hung in his closet, was given away, taking the disease with it tothree or four people. No, he didn't believe in a Rummage. It was just afad, got up by those who were always seeking for something new, and hewouldn't give a thing, not even an old stock such as he used to wear, and of which Ruby Ann knew he must have several. "Who under heavens would buy an old stock, and why?" he asked, and RubyAnn replied, "Just because it is an old stock and belonged to you. " The "belonged to you" mollified him a little, as it flattered hisvanity, but the idea struck him as ridiculous, and he would not give in, and as Ruby Ann grew more and more persistent, telling of the antiquesgathered up, and among them Mrs. Biggs's warming-pan and foot-stove andbrass kettle, --old Mrs. Baker's quill wheel, and some other old lady'swedding bonnet, he grew furious and swore about the Rummage Sale, andmight have sworn at Ruby Ann if she had not discreetly withdrawn andleft him to himself and his twinges. She was rather chagrined over her failure with the Colonel, from whomshe had expected so much, but her success with Amy and the other membersof the household made amends, and she left tolerably well satisfied withher work. She had not been gone long when Peter was summoned by a sharpring to his master's room, and found him sitting very erect in hischair, listening intently to sounds overhead, where there was thescurrying of feet mingled with Amy's voice and that of her maid, as boxafter box was dragged across the floor. "Peter!" the Colonel began, "shut the door!" Peter had shut it and stood with his back against it, as the Colonelwent on, "What in thunder is all that racket in the attic? Has theRummage come up there? It commenced some time ago. Sounded as if theywere pulling out trunks, then it stopped, and now they are at it again. " "That's just it. Mrs. Amy and Sarah were looking for something for thesale, and now, I suppose, they are pushing the boxes back. Mrs. Amy isgreatly interested. I've never seen her so much like herself since shewas a girl, " was Peter's reply, whereupon the Colonel consigned theRummage to perdition, with its old pots and kettles, and Mrs. Biggs'swarming-pan and foot-stove and brass kettle, and Granny Baker's quillwheel and Mrs. Allen's wedding bonnet. Who was going to buy such truck?"And Peter, " he said, in a lower tone of voice, "what do you think? RubyAnn actually asked for my trousers! Yes, my trousers! And when I toldher I hadn't any but what were shiny at the knees, she said it didn'tmatter; in fact, the shine would be all the better, showing they hadbeen worn. They'd label 'em 'Col. Crompton's, ' and hang them up with thevaluables, --meaning Widow Biggs's warming-pan and foot-stove, and WidowAllen's bonnet, and that other old woman's quill wheel, I dare say. Think of it, Peter. My coat and trousers! She asked for a coat, too, --strung on a line with warming-pans and quill wheels and bonnets ahundred years old, and the Lord only knows what else, and labelled 'Col. Crompton. ' If it had been anybody but Ruby Ann, I'd turned her from theroom. I thought she had more sense, --upon my soul, I did! What did sheget out of you?" "Nothing much but some old clothes and shoes and a boot-jack; shethought a good deal of that, " Peter said, and with a sniff of contemptthe Colonel replied, "Old clothes and a boot-jack; and what is Mrs. Amysending? Half the attic, I should think from the noise they make upthere. " Hesitating a moment Peter said, "She is giving the fancy gowns she usedto wear, with the tops of the waists and bottoms of the sleeves cut off. She says they are hateful to her. " The Colonel guessed what she meant, and replied, "Quite right; Rummageand rag-bags good places for them; but I say, Peter, I won't have themstrung up with warming-pans and quill wheels and my trousers. You muststop it. Do you hear?" "I didn't know your trousers were going, " Peter suggested, and theColonel answered curtly, "Who said they were, you blockhead? They arenot going unless Ruby gets them in the night. Upon my soul, she is equalto it. I think I shall put them under my pillow. It is Mrs. Amy'sdresses I mean. What else is she going to send?" "You remember the doll house you bought her when she was a little girl?"Peter said. "Good thunder, yes! Will she give that away?" the Colonel asked, withsomething in his tone which was more than surprise. It hurt him that Amy should be willing to part with the doll house. Shemust be queerer than usual, and he thought of the Harris blood. Suddenlyhe remembered Mandy Ann and Judy, and asked if she was going to givethem to the Rummage. "She means to. Yes, sir. They go with the doll house, one as mistress, the other as maid. I heard her say so. They are downstairs now, " wasPeter's reply. The Colonel's countenance fell, and there was an awful twinge in hisfoot, but he didn't mind it. His thoughts flew back to the palmettoclearing, where he first saw the little girl and Judy. Then theytravelled on to Savannah and the store where he bought Mandy Ann, and soon through the different phases of Amy's childhood, and he was surprisedto find how unwilling he was to part with what had been so intimatelyassociated with years which, on the whole, had been happy, although attimes a little stormy. And Amy was going to send them to a Rummage Sale! "I may be a weak old fool, but I won't have them sold down there withquill wheels and warming-pans!" he thought. But what could he do? They were Amy's, and if she had made up her mindto send them, it would take more than his opposition to prevent it. Shewas very gentle and yielding as a whole, but behind the gentleness andsweetness he knew there was a spirit he did not like to rouse. He mustmanage some other way. He had told Ruby he would neither give hisclothes nor money to the farce, and he prided himself on never goingback on his word. But he didn't tell her he wouldn't buy anything, andhis face brightened as he said, very briskly, "Peter!" "Yes, sir, " was the prompt reply. "Hold your tongue!" "Yes, sir, " was Peter's still more prompt reply, and his mastercontinued, "I don't care a rap about those dresses, but I won't haveMandy Ann and the nigger baby and the doll house sold. I may be a hardold cur. I s'pose I am, but I have now and then a streak of, --I don'tknow what, --clinging to the years of Mrs. Amy's childhood. She turnedthe house upside down. She raised the very old Harry sometimes, but shegot into our hearts somehow, didn't she?" "Yes, a long ways, " was Peter's reply, as he waited for what was next tocome, and looked curiously at the Colonel, who sat with his eyes closed, clutching the arms of his chair tightly, as if suffering from a fearfultwinge. But if he were, he did not think of it. His mind was again in thepalmetto clearing, and he was standing by Dory's grave in the sand, anda little child was holding his hand, and looking at him with eyes whichhad in them something of the same expression which had once quickenedhis pulse, and made his heart beat with a thrill he fancied was love, but which had died almost as soon as it was born. As a result of thatepisode he had Amy, whom he did love, and because he loved her so much, he clung to the mementoes of her babyhood, when she had been a tormentand a terror, and still a diversion in his monotonous life. "Peter!" he said again. "Hold your tongue, but get them somehow. Who ishead of this tomfoolery?" "Ruby Ann is about as big a head as there is, I guess. She and a womanfrom York State, " Peter replied, and the Colonel continued, "Well, Is'pose those things will have to go to the sale, if Mrs. Amy says so, but I won't have them mixed with the quill wheels and boot-jacks andWidow Biggs's foot-stove and brass kettle, and I won't have a pack ofidiots looking them over and buying them and saying they belonged to theCromptons. Mandy Ann Crompton and Judy Crompton would sound fine, --bothniggers! No, sir! You are to go quietly to Ruby Ann and buy 'em! Do youhear? Buy 'em! You knew Mrs. Amy when she played with 'em. You want 'em, and you'll pay the price, no matter what it is. Lord Harry! I'll betthey'll put a big one on 'em, but no matter. I paid thirty dollars forthe doll house and five for Mandy Ann. I don't s'pose Judy costanything, but the child liked it best, and I believe I'd rather have itthan both the others, because--" He did not say why, but he gripped the arms of his chair tightly, whiledrops of sweat stood upon his forehead. He was in the clearing againwith Dora living, instead of dead, and the moon was shining on her faceas she stood in the turn of the road and gave him the promise she hadkept so faithfully. Judy belonged to that far-off time, and he'd keepher at any cost. He called himself a sentimental old fool after Peterleft him, and wondered why his eyes grew misty and there was a lump inhis throat as his thoughts kept going back to the South he wished he hadnever seen. "Poor little Dora!" he said to himself; "but for me she might have beenalive and married to some respectable--No, by George!" he addedsuddenly, with a start which made his foot jump as he recalled the classinto which Dora would probably have married if he had not crossed herpath. "No, by George, I believe I'd rather she died in her youthfulbeauty, and was buried by Jake in the sand, than to see her the wife ofsome lout, and rubbing her gums with snuff. " He was roused from his reverie by wheels crunching on the gravel walk upto a side door, and he heard Sarah's voice and Cindy's, the cook's, andfinally Amy's giving directions, and felt sure some one had come forwhatever was to go from the Crompton Place to the sale. Ruby had notintended sending so soon when she left the house, but chancing to meet adrayman who had just deposited a load in the salesrooms, she bade him gofor whatever was ready, thinking, "I'll strike while the iron is hot, and before Mrs. Amy has time to change her mind. " There was no danger of that, at least as far as the dresses wereconcerned. Like everything connected with her stage life, they had beento her a kind of nightmare whenever she thought of them, and she wasglad to be rid of them. Mandy Ann and Judy did give her a few pangs, andespecially the latter, and as she wrapped it in tissue paper she held itfor a moment pressed close to her, and began a song she had heard fromthe negroes as they sat around their light-wood fire after their day'swork was done. It was a weird melody which Homer Smith had caught up andrevised and modernized, with a change of words in some places, and madeher sing, knowing it would bring thunders of applause. She heard theroar now, and saw the audience and the flowers falling around her, andwith an expression of disgust she put Judy into Sarah's hands, and said, "Take her away, and quick, too. She, or something, brings it back. " Sarah took poor, discarded Judy, tied her in her chair in the old dollhouse, which was placed on top of the two trunks containing Amy'sconcert dresses, and then the drayman started up his horse, and theColonel heard the wheels a second time coming past his window. With agreat effort he succeeded in getting upon his well foot, and, draggingthe other after him, hobbled on his crutches to the window in time tosee the cart as it turned into the avenue. As far as he could see it hewatched it as the doll house swung from side to side, and the draymanheld it to keep it from falling off. "I don't see how Amy could have done it, " the Colonel said to himselfwhen the dray disappeared from view, and then becoming conscious of thepain in his foot, he dragged himself back to his chair, and ringing forPeter, said to him: "I think I'll lie down a spell, --and, bring me ahot-water bag, I'm pretty cold, and my foot just jumps; and, Peter, goto-day and buy those things as if they were for yourself. You mustn'tlie, of course, --but get 'em somehow, and bring them here to this bigcloset. The chances are when Mrs. Amy comes to her senses she'll want'em, and raise Ned, as she used to. I'd give a good deal to see her in atantrum. I'd rather have her that way than passive, as she is now. Willnothing ever rouse her out of her apathy? Curse that Homer Smith!" He was talking to himself rather than to Peter, who got him on to thelounge, adjusted the cushions, brought a hot-water bag, covered him up, and then left him, saying, "Don't fret, I'll go this afternoon and getJudy and Mandy Ann by fair means or foul. " "All right, " the Colonel said drowsily. "Fair means or foul, but don'tlie, and don't let them think they are for me. _You_ want them, and mustget them, fair means or foul. You know where my purse is. Hold yourtongue, and go!" CHAPTER XIV THE FIRST SALE Order was being brought out of chaos in the Rummage rooms, where twentyladies were working industriously, sorting, pricing, and marking themultitudinous articles heaped upon the counters. Not only District No. 5, but the village had emptied itself, glad to be rid of theaccumulations of years. Nearly every room was occupied, and thecommittees were showing great skill in assigning things to the differentdepartments. The antiques had a niche by themselves; the quill wheel, the warming-pan, the foot-stove, the brass kettle with Peter'sboot-jack, and many more articles of a similar character were placedtogether. Jack's sister had responded quickly, and a large box hadarrived with articles curious and new, which elicited cries of delightfrom the ladies in charge, who marked them at a ridiculously low price, less even, in some instances, than had been paid for them, and labelledtheir corner "The New York Store. " Scarcely was this completed when the drayman arrived from Crompton Placewith the doll house and the two trunks, the last of which were pouncedupon first, as Ruby Ann had reported what was in them. Her description, however, had fallen far short of the reality, and the ladies held theirbreath, as one after another of the beautiful gowns was taken out forexhibition. Few had ever seen anything just like them. Homer Smith hadprided himself upon being a connoisseur in ladies' costumes and haddirected all of Amy's, taking care that there was no sham about them. Everything was real, from the fabric itself to the lace which trimmedit, and which alone had cost him hundreds of dollars. And now they wereat a Rummage Sale, and the managers did not know what to do with them. It was scarcely possible that any one would buy them, and it would begreatly out of place to exhibit them in the dry-goods department withMrs. Biggs's brown and white spotted gown which she had contributedrather unwillingly, insisting that it should not be sold for less than adollar. Ruby Ann suggested that they be carefully folded in boxes andlaid away by themselves for inspection by any one who had a thought ofbuying them. If they did not sell, and probably they would not, theywere to be returned either to Amy or to the Colonel, --the latter mostlikely, as Amy had expressed so strong a desire to be rid of them. Hersuggestion was acted upon, and the dresses laid aside, and the attentionof the managers turned to the doll house and its occupants, Mandy Annand Judy, the latter of whom was greeted with shrieks of laughter. Here was something that would sell, but what price to put upon it was apuzzle. No one had any idea of the original cost. Mrs. Biggs, who hadjoined the working force and whose voice was loudest everywhere, suggested ten dollars, with the privilege of falling, but was at oncetalked down, as low prices were to be the rule for everything, and fivewas quite enough. There were few who would pay that for a mereplaything for their children, so the card upon it was marked fivedollars, with the addition that it had once belonged to Mrs. AmyCrompton Smith. It was then placed conspicuously in a window beforewhich a group of eager, excited children gathered, and to which early inthe afternoon Peter came leisurely. The Colonel had asked him several times why he didn't go, and hadfinally grown so petulant that Peter had started, wondering how muchhe'd have to pay and what excuse he was to make for wanting it himself. His instructions were not to lie, but get it somehow without using theColonel's name. Finding Ruby Ann alone, he began, "I say, do you makeany sales before the thing opens?" "Why, yes, we can, " Ruby answered. "Several antiques are promised, ifnot actually sold, your boot-jack with the rest. Could sell another ifwe had it. Any particular thing you want?" "Yes, I want that house in the window and the two women in it, --MandyAnn and Judy. It's marked five dollars. Here's your money, " and he laida crisp five-dollar bill in her hand. "Why, Peter, --why, Peter, " Ruby exclaimed in surprise, with a sense ofregret that more had not been asked, and a feeling of wonder as to whyPeter wanted it. "Are you buying it for yourself?" she asked, and Peterreplied, "Who should I buy it for? I knew Mrs. Amy when she was a littlegirl and played with it and slept with that nigger baby Judy. I'vebought it. It's mine, and I'll take it right away. There's a draymannow, bringing a worn-out cook-stove and an old lounge. " "Oh, but, Peter, --please leave it till the sale is over. It drawspeople to look at it, and then they'll come in, " Ruby said, while othersof the ladies joined their entreaties with hers. But Peter was firm. He had bought the doll house and paid for it. It washis, and in spite of the protests of the entire committee which gatheredround him like a swarm of bees he took it away, and an hour later it wassafely deposited in the Colonel's room without Amy's knowledge. TheColonel was delighted. "Bring it close up, " he said, "but first take off that infernal cardthat it belonged to 'Mrs. Amy Crompton Smith. ' That's the way they'dmarked my trousers! Give me Mandy Ann and Judy. I haven't seen them inmore than twenty years, --yes, nearer thirty. Upon my soul they wearwell, especially the old lady. She was never very handsome, but Amyliked her best, " he said, laughing a little as Peter put Judy in hislap. He did not know that he had ever touched her before, and he held herbetween his thumb and finger, with something which felt like a swellingin his throat, --not for Judy, nor for Amy, but for poor Dory, thoughtsof whom were haunting him these days with a persistency he could notshake off. "What did you give?" he asked, and Peter replied. "Five dollars, --justwhat it was marked. " "Five dollars! Heavens and earth!" and Judy fell to the floor, while theColonel grasped his knees with his hands and sat staring at Peter. "Fivedollars! Are you an idiot, and have none of them common sense?" heasked, and Peter replied, "That was the price, and I didn't like to beatthem down. " Ruby Ann isn't easy to tackle, and Mrs. Biggs was there with her gab, if she is my niece, and said I got it dirt cheap. " "Go to thunder with your Ruby Ann and Mrs. Biggs and dirt cheap!" theColonel roared. "Who said I wanted you to beat 'em down? Why, man, Itold you I gave thirty for the house and five for Mandy Ann, and herethey have sold the whole caboodle, Judy and all, for five dollars! Fivedollars! Do you hear? Five dollars, for what cost thirty-five! Iconsider they've insulted Mandy Ann and Judy both. Five dollars! I'llbe--" He didn't finish his sentence, for he heard Amy's voice in the hall. Shemight be coming, and he said hastily to Peter, "Put them in the closet. Don't let her see them, or there'll be the old Harry to pay. " Peter obeyed, but Amy did not come in, and after a moment the Colonelcontinued, "We will keep them here a while. I dare say she'll neverthink of them again. She doesn't think much. Do you believe she willever be any better?" The Colonel's voice shook as he asked the question, and Peter's shook alittle as he replied, "Please God she may. A great shock of some kindmight do it. " "Yes, but where is the shock to come from, hedged round as she is fromevery rough wind or care?" the Colonel said, little thinking with whatstrides the shock was hastening on, or through what channel it was tocome. CHAPTER XV AT THE RUMMAGE The rooms were ready at last, and twenty tired ladies went through themto see that every thing was in its proper place, and then went home withhigh anticipations of the morrow and what it would bring. It opened mostpropitiously and was one of those soft, balmy September days, more likeearly June than autumn. There were brisk sales and crowds of people allday, with the probability of greater crowds and brisker sales in theevening. Jack Harcourt was in and out, watching the sale of what hissister had sent, drinking cups of chocolate every time a pretty girlasked him to do so, and buying toys and picture books and candy, anddistributing them among the children gathered around the door andwindows. He thought he had looked at everything on sale, but had failedto find the white apron. Where was it? he wondered. He would not askRuby Ann or Mrs. Biggs, as that would be giving himself away. It wouldcertainly be there in the evening when he was to bring Eloise in herchair. He had settled that with Tim, who gave up rather unwillingly, butwas consoled by being hired as errand boy, --an office he could not havefilled had he been hampered with a wheel chair. The night was glorious, with a moon near its full, and a little beforeseven Jack presented himself at Mrs. Biggs's, finding Eloise ready andalone. Tim was at the rooms, running hither and thither at everybody'sbeck and call, and his mother was there, running the wholething, --judging from her manner as she moved among the crowd filling therooms nearly to suffocation. Eloise had more than once changed her mindabout going, as she sat waiting for Jack. She was shy with strangers, and there would be so many there, and she would be so conspicuous in herchair, with Mr. Harcourt in attendance, that she began to doubt thepropriety of going. "If it were Tim who was to take me, I believe I should feeldifferently, " she was thinking, when Jack came in, breezy andexcited, --full of the Rummage and anxious to be off. "You are ready, I see, " he said. "That's right. We have no time to lose. And there's no end of fun. I've been there half the day, and drankchocolate, and eaten cake and candy till I never want to see any more. But you will. " He was adjusting her dress and getting the chair in motion as he talked, and Eloise had no time to suggest that she ought not to go, before shefound herself out upon the piazza, and Jack, who had locked the door, was putting the key under the mat. "You see I remember where I found it that time Howard and I desiccatedthe Sabbath by calling upon you, " he said, with a laugh in which Eloisejoined. "Is Mr. Howard going?" she asked, and Jack replied, "He is a kind oflazy fellow, but he'll be there all right;" and the first one they sawdistinctly as they drew near the house was Howard, struggling with thecrowd. Howard had gone down on purpose to see Eloise, and was wondering howwith her chair she could ever be gotten through that mass of people, when she appeared at the door, and, with Howard, wondered how she was toget in. She might not have accomplished it if he had not come to therescue with two boys, --one Tim Biggs, the other a tall, freckled-faced, light-haired fellow whom Jack greeted as Tom, saying, "Can you manage tofind a good position for Miss Smith?" "You bet, " came simultaneously from both boys, and immediately foursharp elbows were being thrust into the sides of the people, who movedall they could and made a passage for Eloise and her chair near themiddle of the room, and in a comparatively sheltered place where shecould see everything without being jostled. If she could see everything and everybody, so everybody could see her, and for a moment there was a hush in the large room where every eye wasturned upon Eloise, who began to feel very uncomfortable, and wish shehad not come. She had wondered what she ought to wear, and had decidedupon black as always suitable. When she left California her mother hadurged her to take a small velvet cape lined with ermine. It was the onlyexpensive article of dress she had, and she was very choice of it, butto-night she wore it about her shoulders, as later the air was inclinedto blow up cool and damp from the sea. Just as they reached the houseJack stooped to arrange it, throwing it back on either side so that moreof the ermine would show. "There! You look just like a queen! Ermine is very becoming to you, " hesaid, and the people staring at her thought so, too. Her head was uncovered, and her hair, which waved softly around herforehead, was wound in a flat knot low in her neck, making her look veryyoung, as she sat shrinking from the fire of eyes directed towards herand saw, if she did not hear, the low whispers of the people, many ofwhom had never seen her before, and were surprised at her extreme youthand beauty. Ruby Ann was at a distance, trying to sell Mrs. Biggs'sspotted brown and white wrapper to a scrub woman who was haggling overthe price which Mrs. Biggs had insisted should be put upon it. That goodwoman was busy in the supper-room, or she would have made her way atonce to Eloise, who, as she looked over the sea of faces confrontingher, saw no one she knew except Howard Crompton, who had been veryuncomfortable in the heat and air of the place until she came, and withher fresh, fair young face seemed at once to change the wholeatmosphere. Jack, who was not used to much exertion and had found evenEloise's light weight a trifle heavy, especially up the hill near theRummage house, was sweating at every pore, and fanning himself with apalm leaf he had bought at the entrance. "By George!" he said to Howard, who was standing by them. "It's hotterthan a furnace in here. I believe I'll have to go outside and cool off aminute, if you'll stay and keep guard over Miss Smith. " "Certainly;--with pleasure, " Howard said, putting his hand on Eloise'schair and asking if there was anything he could do for her. She was watching the brown and white spotted gown, and to Howard'squestion she shook her head, while he continued, "Jack says thechocolate is pretty fair. He ought to know--he has drank six cups. I amgoing to bring you some. " Before she could protest that she did not care for chocolate, he lefther and his place was at once taken by the tall, lank, light-haired boy, whose elbows had done so good execution in forcing a passage for thechair. Tom had been watching her ever since she came in, and making uphis mind. He had heard she was pretty, but that did not begin to expresshis opinion of her, as she sat with the ermine over her shoulders, thesoft sheen on her hair, the bright color on her cheeks, and a look inher eyes which fascinated him, boy though he was, as it did many anolder man, from Mr. Bills to Jack, and Howard Crompton. If his two chipshad not been thrown away he would have thrown them now, and still thefeeling in him which people called _cussedness_ was so strong that hecould not repress a desire "to see what stuff she was made off. " Taking Howard's vacant place he pushed himself forward until he wasnearly in front of her, where he could look into her face. Sherecognized him as the boy Jack had called Tom, and guessed who hewas, --her eyes drooping under his rather bold gaze, and her color comingand going. Tom was not sure what he was going to say to her, and couldnever understand why he said what he did. He had been told so often byMr. Bills and others that he needed _licking_, and so many teachers had_licked_ him, to say nothing of his drunken father, that the idea was inhis mind, but as something wholly at variance with this dainty littlegirl, who at last looked at him fearlessly. She knew he was going tospeak to her, but was not prepared for his question. "You are the new schoolmarm, ain't you? Do you think you could _lick_me?" Just for an instant Eloise was too much surprised to answer, while thehot blood surged into her face, then left it spotted here and there, making Tom think of pink rose petals with white flecks in them. But shedidn't take her eyes from the boy, who was ashamed of himself before shesaid with a pleasant laugh, "I know I couldn't; and I don't believe Ishall ever wish to try. I am the new school-teacher, and you are Mr. Thomas Walker!" She did not know why she put on the Mr. It came inadvertently, but wasthe most fortunate thing she could have done. To be called Thomas wasgratifying, but the Mr. Was quite overpowering and made Tom her ally atonce. "I'm Thomas Walker, --yes, " he said. "Miss Patrick has told you about me, I dare say, --and Mr. Bills, and Widder Biggs, and Tim. Oh, I know he'stold you a lot what I was goin' to do, --but it's a lie. I have plaguedMiss Patrick some, I guess, and she whaled me awful once, but I'vereformed. I didn't s'pose you was so little. I could throw you over thehouse, but I shan't. Say, when are you going to begin? I'm tired of MissPatrick's everlasting same ways of doing things, and want somethingnew, --something modern, you know. " He was getting very familiar, and Eloise was chatting with him on themost friendly terms, when Howard came back with a cup of chocolate, apart of which was spilled before he reached her. Howard knew who theyoung blackguard was, and glowered at him disapprovingly, but Eloisesaid, "Mr. Crompton, this is Thomas Walker, one of my biggest scholarsthat is to be. Some difference in our height, isn't there? but we shallget on famously. I like big boys and taught a lot of them in Mayville. " She smiled up at Tom and gave him her empty cup to take away. He wouldhave stood on his head if she had asked him to, and he hurried off withthe cup, meeting Jack, who had cooled himself, bought a pound of candyat one table and some flowers at another, and was making his way back toEloise. He had also looked round a little for the apron he was going tobuy, but could not find it. He'd make another tour of inspection later, he thought, for he meant to have it, if it were still there. Taking hisstand on one side of Eloise's chair while Howard stood on the other, thethree made a striking tableau at which many looked admiringly, commenting upon the beauty of the young girl, --the kind, good-humoredface of Jack, and the haughty bearing of Howard, who, an aristocrat tohis finger tips, watched the proceedings with an undisguised look ofcontempt showing itself in his sarcastic smile and the expression of hiseyes. Eloise was greatly interested and so expressed herself. She had seen thescrub woman haggling with Ruby Ann over the brown and white spottedwrapper, and had seen it laid aside until another customer came, whenthe same haggling took place with the same result, for Mrs. Biggs, whodarted in and out, still clung to the price put upon it and so retardedthe sale. The last time Ruby Ann brought it out Howard and Jack bothrecognized it. "By Jove! I've half a mind to buy it myself as a kind of souvenir, "Jack said, but a look of disgust in Eloise's face and a frown onHoward's deterred him, and he kept very quiet for a while, wonderingwhere that apron was and if by any possibility it could have been sold. The box of articles which Jack's sister had sent from New York had beensold early in the day, and Amy's dresses had not been opened. Nearlyeverything of any value was gone. Two of Howard's neckties stillremained conspicuously near the young men, who watched Tom Walker as heexamined them very critically, and they heard the saleswoman say, "Theybelonged to Mr. Howard Crompton. They say he has dozens of them and allfirst-class. This suits you admirably, "--and she held up a white satinone with a faint tinge of blue. Tom took it, disappeared for a few minutes, and when he came back to thechair he was resplendent in his new necktie which he had adjusted in thedressing-room, adding to it a Rhine-stone pin bought at the jewelrycounter. Howard's vanity told him he was complimented, and thatrestrained the laugh which sprang to his lips at the incongruity betweenTom's dress and the satin necktie bought for a grand occasion in Boston, which Howard had attended a few months before. On his way back to thegroup to which he felt he belonged Tom had stopped at the candy tableand inquired the price of the fanciful boxes, his spirits sinking whentold the pounds were fifty cents and the half-pounds twenty-five. Moneywas not very plenty with Tom, and what he had he earned himself. Thenecktie had made a heavy draft on him, and twenty cents was all he couldfind in either pocket. "I say, Tim, lend me a nickel. I'll pay it back. I hope to die if Idon't, " he said to Tim, who was hurrying past him on some errand for hismother. "I hain't no nickels to lend, " was Tim's answer, as he disappeared inthe crowd, leaving Tom hovering near the candy table and lookinglongingly at the only half-pound box left. "I say, " he began, edging up to the girl in charge, "can't you take outa piece or two and let me have it for twenty cents? All the money I havein the world! 'Strue's I live, and I want it awfully for the newschoolmarm over there in the chair with them swells standin' by her. " It was the last half-pound box and the girl was tired. "Yes, take it, " she said, and Tom departed, happier if possible with hiscandy than with his necktie. "I bought it for you. It's chocolate. I hope you like it, " he said, depositing his gift in Eloise's lap, where Jack's box was lying open andhalf empty, for Eloise's weakness was candy. "Oh, thank you, Thomas, " she said, beaming upon him a smile which morethan repaid him for having spent all his money for her. She was really very happy and thought a good deal of Rummage Sales. Shehad the best place in the hall;--a good many people had spoken to her. She had won Tom Walker, body and soul, and she knew that her escorts, Howard and Jack, added _éclat_ to her position. She had scarcely thoughtof her foot, which at last began to ache a little. She was getting tiredand wondered how much longer the sale would last. Jack wondered so, too;not that he was tired. He could have stood all night looking at Eloiseand seeing the people admire her; but he was rather stout and apt toget very warm in a room where the atmosphere was close as it was here, and he wanted to be out in the fresh air again. He could take his timewheeling Eloise home, and if Mrs. Biggs staid at the rooms, as he heardher say she was going to do "till the last dog was hung, " he could stayout in the porch and enjoy the moonlight with Eloise's eyes shining uponhim. But where was that apron? Perhaps it hadn't come after all. He'dinquire. But of whom? Mrs. Biggs was in the supper-room. He did not careto go there again, for every time he appeared somebody was sure to getoff on him a cup of chocolate or coffee, and he could not drink anymore. Ruby Ann was busy, --her face very red and her eyes very tired, as shetried to sell the most unsalable articles to old women who wantedsomething for nothing, and quarrelled with the quality and quarrelledwith the price. His only recourse was Eloise, and he planned a long timehow to approach the subject without mentioning her apron. At last ahappy inspiration came to him, and when Howard's attention was divertedanother way he bent over her and began. CHAPTER XVI THE AUCTION "Astonishing, isn't it, where all the stuff comes from? Somebody musthave given very freely. I never gave a thing except money. Bell sent alot to be sure, and it's all sold. They had a pile from the CromptonHouse. They were good at begging. They didn't expect anything of you, astranger, of course?" "Oh, yes, " Eloise replied. "I had an apron which Miss Patrick seemed tothink might sell for something. It was rather pretty, and I made itmyself. I haven't seen it, and think it may have been sold, or perhapsMrs. Biggs, who had it in charge, forgot it. She has had a great deal onher mind. " Jack did not hear more than half Eloise was saying. One fact alone wasclear. She had expected the apron to be there and he would look it up. "Excuse me, " he said, and going into the room where Mrs. Biggs wastrying to make half a loaf of bread do duty as a whole loaf to a partyjust arrived, he said to her, "Pardon me, Mrs. Biggs, but did you sendor bring Miss Smith's contribution to the sale? I believe it was anapron. She has not seen it. " The bread fell from Mrs. Biggs's hand to the table, and the knifefollowed it to the floor as she exclaimed, "Lord of heavens! I forgotit till this minute. Where's Tim?" She darted from the room and found Tim bringing two pails of water, "thelast gol darned thing he was going to do that night, " he said, as he putthem down. Seizing him by the collar his mother almost shrieked, "Runhome for your life, Tim!" "Why-er, --what-er! Is our house afire?" Tim asked, and his motherreplied, "No, but Miss Smith's apron is there. I clean forgot it. You'llfind it in a paper box on my bed, or in my bureau, or on the closetshelf, pushed away back, or somewhere. Now clip it. " Tim started without his hat, and the last thing he heard was hismother's voice shrill as a clarion, "If you don't find the key under themat, climb inter the but'ry winder, but don't upset the mornin's milk!" Business was beginning to slacken and sales were few. Some of the peoplehad gone home and others were going, and still there were quantities ofgoods unsold. An auction was the only alternative and Mr. Bills, who, tohis office of school commissioner, added that of auctioneer, was sentfor. There was no one like him in Crompton for disposing of whatever wasto be disposed of, from a tin can to a stove-pipe hat. He could judgeaccurately the nature and disposition of his audience, --knew just whatto say and when to say it, and had the faculty of making people bidwhether they wanted to or not. To hear him was as good as a circus, hisfriends said, and when it became known that he was to auction off thegoods remaining from the sale, many who had left came back, filling therooms again nearly as full as they were early in the evening. Eloise's chair was moved a little more to the front, --a long counterwas cleared, and on it Mr. Bills took his stand, smiling blandly uponthe crowd around him and then bowing to Eloise and her escorts, Jack andHoward. He was bound to do his best before them and took up his workeagerly. He was happiest when selling clothes which he could try on, orpretend to, and after disposing of several bonnets amid roars oflaughter he took up Mrs. Biggs's gown, which Ruby Ann had not been ableto sell. Here was something to his mind and he held it out and up, andtried its length on himself and expatiated upon its beauty and its styleand durability until he got a bid of twenty-five cents, and this fromHoward, who said to Eloise, "It seems a pity not to start the old thingat something, and I suppose the Charitable Society will take it. Ibelieve there is one in town. " Eloise did not answer. The spotted gown was an offence to her, and sheshut her eyes while Mr. Bills, delighted that he had a bid at last andfrom such a source, began, "Thank you, sir. You know a good thing whenyou see it, but only twenty-five cents! A mere nothing. Somebody willgive more, of course, for this fine tea gown to put on hot afternoons. Just the thing. Twenty-five cents! Twenty-five cents! Do I hear more?Twenty-five! Did you say thirty?" and he looked at Jack, who halfnodded, and the bids, raised five cents at a time, rolled on betweenJack and Howard and another young man, who cared nothing for the gown, but liked the fun. Fifty cents was reached at last, and there thebidding ceased and Mr. Bills was ringing the changes on half a dollar, half a dollar, for a _robe de chambre_;--he called it that sometimes, and sometimes a tea gown, and once a _robe de nu-it_, which broughtpeals of laughter from those who understood the term, as he certainlydid not. In the dining-room Mrs. Biggs was busy washing dishes, but kepther ears open to the sounds in the next room, knowing Mr. Bills wasthere and anxious to get in and see the fun. When the last shoutsreached her she dropped her dish towel, saying to her companion, "Ican't stand it any longer. I've got to go and see what Bills is up to!" Elbowing her way in she caught sight of her gown held aloft by Mr. Bills, and heard his voluble "Going, going, at fifty cents. " She had thought it low at a dollar, and here it was as good as gone forfifty cents, --to whom she did not know or care, --probably the scrubwoman who had looked at it earlier in the evening and offered sixty. Herblood was up, and making her way to Mr. Bills she snatched at her gown, exclaiming, "It's mine, and shall never go for fifty cents, I tell you!" Here was a diversion, and Mr. Bills met it beautifully. "Jess so, Miss Biggs, " he said, bowing low to her. "I admire your tasteand judgment. I've told 'em time and time over it was worth more thanfifty. The fact is they don't know what is what, but you and I do. Shallwe double right up and shame 'em by sayin' a dollar? A dollar! A dollar!and going!" Mrs. Biggs did not know that she assented, she was so excited, andafterwards declared she didn't: but the final Going was said, with"Gone! to Mrs. Biggs, for one dollar. Cheap at that!" At this juncture, when the hilarity was at its height and Mrs. Biggs wasmarching off with her property, which she said she should never payfor, Tim appeared, hatless and coatless, but with the box in his hand. When Jack locked the door he pushed the key further under the mat thanwas usual, and failing to find it at once, and being in a hurry, Timmade his entrance into the house through the pantry window, upsettingthe pan of milk and a bowl of something, he did not stop to see what, inhis haste to find the box. It was not on the bed, nor on the bureau, norpushed back on a shelf in the closet. It was on a chair near the doorwhere his mother had put it and then forgotten it. As the key wasoutside Tim made his exit the way he came in, stopping a moment to lookat the milk the cat was lapping with a great deal of satisfaction. "Bobbs, you'll have a good supper, and I shall catch old hundred forgiving it to you, " he said, picking up the pan and springing through thewindow. He was very warm, and taking off his coat he threw it across his arm andstarted rapidly for the sale, knowing before he reached it that Mr. Bills was there by the sounds he heard. He had no thought that the apronwas not to be sold at auction. Probably that was why it was wanted, andpushing through the crowd to Mr. Bills he handed him the box, saying, "Here 'tis. I 'bout run my legs off to get it. Make 'em pay smart. " "Mr. Bills! Mr. Bills!" came excitedly from Ruby Ann, but Mr. Bills didnot hear, the buzz of voices was so great. He had opened the box and taken out the apron, which he handled far morecarefully than he had the spotted gown. "Now this is something like first-class business, " he said, holding itup. "The prettiest thing you ever saw, --a girl's apron, all ruffled andprinked, and, --yes, --made by--" He had glanced at the card, which said it was made by Miss Smith, andwas about to announce that fact, feeling sure it would bring bidders, when he chanced to look at Eloise, whose face was nearly as white as theapron, and in whose eyes he saw an expression which checked the words. But he had no idea of relinquishing the article, and misunderstood themotion of Jack's hand to stop him. "Now, give me an offer, " he began, --"a first-rate one, too; none of yourquarters, nor halves. Bid high and show you know something. 'Tain'tevery day you have a chance to buy as fine a thing as this. You who havewives, or daughters, or sisters, or sweethearts, or want it foryourselves, speak up! Walk up! Roll up! Tumble up! Any way to get up, only come up and bid!" He was looking at Jack, whose face was as red as Eloise's was pale. "If the thing must be sold at auction it shall bring a good price, andI'll get it, too, " he thought. Standing close to him was Tom Walker, who all the evening had hoverednear Eloise. "Tom, " Jack said. "I have a sister, you know. " Tom didn't know, but he nodded, and Jack went on: "That apron is theonly thing I've seen that I really want for her. I am not worth a centto bid. Will you do it for me?" Tom nodded again, and Jack continued, "Well, start pretty high. Keepyour eyes on me, and when I look at you raise the bid if there is anyagainst you. Understand?" "Yes, sir, " Tom answered, understanding more than Jack thought he did. He guessed whose apron it was and did not believe much in the sister, but he had his instructions and waited for the signal. Howard hadwatched the sale of the spotted gown with a great deal of amusement, butwas beginning to feel tired with standing so long, and was wonderingwhen Jack proposed taking Eloise home. That he would go with them was amatter of course, and he was about to speak to Jack when Tim came in andthe apron sale began. He had no idea whose it was until he saw the haltin Mr. Bills's manner, and looked at Eloise. Then he knew, and knew, too, that nothing could get Jack away till the apron was disposed of. That Jack would buy it he did not for a moment dream, for what could hedo with it? "But yes, he is going to buy it, " he thought, as he heardJack's instructions to Tom, "and I mean to have some fun with him, andrun that apron up. " Close to him was Tim, and the sight of him put an idea into Howard'smind. It would be jolly for Tom and Tim to bid against each other, whilehe and Jack backed them. "Tim, " he said, laying his hand on the boy's arm, "I am going to buythat apron for Mrs. Amy, and I want you to bid for me against Tom Walkerand everybody. I have no idea what it is worth, but when I squeeze yourarm _so_, bid higher!" He gave Tim's arm a clutch so tight that the boy started away from him, saying, "Great Peter, don't pinch like that! You hurt! 'cause I'm in myshirt sleeves. " "All right. I'll be more careful, " Howard said. "Now begin, before Tomhas time to open the ball. " "Yes, but-er, what-er shall I bid?" Tim stammered. "How do I know? It's Miss Smith's, and on that account valuable. Go inwith a dollar. " All this time Mr. Bills had been talking himself hoarse over the meritsof the apron, while his audience were watching Howard and Jack, with afeeling of certainty that they were intending to bid, but they were notprepared for Tim's one dollar, which startled every one and none more sothan his mother, who, having rolled up her spotted gown "in a _wopse_, "as she said, and put it with her dish pan and towels, had come back intime to hear Tim's astonishing bid. She could not see him for the crowdin front of her, but she could make him hear, and her voice was shrilland decided as she called out, "Timothy Biggs! Be you crazy? and whereare you to get your dollar, I'd like to know!" "Tell mother to mind her business! I know what I'm about!" Tim said tosome one near him, while Mr. Bills rang the changes on that dollar withastonishing volubility, and Tom kept his eyes on Jack for a signal toraise. Jack was taken by surprise, but readily understood that it was Howardagainst whom he had to contend and not Tim. "All right, old chap, " he whispered, then looked full at Tom, who, eageras a young race horse, shouted a dollar and a half! "All right, " Jack said again, and turned to Eloise on whose face therewas now some color, as she began to share in the general excitementpervading the room and finding vent in laughter and cheers when Tom'sbid was raised to two dollars by Tim, and two and a quarter was asquickly shrieked by Tom. Everybody now understood the contest andwatched it breathlessly, a great roar going up when Tim lost his headand mistaking a slight movement of Howard's hand on his arm, raised hisown bid from three dollars to three and a half! "That's right, " Mr. Bills said; "you know a thing or two. We are gettingwell under way. Never enjoyed myself so well in my life. Three and ahalf! three and a half! Who says four?" "I do, " Tom yelled, his yell nearly drowned by the cheers of thespectators, some of whom climbed on chairs and tables to look at Tom andTim standing, one next to Howard and the other next to Jack, with Eloisethe central figure, her ermine cape thrown back, and drops of sweat uponher forehead and around her mouth. She almost felt as if it were herself Howard and Jack were contendingfor instead of her apron, which Mr. Bills was waving in the air like aflag, with a feeling that he had nearly exhausted his vocabulary anddidn't know what next to say. Four dollars was a great deal for anapron, he knew, but he kept on ringing the changes on the fourdollars, --a measly price for so fine an article, and for so good a causeas a Public Library. And while he talked and repeated his _going, going_, faster and faster, Tim stood like a hound on a leash frettingfor a sign to raise. "You ain't goin' to be beat by Tom Walker, be you?" he said, in awhisper to Howard, who gave him a little squeeze, with the words "Goeasy, " spoken so low that Tim did not hear them, and at once raised thefour dollars to four and a half, while quick as lightning Tom respondedwith five dollars. Jack hadn't really looked at him, but it did not matter. He was goingto have the apron, and turning to Howard he said, "I don't know how longyou mean to keep this thing up. I am prepared to go on all night. " Howard felt sure he was and decided to stop, and his hand dropped fromTim's shoulder quite to the disgust of that young man, who said, "Yougoin' to let 'em lick us?" "I think I'll have to, " Howard replied, while "Five dollars, and going!"filled the room until the final "Gone!" was spoken, and the people gavegasps of relief that it was over. "Sold for five dollars to Thomas Walker, who will please walk up to thecaptain's office and pay, " Mr. Bills said, handing the apron to Tom, whoheld it awkwardly, as if afraid of harming it. "I guess it's yourn, " he said, giving it to Jack, who knew as littlewhat to do with it as Tom. Ruby came to his aid and took it from him. She had watched theperformance with a great deal of interest, comprehending it perfectlyand feeling in a way sorry for Eloise, whose lips quivered a little whenshe went up to her, and bending over her said, "You should feelcomplimented, but I'm afraid you are very tired. " "Yes, very tired and warm. I want to get into the fresh air, " Eloisesaid, shivering as if she were cold instead of warm. Jack had gone to the cashier's desk to pay for the apron, and Tomundertook the task of getting the wheel chair through the crowd, runningagainst the people promiscuously, if they impeded his progress, andcaring little whom he hit if he got Eloise safely outside the door. Thenight was at its best, almost as light as day, as they emerged from thehot, close room, and Eloise drew long breaths of the cool air which blewup fom the sea, the sound of whose waves beating upon the shore could beheard even above the din of voices inside the building. The auction wasstill going on, and Mr. Bills was doing his best, but the interestflagged with the sale of the apron and the breaking up of the groupwhich had attracted so much attention. Even Mrs. Biggs's grandmother'sbrass kettle, on which so many hopes were built, failed to create morethan a ripple, as Mr. Bills rang changes upon it both with tongue andknuckles, and when his most eloquent appeals could not raise a higherbid than ten cents, it was withdrawn by the disgusted widow, who put itaside with her dish pan and towels and gown, and then went to find Timto take them home. Howard had been called by Ruby into the room where Amy's dresses werelying in the boxes just as they came, and asked what they were to dowith them. "We could not offer them for sale, and she does not want them back, " shesaid. "Send them to the Colonel. She'll never know it, and the chance is willnever think of them again, " Howard said, and then hurried outside towhere Eloise was still waiting and talking to Tom. "That apron went first rate, " he said. "You must have felt glad theythought so much of you, 'cause 'twas you and not the apron, though thatwas pretty enough. " "Oh!" Eloise replied, drawing her ermine cape around her shoulders, "Idon't know whether I was glad or not. I felt as if I were being sold tothe highest bidder. " "That's so, " Tom said. "It was something like it. Ain't you glad 'twasMr. Harcourt bought you instead of t'other?" Eloise laughed as she replied, "Why, Thomas, it was _you_ who bought me!Have you forgotten?" She seemed so much in earnest that for a moment Tom thought she was, andsaid, "You ain't so green as not to know that 'twas Mr. Harcourt eggin'me on, --winkin' to me when to raise, and tellin' me to go high! You arehis'n, and I'm glad on't! I like him better than t'other; ain't so bigfeelin'. Here they come, both on 'em. " Howard had finished his business with Ruby Ann, and Jack had paid hisfive dollars and received the apron, slightly mussed, but looking fairlywell in the box in which they put it. A good many people were leavingthe rooms again, and among them Tim, laden with his mother's dish panand towels, and dress and brass kettle, and one or two articles whichshe had bought. "Hallo, Tim! You look some like a pack horse, " Tom said, but Tim did notanswer. He was very tired, for with so many calling upon him through the day andevening; he had run miles and received only seventy cents for it. He waschagrined that he had raised his own bid, and wondered Tom did not chaffhim. It would come in time, he knew, and he felt angry at Tom, and angrywith the brass kettle and dish pan and dress which kept him fromwheeling Eloise instead of Tom, who, when they finally started, took hisplace behind the chair as a matter of course, while Howard and Jackwalked on either side. It was a splendid night, and when Mrs. Biggs'shouse was reached Howard and Jack would gladly have lingered outsidetalking to Eloise, if they could have disposed of the boys. But the boyswere not inclined to be disposed of. Tom had become somebody in his ownestimation, and intended to stay as long as the young men did, whileTim, having found the key, this time instead of entering by the pantrywindow, unlocked the door, deposited his goods, and then came back, saying to Eloise with a good deal of dignity for him, "Shall I take youin?" "Yes, please. I think it's time, " she said, and Howard and Jack knewthey were dismissed. "Thank you all so much for everything, " shecontinued, giving her hand to each of them in turn, and pressing Tom's alittle in token of the good feeling she felt sure was establishedbetween them. It was not long before Mrs. Biggs came home, rather crestfallen that herspotted gown and brass kettle had not been more popular, but jubilantover the sale, the proceeds of which, so far as known when she left, were over two hundred and fifty dollars. "Never was anything like it before in Crompton, " she said, as she helpedEloise to her bed lounge. "That apron sale beat all. Them young mendidn't care for the apron, of course, except that it was yours, and whatMr. Harcourt will do with it I don't know. Said he was goin' to send itto his sister. Maybe he is. He paid enough for it. Five dollars! I wasin hopes they'd run it up to ten! and I was sorry when 'twas over. Mr. Bills kinder wilted after you all went out, and the whole thing flatted. Well, good-night! You was the star! the synacure, --is that the word?--ofall eyes, and looked awful pretty in that white cape. I see you've gotTom Walker, body and soul, but my land! you'd get anybody! Good-night, again. " She was gone at last, and Eloise was glad to lay her tired head upon herpillow, falling asleep nearly as soon as she touched it, but dreaming ofthe Rummage Sale and that she was being auctioned off instead of herapron. It was a kind of nightmare, and her heart beat fast as the bidscame rapidly, --sometimes on Howard's side and sometimes on Jack's. Shecalled him _Jack_ in her dreams, and finally awoke with a start, sayingaloud, "I am glad it was Jack who bought me!" PART III CHAPTER I THE BEGINNING OF THE END The Rummage Sale was a great success and netted fully two hundred andfifty dollars, besides quantities of goods of different kinds which wereleft and given either to the poor or to the Charitable Society inCrompton. The trunks containing Amy's dresses had been sent home withoutAmy's knowledge, and deposited in the closet with Mandy Ann and Judy, the Colonel swearing at first that he would have nothing pertaining toHomer Smith so near him. The apron sale had been an absorbing topic ofconversation, the people wondering what Mr. Harcourt was going to dowith his purchase, and if he wouldn't give it back to Eloise. Nothingwas further from his thought. He had bought it to keep, and he laid itaway in the bottom of his trunk with the handkerchief Eloise had usedwhen he first called upon her. He was growing more and more in love with her and more unwilling toleave Crompton. He had already staid longer than he had at firstintended, but it did not need Howard's urgent invitation for him toprolong his visit. Every day he went to Mrs. Biggs's, and sometimestwice a day, and took Eloise out in her arm-chair for an airing, --onceas far as to the school-house where Ruby Ann still presided, and whereEloise hoped soon to take up her duties. She was very happy, or wouldhave been if she could have heard from California. Every day she hopedfor news, and every day was disappointed, until at last nearly a weekafter the Rummage a letter came forwarded by her grandmother fromMayville. It was from a physician to whom Eloise had twice written withregard to her mother, and this was his reply: "Portland, Oregon, September --, 18--. "My Dear Miss Smith: "I left San Francisco several months ago and have been stopping inseveral places, and that is why your letters were so long in reachingme. They both came in the same mail, and I wrote to San Francisco to seewhat I could learn with regard to your mother. It seems that the privateasylum of Dr. Haynes was broken up, as there were only three patientswhen Mrs. Smith left, and it did not pay. Soon after your father died inSanta Barbara, your mother was removed from the asylum by a gentlemanwhose name I have thus far been unable to learn. I thought it must havebeen some relative, but if you know nothing of it my theory is wrong. Dr. Haynes went at once with his family to Europe, and is travelling onthe continent. His address is, Care of Munroe & Co. , Bankers, 7 RueScribe. Paris. Write him again, as he must know who took your motherfrom his care. He may not be in Paris now, but your letter will reachhim in time. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will gladly doit. If you were in San Francisco you might find some of the attendantsin the asylum, who could give you the information you desire. "Yours, very truly, "J. P. ALLING, M. D. " It was Ruby who brought the letter one evening two or three days beforeEloise expected to make her first appearance in school. Mrs. Biggs andTim were out and Eloise was alone. Tearing open the envelope, she readit quickly, and then with the bitterest cry Ruby had ever heard, coveredher face with her hands and sobbed: "My mother! Oh, my mother!" "Is she dead?" Ruby asked, and Eloise replied, "Worse than that, perhaps. I don't know where she is. Read what it says. " She gave the letter to Ruby, who read it twice; then, sitting down byEloise and passing her arm around her, she said, "I don't understandwhat it means. Was your mother in a lunatic asylum?" "Oh, don't call it that!" Eloise answered. "It was a private asylum inSan Francisco, --very private and select, father said, but I never quitebelieved her crazy. She was always quiet and sad and peculiar, and hatedthe business, and so did I. " "What was the business?" Ruby asked, and Eloise answered hesitatingly, as if it were something of which to be ashamed, "She sang in public witha troupe, --his troupe. He made her. She was the star and drew bighouses, she was so beautiful and sang so sweetly, without any apparenteffort. It was just like a bird, and when she sang the Southern melodiesshe seemed to be in a trance, seeing things we could not see. It made mecry to hear her. I know many good women are public singers, but mothershrank from it, and when they cheered like mad there used to be afrightened look in her eyes, as if she wondered why they were doing itand wanted to hide, and when she got to our rooms she'd tremble and beso cold and cry, while father sometimes scolded and sometimes laughed ather. He tried to make me sing once. I have a fair voice, but I rebelledand said I'd run away before I'd do it. He was very angry, and sent meNorth to my grandmother, saying I was too great an expense to keep withhim unless I would help, and was a hindrance to my mother, who wasalways so anxious about me. It nearly killed her to part with me. I wasall the comfort she had, she said, and she always called me Baby. Fatherwas not kind to her, and it seemed as if he hated me, and was jealous ofmother's love for me. When I heard he was dead, I could not feel badly, as I ought, and did not cry. He was a very handsome man, and very nicewith people, who thought my mother a most fortunate woman to have sopolished and courteous a husband. They should have seen him as I saw himat times, and heard him swear, as I have heard him, and call her namestill she was white as a corpse and fainted. I never saw her turn uponhim but once. I had asked her why she didn't leave him and go home, ifshe had any to go to. That was when I was a little girl. "'I have no home or friends in all the wide world to go to' she said, and then, with a sneer which was maddening, it meant so much, my fathersaid, 'Ask her who her father was and see if she can tell you. ' "I didn't know then what he meant to insinuate, but mother did, andthere came a look into her eyes which frightened me, and her voice wasnot mother's at all, as she walked straight up to him and said, 'Howdare you insult my mother!' "She looked like an enraged animal, and my father must have been afraidshe would attack him, for he tried to soothe her and succeeded at lastin doing so. I think there was some mystery about her father and mother, as she would never talk of them. Once I asked her about them, and shesaid she hadn't any; and she looked so strange that I never asked heragain. I knew she was born South, that her people were poor, and hername Harris, and that is all I know, except that no better or lovelierwoman ever lived, and if she is really crazy father made her so, and Icannot feel any love for him, or respect. If I ever had any, and Isuppose I must have had, he killed it long ago. The first thing Iremember of him in Rome, where I was born, he was practising some musicwith mother, --playing for her while she sang, and I was standing by him, putting my hands on his arm and trying to hum the tune. With a jerk hesaid to my nurse, 'Take her away and keep her away. ' "I am wicked, I know, to talk as I am doing, but it seems as if therewas a spell over me urging me to say things I never thought of saying. It's a comfort to talk to some one who I know is my friend, and you areso strong every way and have been so good to me. " She laid her head on Ruby's arm like a tired child, and continued, "Iwrote to mother very often after I came to Mayville, and she replied, telling me how she missed me, and how she always fixed her eyes on somepart of the house, fancying she saw me, and was singing to me, and Iused to listen nights and think I heard her grand voice as it rose andfell, and the people cheering, and she so beautiful standing there forthe crowd to gaze at, and wishing she could get away from it all. "At last her letters ceased and father wrote that her mind had given waysuddenly;--that she was a raving maniac, --dangerous, I think hesaid, --and I thought of the way she looked at him once when I was achild, and he told me to ask her about her father. He said she was inDr. Haynes's private asylum, where she had the kindest of care. I thinkI died many deaths in one when I heard that. I wrote her again andagain, and wanted to go to her, but my father forbade it. No one sawher, he said, except her attendant and the physician, --not even himself, as the sight of him threw her into paroxysms. I didn't wonder at that. He sent my letters back, telling me she would not sense them, and theywould excite her if she did. Her only chance of recovery was in herbeing kept perfectly quiet, with nothing to remind her of the past. "A few months ago he died suddenly in Santa Barbara. One of the troupewrote to grandma, and, as I told you, I did not cry; I couldn't. I wastoo anxious about mother, and wrote at once to Dr. Haynes, but receivedno answer. I waited a while and wrote again, with the same result. ThenI remembered Dr. Alling, who had attended me for some slight ailment, and wrote to him, with the result you know. Some one has taken my motheraway. Who was it, and where is she? I feel as if I were going mad when Ithink of the possibilities. " She pressed her hands to her head and rocked to and fro, while Rubytried to quiet and comfort her. "I must go to San Francisco and find my mother. I would startto-morrow, lame as I am, only I haven't the money, and grandma hasn'tit, either, " she said. "Father made a great deal of money at times, buthe spent it as freely. Always stopped at the best hotels; had a suite ofrooms, with our meals served in them; drank the costliest wines, andsmoked the most expensive cigars, and bought mother such beautifuldresses. I did not fare so well. Anything was good enough for me after Irefused to sing in public, and that was an added source of trouble to mymother. I was always a bone of contention and it was, perhaps, as wellin some respects that I was sent away, only mother missed me so. I wasso glad to get this school, because it would give me something for mymother, whom I hoped to bring home before long. And now, I don't knowwhere she is, but I must find her. Oh, what shall I do?" It was not often that Eloise talked of herself and her affairs. Atschool in Mayville she had been very reticent with regard to her past, and had seldom mentioned either her father or her mother. With Mrs. Biggs she had been equally silent, and, try as she would, the good womanhad never been able to learn anything beyond what Eloise had first toldher, --that her father was dead and her mother in California;--in asanitarium, Mrs. Biggs had finally decided, and let the matter drop, thinking she should some time know "if there was anything to know. " RubyAnn had from the first seemed to Eloise like one to be trusted, and shefelt a relief in talking to her, and said more than she had at firstintended to say. For a moment Ruby was silent, while Eloise's head lay on her arm andEloise's hand was holding hers. She was thinking of the piano shewanted to buy, the money for which was in the Crompton bank. There was astruggle in her mind, and then she said, "I can loan you the money. Iknow you will pay it back if you live, and if you don't, no matter. Iwill not call it a loss if it does you any good. " At first Eloise demurred, longing to accept the generous offer, andfearing that she ought not. But Ruby overcame her scruples. "Naturally I shall keep your place in school, so I owe you something forthe business, don't you see?" she said. Eloise did not quite see, but she yielded at last, for her need wasgreat. "I don't think I'd tell Mrs. Biggs all the sad story, unless you wantthe whole town to know it. Tell her you have had bad news from yourmother, and are going to her, " Ruby suggested, when at last she saidgood-night and went out, just as Mrs. Biggs came in. "Goin' away! Goin' to Californy! Your mother sick! What's the matter, and how under the sun are you goin' alone, limpin' as you do? I knewRuby Ann would manage to keep the school if she once got it!" were someof Mrs. Biggs's exclamations when told Eloise was to leave her. Eloise parried her questions very skilfully, saying nothing except thather mother needed her and she was going to her, and Mrs. Biggs left hermore mystified than she had ever been in her life, but resolved "to getat the bottom if she lived. " That night Eloise, who was now sleeping in the chamber to which she hadfirst been taken, sat a long time by her window, looking out upon thetowers and chimneys of Crompton Place, which were visible above thetrees in the park, and wondering at the feeling of unrest whichpossessed her, and her unwillingness to leave. "If I could only see him once more before I go, " she thought, the "him"being Jack, who, with Howard Crompton, was in Worcester, attending amusical festival. Not to see him was the saddest part of leaving Crompton, and for amoment hot tears rolled down her cheeks, --tears which, if Jack couldhave seen and known their cause, would have brought him back fromWorcester and the prima donna who that night was entrancing a crowdedhouse with her song. Dashing her tears away, Eloise's thoughts revertedto Amy, who had been so kind to her. "I hoped to thank her in person, " she said, "but as that is impossible, I must write her a note for Tim to take in the morning, together withthe chairs. " The note was written, and in it a regret expressed that Eloise could nothave seen her. "Maybe when she reads it she will call upon me to-morrow, " she thought, as she directed the note, and that night she dreamed that Amy came toher, with a face and voice so like her mother's that she woke with astart and a feeling that she had really seen her mother, as she used tostand before the footlights, while the house rang with thunders ofapplause. CHAPTER II THE LITTLE RED CLOAK Col. Crompton was in a bad way, both mentally and bodily. The pain inhis gouty foot had extended to his knee, and was excruciating in theextreme; but he almost forgot it in the greater trouble in his mind. Inthe same mail which had brought Eloise's letter from California therehad been one for him, which in the morning Peter had taken from thepostman and examined carefully, until he made out its direction. "Mister Kurnel Krompton, of Krompton Plais, Krompton, Massachusetts. " So much room had been taken up on one side of the envelope with theaddress, that half of "Massachusetts" was on the other side, and Peter'smemory instantly went back to years before, when a letter looking likethis and odorous with bad tobacco had come to the Colonel. He had a copyof the letter still, and could repeat it by heart, and knew that it wasfrom Jake Harris, --presumably the "Shaky" for whom the little girlEudora had cried so pitifully. This was undoubtedly from the samesource. "What can he want now? and what will the Colonel say?" hethought, as he took the letter to his master's room. "A letter for you, sir, " he said, putting it down upon the table by theColonel's chair, and then lingering on the pretence of adjusting acurtain and brushing up the hearth, but really waiting to see whateffect the letter would have. It was different from what he expected. With one glance at thesuperscription, the Colonel grew deathly pale, and his hands shook sothat the letter dropped upon the floor. Peter picked it up and handed itto him, saying, "Can I help you, sir?" "Yes, by leaving me, and holding your tongue! There's the devil to pay!"was the answer. Peter was accustomed to hearing of his master's debts in that direction, and to being told to hold his tongue, and he answered, "All right, sir, "and left the room. For some moments the Colonel sat perfectly still, hisheart beating so fast that he could scarcely breathe. Then he openedJake's letter, and read as follows: "Palmetto Clarin', Oct. --, 18--. "Mister Kurnel Krompton, "Deer Sir: "Glory to God. I'se done sung all day for his mussy in lettin' me heerfrom lil Miss Dory onc't mo' an' 'noin' she ain't ded as I feared shewas. Mas'r Minister Mason, who done 'tended the funeral of t'other MissDory done tole me how she's livin' with you, an' a lil off in her mind. The lam'! What happened her, I wonder? Her granny, ole Miss Lucy, wasquar. All the Harrises was quar. Mebby she got it from them. A site ofme will cure her sho'. Tell her I'se comin' to see her as soon as I hearfrom you that it is her, sho'. Thar might be some mistake, an' I doan'want to take the long journey for nothin', 'case I'm ole, tho' I feelsmighty peart now wid de news. Rite me wen you git this. I shall waittill I har, an' then start to onc't. "Yours to command, "JAKE HARRIS. " "P. S. --Mandy Ann, you 'members her, what took care of lil chile. She's agrown woman now in course, an' has ten chillen, 'sides Ted. You 'membersTed, on de 'Hatty. ' No 'count at all; but Mandy Ann, wall, she's awhopper, an' when she hears de nuse, she 'most had de pow'. She sen'sher regrets, an' would come, too, if she hadn't so many moufs to feed, an' Ted doin' nothin' but playin' gemman. "Onc't mo', yours, "JAKE. " To describe the Colonel's state of mind as he read this letter isimpossible. He forgot the pain in his leg and knee in the greatersensation of the cold, prickly feeling which ran through his veins, making his fingers feel like sticks, and powerless to hold the letter, which dropped to the floor. With every year he had hugged closer andcloser the secret of his life, becoming more and more morbid and morefearful, lest in some way his connection with the palmetto clearingshould be known and he fall from the high pedestal on which he had stoodso long, and from which his fall would be greater because he had beenthere so long. It would all be right after he was dead. He had seen tothat, and didn't care what the world would say when he was not alive tohear it. But he was very much alive now, and his sin bade fair to findhim out. "Just as I feared when that rector told me who his father was, " hethought, cursing the chance which had sent the Rev. Arthur Mason toCrompton, --cursing the Rev. Charles for giving information to Jake, --andcursing Jake for the letter, which he spurned with his well foot, as itlay on the floor. He had hoped the negro might be dead, as he had heardnothing from him in a long time; and here he was, alive and waiting fora word to come. "If he waits for that he will wait to all eternity, " hesaid to himself. "I shall write and make it worth his while to staywhere he is. He knows too much of Amy's birth and her mother's death tobe trusted here. Uncertainty is better than the truth. I have madematters right for Amy, and confessed everything. They'll find it whenI'm gone, and can wag their tongues all they please. It won't hurt methen, but while I live I'll keep up the farce. It might have been betterto have told the truth at first, but I didn't, and it's too late now. Who in thunder is that knocking at the door? Not Amy, I hope, --and Ican't reach that letter, " he continued, as there came a low rap at thedoor. "Come in!" he called, when it was repeated, and Cora, the housemaid, entered. She had been in the family but a few days and did not yet understand herduties with regard to the Colonel, and know that she was not to troublehim. Tim Biggs had been commissioned by Eloise to take her note to Mrs. Amy, together with the chairs. "You can't carry both at one time, so take the sea this morning, and thewheel this afternoon, " Mrs. Biggs said, just as Tom Walker appeared. He had been to the house two or three times since the Rummage, ostensibly to ask when Eloise was going to commence her duties asteacher, but really to see her and hear her pleasant "Good-morning, Thomas, I am glad to see you. " Whatever Mrs. Biggs knew was soon known to half of District No. 5, andthe news that Eloise was going to California had reached Tom, andbrought him to inquire if it were true. "And won't you come back?" he asked, with real concern on his homelyface. "Perhaps so. I hope so, " Eloise replied, and he continued, "I'mall-fired sorry you are goin', because, --well, because I am; and I wishI could do something for you. " "You can, " Eloise said. "You can take the wheel chair back to theCrompton House and save Tim one journey. " Tom cared very little about saving Tim, but he would do anything toserve Eloise, and the two boys were soon on their way, quarrelling someas they went, for each was jealous of the other's attention to the"little schoolmarm, " as they called her. Tom reached the house first, but Tim was not far behind, and both encountered Cora, who bade themleave the chairs in the hall, while she inquired as to theirdisposition. Had Peter been in sight she might have consulted him, buthe was in the grounds, and, entering the Colonel's room she said, "Ifyou please, sir, what shall I do with the chairs?" "What chairs?" the Colonel asked, and Cora replied, "A sea chair, Ithink, and a wheel chair, which Tom Walker and Tim Biggs have justbrought home. " "My sea chair, and my wheel chair! How in thunder can that be, when I'msitting in the wheel, and how came Tom Walker, the biggest rascal intown, by my chairs, or Tim Biggs either?" the Colonel exclaimed; andCora replied, "I think they said the schoolma'am had them. Here's a notefrom her to Mrs. Amy. " Since his last attack of the gout the Colonel had in a measure forgottenEloise, and ceased to care whether she were rooted and grounded in thefundamentals or not. That Howard and Jack had been in the habit ofcalling upon her he did not suspect, and much less that for the last twoweeks or more she had been enjoying his sea chair, and the fruit andflowers sent her with Mrs. Amy's compliments. At the mention of her heroused at once. "That girl had my chair! How the devil came she by it? A note for Mrs. Amy! Give it to me, and pick up that paper on the floor and go!" Cora was not long in obeying, and the irascible old man was again alone. First tearing Jake's letter in strips, he turned Eloise's note over inhis hand, and read, "Mrs. Amy Smith, Crompton Place. " The name "Smith"always made him angry, and he repeated it with a quick shutting togetherof his teeth. "Smith!" he said, "I can't abide it! And what has she to say to Mrs. Smith?" The note was not sealed, and without the least hesitancy he opened itand read, commenting as he did so. "My dear Mrs. Smith. " (Her dear Mrs. Smith! I like that. ) "I am goingaway (Glad to hear it) and I wish to thank you for the many things youhave sent me. (The deuce she has! I didn't know it. ) The pretty hat Iwant to keep, with the slippers, which remind me of my mother. (Slippers, --remind her of her mother, who, I dare say, never woreanything but big shoes, and coarse at that, " the Colonel growled, andread on. ) The chairs I return, with my thanks for them, and the fruitand flowers and books. I would like so much to see you, and thank youpersonally, but as this cannot be I must do it on paper. Be assured Ishall never forget your kindness to me, a stranger. "Your very truly, "E. A. SMITH. " "Smith again! E. A. Smith!" the Colonel said. "Why couldn't she write herwhole name? E. A. , ELIZA ANN, of course! That's who she is, ELIZA ANNSMITH!" If there was one name he disliked as much as he did Smith, it was ElizaAnn, and he repeated it again: "ELIZA ANN SMITH! Fruit and flowers andbooks, and shoes and my sea chair and a wheel chair sent to her by Amy!Where did she get the wheel, I'd like to know? I don't believe it!" headded, as a sudden light broke upon him. "It's that dog Howard's work, and that other chap. " Ringing the bell which stood on the table beside him, he bade Cora, whoappeared, to send Mrs. Amy to him. Amy had not slept well, and was moreeasily confused than usual, but she came and asked what he wanted. Itdid not occur to him to give her the note, which he kept in his handwhile he said, in a much softer tone than that in which he had beentalking to himself, "Have you sent things to Eliza Ann Smith, --fruit andflowers and books, and my sea chair and a wheel chair, and a bonnet andshoes, and the Lord knows what else?" Amy was bewildered at once. "Eliza Ann Smith!" she repeated. "I don't know her. Who is she?" "Why, the girl that jammed a hole in Brutus's neck and stained thecushions of my carriage, and broke her leg at Mrs. Biggs's, " the Colonelreplied. At the mention of Mrs. Biggs, Amy's face brightened. Since the day afterthe accident, when she sent the hat and slippers, Eloise had not beenmentioned in her presence, and she had entirely forgotten her. Now shewas all interest again, and said, "Oh, yes; I remember now, Poor girl! Idid send her a hat and some slippers, which I hated because I wore themwhen I sang. Did they fit her?" "Lord Harry! How do I know? It isn't likely your shoes would fit her. They would be a mile too small!" the Colonel said, and Amy asked, "Doesshe want anything?" "No, " the Colonel replied. "Somebody has sent her flowers and chairs andbooks and things. She thought it was you and wished to thank you. " "It was not I, and I am sorry I forgot her, " Amy rejoined, as she turnedto leave him, with a confused feeling in her brain, and a pang of regretthat she had perhaps neglected the little girl at Mrs. Biggs's. Once the Colonel thought to call her back and give her the note. Then, thinking it did not matter, he let her go without it. Just whatinfluence was at work in Amy's mind that morning it were difficult totell. Whatever it was, it prompted her on her return to her room to takethe little red cloak from the closet where it was kept and examine itcarefully. It had been the best of its kind when it was bought, and, though somewhat faded and worn, had withstood the ravages of timewonderfully. It had encircled her like a friend, both when she was sadand when she was gay. It had been wrapped around the Baby, of whom shenever thought without a pang and a blur before her eyes. It was thedearest article she had in her wardrobe, and because of that and becauseshe had been so forgetful, she would send it to Eliza Ann Smith! "But not for good, " she said to Sarah, who was commissioned to take itto Eloise the next morning. "She can keep it till she is well. Somebodytold me she had a sprained ankle. I had one once, and I put it across mylap and foot, it was so soft and warm. Tell her I am sorry I forgotabout her. I am not always quite myself. " * * * * * "Sent that old red cloak she's had ever since she was knee high! Ishouldn't s'pose there'd be a rag of it left! She must be crazy as aloon to-day, " was Mrs. Biggs's comment, when Sarah told her errand. "What possessed her?" Sarah only knew that her mistress was more dazed than usual thatmorning, and had insisted upon her bringing the cloak. "I think it rattled her when the chairs came back. She didn't knowanything about 'em, nor the Colonel either, " Sarah said. Mrs. Biggs laughed, and replied, "I didn't s'pose they did. Them youngmen, I b'lieve, was at the bottom of it, and I or'to have told MissSmith to send her thanks to them, but I wasn't quite sure about the seachair. So I let it slide, thinkin' it was a good joke on 'em to thankAmy. They pretended the things was from her. " Taking the cloak from the girl, she carried it into the room whereEloise had fallen asleep, with her foot resting upon a hassock, and ashawl thrown over it. Removing the shawl and putting the red cloak inits place, Mrs. Biggs stole noiselessly out, saying to herself, "I guessshe'll wonder where that came from when she wakes up. " CHAPTER III ELOISE AT THE CROMPTON HOUSE For an hour or more Eloise slept on, and then awoke suddenly and saw thescarlet cloak across her foot. At first it was the color which attractedher. Then taking it in her hands she began to examine it, while drops ofsweat came out upon her forehead and under her hair. She knew thatcloak! She had worn it many and many a time when she was a child. Shehad seen her mother fold and pack it far more carefully, when they werestarting on a starring tour, than she did the fine dresses she wore onthe stage. "It is my mother's, but how came it here?" she thought, as she took itinto the kitchen where she heard Mrs. Biggs at her work. "Where did youget my mother's cloak?" she asked. Mrs. Biggs, who always washed on Saturdays, had just put Tim's shirtthrough the wringer. Holding it at arm's length with one hand andsteadying herself on the side of the tub with the other, she staredblankly at Eloise for a moment, and then said, "Your mother's cloak!Child alive, that's Mrs. Amy's. I've seen her wear it a hundred timeswhen she was a little girl. She has got on a spell of givin' thismornin', and sent it to you by Sarah. She's kep' it well all theseyears. What ails you?" she continued, as Eloise's face grew as white asthe clothes in Mrs. Biggs's basket. Ray after ray of light was penetrating her mind, making her wonder shehad not seen it before, and bringing a possibility which made her brainreel for a moment. "Sit down, " Mrs. Biggs continued, "and tell me why you think this isyour mother's cloak. " "I know it is, " Eloise answered. "I have worn it so many times, and onceI tore a long rent in the lining and mother darned it. It ishere, --see!" She showed the place in the silk lining where a tear had been and wasmended. "For the Lord's sake, who be you?" Mrs. Biggs exclaimed, stillflourishing Tim's shirt, which she finally dropped back into the tub, and in her excitement came near sitting down in a pail of bluing waterinstead of a chair. "I am Eloise Albertina Smith, and my father was Homer Smith, and mymother was Eudora Harris from Florida, and sang in concerts, and losther mind, and was in a private asylum in San Francisco, and my fatherdied, and a strange man took her out a few months ago. I did not knowwhere she was, and was going to California to find her. I believe yourMrs. Amy is she, and I am going to the Crompton House to inquire!" "For Heaven's sake!" was Mrs. Biggs's next ejaculation. "Harris wasAmy's name before she was called Crompton, and her name is Amy Eudora, too; but I never heard she had a girl. " "Yes, she had, and I am that girl, " Eloise said, "and I am going upthere now, right off!" "You can't walk, " Mrs. Biggs suggested. "That ankle would turn beforeyou got half way there. If you must go, --and I believe I would, --Timwill git a rig from the livery. Here, Tim, " she called, as she heard himwhistling in the woodshed, "run to Miller's and git a carriage and aspan, quick as you can, --a good one, too, " she added, as the possibilitygrew upon her that Eloise might belong to the Cromptons, and if so, ought to go up in style. It did not take long for Tim to execute his mother's order, and the bestturn-out from Miller's stable soon stood before the door. "I b'lieve I'll go, too. The washin' will keep, and this won't, " thewidow said, beginning to change her work-dress for a better one. Eloise was too much excited to care who went with her, and with Mrs. Biggs she was soon driving up the broad avenue under the stately maplesto the door of the Crompton House. Peter saw the carriage, and thinkingit came from town with callers on Amy, went out to say she could not seethem, as she was not feeling well and was lying down. "But I must see her, " Eloise said, alighting first and brushing pasthim, while he stood open-mouthed with surprise. "She thinks she is Amy's girl, and, I swan, I begin to think so, too, "Mrs. Biggs said, trying to explain and getting things a good deal mixed, and so bewildering the old man that he paid no attention to Eloise, who, with the cloak on her arm, was in the hall and saying to a maid who mether, "Take me to Mrs. Amy. " All her timidity was gone, as she gave the order like one who feltperfectly at home. "Mrs. Amy is asleep, and I don't like to disturb her. She is unusuallynervous this morning. Will you see the Colonel instead?" the girl said, awed by Eloise's air of authority. "My business is with Mrs. Amy, but perhaps I'd better see Col. Cromptonfirst, " she replied. Mrs. Biggs and Peter were in the house by this time, and heard whatEloise was saying. "Better not, " Peter began. "I don't know as you can see him. You stayhere. I'll inquire. " He started up the stairs, followed by Eloise, who had no idea of stayingbehind. "Wait, " he said, motioning her back as he reached the Colonel's door, and saw her close beside him. "Let me go in first. " He left the door ajar and walked into the room where the Colonel wassitting just as he had sat the morning before, when Jake's letter andEloise's note were brought to him. He had not slept at all during thenight, and was in a trembling condition, with a feeling of numbness inhis limbs which he did not like. "Well?" he said sharply, as Peter came in, and he saw by his face thatsomething had happened. "What's up now?" "Nothing, but Miss Smith, the teacher, " Peter replied. "She wants to seeyou. " "Miss Smith, the normal? Do you mean Eliza Ann? Tell her to go away. Ican't see anybody, " the Colonel said. "I'll tell her, but I'm afraid she won't go, " Peter replied, startingfor the door, through which a little figure came so swiftly as nearly toknock him down, and Eloise, who had forgotten her lameness, stood beforethe astonished Colonel, her face glowing with excitement, and her eyesshining like stars as she confronted him. Old as he was, the Colonel was not insensible to female beauty, and therare loveliness of this young girl moved him with something likeadmiration, and made his voice a little softer as he said, "Are youEliza Ann Smith? What do you want?" "I am not Eliza Ann, " Eloise answered quickly. "I am Eloise AlbertinaSmith. My father was Homer Smith; my mother was Eudora Harris, fromFlorida, a concert singer, till she lost her mind and was put in aprivate asylum in San Francisco. You took her out, and she is here. Youcall her Mrs. Amy. She never told me of you. I don't know why. She nevertalked much of her girlhood. I don't think she was very happy. She sentme this cloak, and that's how I knew she was here. I have worn it manytimes when a child. I knew it in a moment, and I have come to see her. Where is she?" This was worse than Jake's letter, and every nerve in the Colonel's bodywas quivering with excitement, and he felt as if a hundred pricklysensations were chasing each other up and down his arms and legs, andmaking his tongue thick as he tried to call for Peter. Succeeding atlast, he said faintly, "Take this girl away before she kills me. " "I shall not go, " Eloise rejoined, "until I see my mother. I tell youshe is my mother. Has she never spoken of me?" "Never, " the Colonel answered. "She has talked of a baby who died, andyou are not dead. " "No, but I am Baby, --her pet name for me always. Why she should think medead, I don't know. Send for her, and see if she does not know me. " She had come close to the trembling old man, and put one of her handson his cold, clammy one. He didn't shake it off, but looked at her withan expression in his eyes which roused her sympathy. "I don't mean any harm, " she said. "I only want my mother. Send for her, please. " There was a motion of assent toward Peter, who left the room, encountering Mrs. Biggs outside the door. There was too much going onfor her not to have a hand in it, and she stood listening and waitingtill Amy came down the hall, her white cashmere wrapper trailing softlybehind her, and her hair coiled under a pretty invalid cap. She had beenroused from a sound sleep, which had cleared her brain somewhat, andwhen told the Colonel wished to see her, she rose at once and started togo to him, fearing he was worse. He heard her coming, and braced himselfup. Eloise heard her, and, with her head thrown back and her handsclasped together, stood waiting for her. For a moment Amy did not seeher, so absorbed was she in the expression of the Colonel, who waswatching her intently. When at last she did see her, she startedsuddenly, while a strange light leaped into her eyes. Then a wild, gladcry of "Baby! Baby!" rang through the room, and was answered by one of"Mother! Mother!" as the two women sprang to each other's arms. Amy was the first to recover herself. Turning Eloise around andexamining her minutely, she said, "I thought you dead. He told me so, and everything has been a blank to me since. " "You see she is my mother!" Eloise said to the Colonel; "and if she isyour daughter, you must be my grandfather!" If the Colonel had been carved in stone he could not have sat moremotionless than he did, giving no sign that he heard. "No matter! I shall find it all out for myself, " Eloise continued, asshe turned again to her mother, who was examining the red cloak as ifshe wondered how it came there. The mention of "finding it out" affected the Colonel more than anythingelse had done. Amy had said the same thing to him once. She had notfound it out, but this slip of a girl would, he was sure, and withsomething like a groan he sank back in his chair with a call for Peter. "Take them away, " he said huskily. "I can't bear any more, and, --and, --the girl must stay, if Amy wants her, and bring me ahot-water bag, --two of them, --I was never so cold in my life. " Peter nodded that he understood, and, ringing the bell for Amy's maid, bade her take her mistress to her room, and the young lady, too. "She isMrs. Amy's daughter, " he added. There was no need to tell this, for Mrs. Biggs had done her duty, andevery servant in the house had heard the news and was anxious to see thestranger. Amy was always at her best in her own room, where Sarah lefther alone with Eloise, and hastened away to gossip with Mrs. Biggs andPeter. The shock, instead of making Amy worse, had for the time beingcleared her brain to some extent, so that she was able to talk quiterationally to Eloise, whose first question was why she had thought herdead. "I was so homesick for you, and cried so much after you went awaythat he was angry and hard with me, --very hard, --and I said at last ifhe didn't send for you I'd never sing again, and meant it, too, " Amyreplied. "It was at Los Angeles on a concert night. I must have beenpretty bad, and he seemed half afraid of me, and finally told me youwere dead, and had been for three weeks, and that he had meant to keepit from me till the season was over. I believed him, and somethingsnapped in my head and let in a pain and noise which have never left it;but they will now I have found you. I went before the footlights oncethat night, and the stage was full of coffins in which you lay, and Isaw the little grave in the New England cemetery where he said you wereburied. At last I fainted, and have never sung again. They were verykind to me at Dr. Haynes's, where he came often to see me till I heardhe was dead. I was not sorry; he had been so, --so--I can't explain. " "I know, " Eloise said, remembering her father's manner toward this weak, timid woman, who went on: "Then Col. Crompton came and brought me home. I used to live here years ago and called him father, till he said he wasnot my father. I never told you of him, or that this was once my home, although I described the place to you as something I had seen. If hewere not my father I did not want to know who was, and did not want totalk about it, and after I married Mr. Smith it was very dreadful. Hehated the Colonel when he found he could not get money from him, andsometimes taunted me with my birth, saying I was a Harris and a Cracker;but the cruelest of all was telling me you were dead. Why did he do it?" "I think your fretting for me irritated him, and he feared you mightnever sing again unless he sent for me, and he did not want me, " Eloisesaid. "He never wanted me. He was a bad man, and I could not feel sorrywhen he died. " "You needn't, " Amy exclaimed excitedly, and, getting up she began towalk the floor as she continued, "It is time things were cleared up. Iam not afraid of him now, although I was when he was living. He brokeall the spirit I had, till the sound of his voice when he was angry mademe shake. Thank God he was not your father! there has been a lie all thetime, and that wore upon me. Your father, --Adolph Candida, --is lying inthe Protestant burying-ground in Rome. " Grasping her mother's arm Eloise cried, "Oh, mother, what is this youare saying, and why have I never heard it before?" Amy had been tolerably clear in her conversation up to this point, butshe was getting tired, and it was a long, rambling story she told, withmany digressions and much irrelevant matter, but Eloise managed tofollow her and get a fairly correct version of the truth. Candida, whomAmy loved devotedly, and with whom she had been very happy, had diedafter a brief illness when Eloise was an infant. Homer Smith, thehandsome American, who had attached himself to the Candidas, was verykind to the young widow, whom he induced to marry him, and to let herlittle girl take his name. "I don't know why I did that, " Amy said; "only he always made me do whathe pleased, and he pretended to love you so much, and he didn't want hisfriends to know he was my second husband when he came to America. Icouldn't understand that, but I yielded, as I did in everything. Heseemed to hate the name of Candida, and was jealous of him in hisgrave, and would never let me speak of him. I think he was crazy, andhe said I was, and shut me up. He once wrote to Col. Crompton for moneyand got a dreadful letter, telling him to go to that place where I amafraid he has gone, and saying I was welcome to come home any time, if Iwould leave the singing master. There was a bad word before the'singing, ' which I can't speak. I meant to go home some time and takeyou with me. I hated the stage, and the pain got in my head, and Iforgot so many things after he said you were dead, but never forgot you, although I didn't talk about you much. I couldn't, for a bunch came inmy throat and choked me, and my head seemed to open and shut on the topwhen I thought of you. Col. Crompton has been very kind to me since Icame. I think now he is my father. I asked him once, and he said, No. Ibelieved him then, and accepted in my mind some Mr. Harris, for I knewmy mother was a true woman. We will find it all out, you and I. " "Yes, " Eloise replied, "and the pain will go away, and you will tell memore of my own father. I know now why I never could feel a daughter'slove for the other one. Does grandmother know? She was always kind tome, and I love her. " Amy shook her head, and said, "I think not, but am not sure. It will beclearer by and by. I must sleep now. " When she was tired she always slept, and, adjusting the cushions on thesofa, Eloise made her lie down, and spread over her the little red cloakwhich had been the means of bringing them together. "Yes, that's right. Cover me with the dear old cloak Jakey gave me, "Amy said sleepily. "You'll help me find him. " Eloise didn't know who Jakey was, or what connection he had with thecloak; but she answered promptly, "Yes, I'll help you find him andeverything. " Thus reassured, Amy fell asleep, while Eloise sat by her until startledby the entrance of Mrs. Biggs. That worthy woman had been busy tellingthe servants everything she knew about Eloise since she came toCrompton, and that she had always mistrusted she was somebody out of thecommon. Then, as Eloise did not appear, and the carriage from Miller'swas still waiting at a dollar and a half an hour, it occurred to herthat if Eloise should not prove to be somebody out of the common shewould have to pay the bill, as she had ordered the turn-out. Going toAmy's room, she walked in unannounced, and asked, "Be you goin' homewith me, or goin' to stay?" "I don't know what I am to do, " Eloise said, starting to her feet. Amy decided for her. Mrs. Biggs had roused her, and, hearing what waswanted, she protested so vehemently against Eloise's leaving her evenfor an hour, that Mrs. Biggs departed without her, thinking to herselfas she rode in state behind the fleet horses, "It beats the Dutch whatluck some folks have. I've lost my boarder, and Ruby Ann has got theschool, just as I knew she would, and mebby I'll have to pay for therig. I wonder how long I've had it. " CHAPTER IV THE SHADOW OF DEATH This was on Saturday, and by Monday the whole town of Crompton, fromDistrict No. 5 to the village on the seashore, was buzzing with the newstold eagerly from one to another. The young girl who had sprained herankle while coming to take charge of the school in District No. 5 had, it was told, turned out to be the daughter of Mrs. Amy, and was at theCrompton House with her mother, who had thought her dead. This somebelieved and some did not, until assured by Mrs. Biggs, who, having doneher washing on Saturday, was free on Monday to call upon her neighborsand repeat the story over and over, ending always with, "I mistrustedfrom the first that she was somebody. " The second piece of news was scarcely less exciting, but sad. After hisinterview with Eloise, the Colonel had complained of nausea andfaintness, and had gone early to bed. Before going, however, he hadasked if Eliza Ann were still in the house. An idea once lodged in hisbrain was apt to stay, and Eliza Ann had taken too strong a hold uponhis senses to be easily removed. "Bring her here, " he said. She came at once and asked what she could do for him. "Sit down, " he said. "You seem to be lame. " He had evidently forgotten about the accident, and Eloise did not remindhim of it, but sat down while he catechised her with regard to what shehad told him of herself. Some of his comments on Homer Smith were notvery complimentary, and this emboldened Eloise to tell him who her realfather was. "Thank God!" he said emphatically. "I'm glad you are not that rascal's, and because you are not you can stay with Amy and fare as she fares. Butwhy did she think you dead?" Eloise told him all she thought necessary to tell him, while his facegrew purple with anger, and his clenched fists beat the air as ifattacking an imaginary Homer Smith. "It's a comfort to know, if there is a God--and I know there is--he isgetting his deserts, " he said. Then, as his mood changed, he continued, "And you are the little normal I didn't want, and you board with Mrs. Biggs?" "Yes, " Eloise replied. "I am the normal you did not want, and I boardwith Mrs. Biggs, where I heard a great deal of Mrs. Amy, as they callher. I must have a slow, stupid mind, or I should have suspected who shewas. I never heard the name Harris connected with her. If I had I shouldhave known. It is so clear to me now. " The Colonel looked at her a moment, and then said, "If you are Amy'sdaughter you are a Harris, and they are queer, with slow minds, --and nowgo. I am infernally tired, and cannot keep up much longer. " He moved his hand toward her, and Eloise took it and pressed it to herlips. "D-don't, " the Colonel said, but held fast to the soft, warm handclasping his. "If one's life could roll back, " he added, more to himselfthan to Eloise, as his head dropped wearily upon his breast, and hewhispered, "I am sorry for a great deal. God knows I am sorry. CallPeter. " The old servant came and got him to bed, and sat by him most of thenight. Toward morning, finding that he was sleeping quietly, he, too, lay down and slept until the early sun was shining into the room. Wakingwith a start, he hurried to his master's side, to find him withwide-open eyes full of terror as he tried to ask what had happened tohim. All power to move except his head was gone, and when he tried totalk his lips gave only inarticulate sounds which no one couldunderstand. "Paralysis, " the doctor said when summoned. "I have expected it a longtime, " he continued, and would give no hope to Amy and Eloise, whohastened to the sick-room. The moment they came in the Colonel's eyes brightened, and when Amystooped and kissed him he tried to kiss her back. Then he fixed his eyeson Eloise with a questioning glance, which made her say to him, "Do youknow me?" He struggled hard for a moment, and then replied, "Yesh, 'Lisha Ann!Stay!" and those were the only really intelligible words he ever spoke. They telegraphed to Worcester for Howard, and learning that he was inBoston, telegraphed there, and found him at the Vendome. "Come at once. Your uncle is dying, " the telegram said, and Howard read it with asensation for which he hated himself, and which he could not entirelyshake off. He tried to believe he did not want his uncle to die, but ifhe did die, what might it not do for him, the only direct heir, if Amywere not a lawful daughter? And he did not believe she was. She had notbeen adopted, and he had never heard of a will, and before he was awareof it a feeling that he was master of Crompton Place crept over him. Amywould live there, of course, just as she did now, even if he shouldmarry, as he might, and there came up before him the memory of a rainynight and a helpless little girl sitting on a mound of stones and dirtand crying with fear and pain. He had seen Jack's interest in Eloisewith outward indifference, but with a growing jealousy he was too proudto show. He admired her greatly, and thought that under somecircumstances he might love her. As a Crompton he ought to look higher, and if he proved to be the heir it would never do to think of her evenif Jack were not in his way. All this passed like lightning through hismind as he read the telegram and handed it to Jack, who, he insisted, should return with him to Crompton. "I feel awfully shaky, and I want you there if anything happens, " hesaid, while Jack, whose first thought had been that he would be in theway, was not loath to go. Eloise was in Crompton, and ever since he left it, a thought of her hadbeen in his mind. "If I find her as sweet and lovely as I left her, I'll ask her to be mywife, and take her away from Mrs. Biggs, " he was thinking as the trainsped on over the New England hills toward Crompton, which it reachedabout two P. M. Peter was at the station with Sam, and to Howard's eager questionsanswered, "Pretty bad. No change since morning. Don't seem to knowanybody except Mrs. Amy and Miss Eloise. She's with him all the time, and he tries to smile when she speaks to him. " "Who?" both the young men asked in the same breath, and Peter told themall he knew of the matter during the rapid drive to the house. Howard was incredulous, and made Peter repeat the story twice, while hisbrain worked rapidly with a presentiment that this new complicationmight prove adverse to him. "What do you think of it?" he asked Jack, who replied, "I see no reasonto doubt it, " and he was conscious of a pang of regret that he had notasked Eloise to be his wife before her changed circumstances. "She would then know that I loved her for herself, and not for anyfamily relations, " he thought. He had no doubt that Amy was Col. Crompton's daughter, and if so, Eloise's position would be very different from what it had been. "I'll wait the course of events, as this is no time for love-making, " hedecided, as they drove up to the door, from which the doctor was justemerging. "Matter of a few hours, " he said to Howard. "I am glad you have come. Evidently he wants to see you, or wants something, nobody can make outwhat. You have heard the news?" Howard bowed, and entering the house, ran up to his uncle's room. TheColonel was propped on pillows, laboring for breath, and trying toarticulate words impossible to speak, while, if ever eyes talked, hiswere talking, first to Amy and then to Eloise, both of whom were besidehim, Amy smoothing his hair and Eloise rubbing his cold hands. They had been with him for hours, trying to understand him as hestruggled to speak. "There is something he wants to tell us, " Eloise said, and in his eyesthere was a look of affirmation, while the lips tried in vain to framethe words, which were only gurgling sounds. What did the dying man want to say? Was he trying to reveal a secretkept so many years, and which was planting his pillow with thorns? Washe back in the palmetto clearing, standing in the moonlight with Dora, and exacting a promise from her which broke her heart? No one couldguess, and least of all the two women ministering to him sotenderly, --Amy, because she loved him, and Eloise, because she felt thathe was more to her than a mere stranger. She was very quiet andself-contained. The events of the last two days had transformed her froma timid girl into a fearless woman, ready to fight for her own rightsand those of her mother. Once when Amy was from the room a moment shebent close to the Colonel and said, "You are my mother's father?" There was a choking sound and an attempt to move the head which Eloisetook for assent. "Then you are my grandfather?" she added. This time she was sure he nodded, and she said, "It will all be right. You can rest now, " but he didn't rest. There was more on his mind which he could not tell. "I believe it is Mr. Howard, " Eloise thought, and said to him, "He iscoming on the next train. I hear it now. He will soon be here. Is thatwhat you want?" The dying man turned his head wearily. There was more besides Howard hewanted, but when at last the young man came into the room, his eyesshone with a look of pleased recognition, and he tried to speak awelcome. In the hall outside Jack was waiting, and as Eloise passed outhe gave her his hand, and leading her to a settee, sat down beside her, and told her how glad he was for the news he had heard of her, butfeeling the while that he did not know whether he were glad or not. Shehad never looked fairer or sweeter to him than she did now, and yetthere was a difference which he detected, and which troubled him. Itwould have been easy to say "I love you, " to the helpless littleschool-teacher at Mrs. Biggs's, and he wished now he had done so, andnot waited till she became a daughter of the Crompton House, as hebelieved she was. Now he could only look his love into the eyes whichfell beneath his gaze, as he held her hand and questioned her of theColonel's sudden attack, and the means by which she had discovered herrelationship to Amy. Again he repeated, "I am so glad for you, " and might have said more ifHoward had not stepped into the hall, his face clouded and anxious. "He wants you, I think, " he said to Eloise. "At least he wantssomething, --I don't know what. " Eloise went to him at once, and again there was a painful effort tospeak. But whatever he would say was never said, and after a little thepalsied tongue ceased trying to articulate, and only his eyes showedhow clear his reason was to the last. If there was sorrow for the past, he could not express it. If thoughts of the palmetto clearing were inhis mind, no one knew it. All that could be guessed at was that hewanted Amy and Eloise with him. "Call him father. I think he will like it, " Eloise said to her mother, while Howard looked up quickly, and to Peter, who was present, it seemedas if a frown settled on his face as a smile flickered around theColonel's mouth at the sound of the name Amy had not given him since shecame from California. All the afternoon and evening they watched him, as his breathing grewshorter and the heavy lids fell over the eyes, which, until they closed, rested upon Amy, who held his hand and spoke to him occasionally, calling him father, and asking if he knew her. To the very last heresponded to the question with a quivering of the lids when he could nolonger lift them, and when the clock on the stairs struck twelve, thephysician who was present said to Eloise, "Take your mother away; he isdead. " CHAPTER V LOOKING FOR A WILL For three days the Colonel lay in the great drawing-room of the CromptonHouse, the blinds of which were closed, while knots of crape streamedfrom every door, and the servants talked together in low tones, sometimes of the dead man and sometimes of the future, wondering whowould be master now of Crompton Place. Speculation on this point wasrife everywhere, and on no one had it a stronger hold than on Howardhimself. He would not like to have had it known that within twenty-fourhours after his uncle's death he had gone through every pigeon-hole andnook in the Colonel's safe and private drawers, and turned over everypaper searching for a will, and when he found none, had congratulatedhimself that in all human probability he was the sole heir. He was veryproperly sad, with an unmistakable air of ownership as he went about theplace, giving orders to the servants. To Amy he paid great deference, telling the undertaker to ask what she liked and abide by her decisions. And here he was perfectly safe. With the shock of the Colonel's deathAmy had relapsed into a dazed, silent mood, saying always, "I don'tknow; ask Eloise, " and when Eloise was asked, she replied, "I have beenhere too short a time to give any orders. Mr. Howard will tell you. " Thus everything was left to him, as he meant it should be, stipulatingthat Eloise meet the people who came, some to offer their sympathy, andmore from a morbid curiosity to see whatever there was to be seen. ThisEloise did with a dignity which surprised herself, and if Howard werethe master, she was the mistress, and apparently as much at home as ifshe had lived there all her life. Ruby was the first to call. She hadnot seen Eloise since the astounding news that she was Amy's daughter. "I am so glad for you, " she said, and the first tears Eloise had shedsprang to her eyes as she laid her head on Ruby's arm, just as she haddone in the days of her trouble and pain. Mrs. Biggs came, too, --very loud in her protestations of delight andassertions that she had always known Eloise was above the common. Never since the memorable lawn party many years ago had there been sogreat a crowd in the house and grounds as on the day of the funeral. Inhonor of his memory, and because he had given the school-house to thetown, the school was closed, and the pupils, with Ruby Ann at theirhead, marched up the avenue with wreaths of autumn leaves and bouquetsof flowers intended for the grave. The Rev. Arthur Mason read the burialservice, and as he glanced at the costly casket, nearly smothered inflowers, and at the crowd inside and out, he could not keep his thoughtsfrom his father's description of another funeral, where the dead womanlay in her cheap coffin, with Crackers and negroes as spectators; andonly a demented woman, a little child, and black Jake and Mandy Ann asmourners. The mourners here were Amy and Howard, Eloise and Jack, andnext to him a plain-looking, elderly woman, who, Mrs. Biggs told everyone near her, was old Mrs. Smith, Eloise's supposed grandmother fromMayville. Eloise had sent for her, and while telling the story of deception andwrong which had been practised so long, and to which the mother listenedwith streaming eyes, she had said, "But it makes no difference with us. You are mine just the same, and wherever I live in the future, you areto live, too, if you will. " Mrs. Smith had smiled upon the young girl, and felt bewildered andstrange in this grand house and at this grand funeral, unlike anythingshe had ever seen. It seemed like an endless line of carriages and footpassengers which followed the Colonel to the grave, and when theservices were over, a few friends of the Colonel, who had come from adistance, returned to the house, and among them Mr. Ferris, the lawyer, who had been the Colonel's counsel and adviser for years, and managedhis affairs. This was Howard's idea. He could not rest until he knewwhether there was in the lawyer's possession any will or papers bearingupon Amy. When lunch was over he took the old man into his uncle'slibrary, and said, hesitatingly, "I do not want to be too hasty, but itis better to have such matters settled, and if I have no interest in theCrompton estate I must leave, of course. Did my uncle leave a will?" Lawyer Ferris looked at him keenly through his glasses, took a hugepinch of snuff, and blew a good deal of it from him and some in Howard'sface, making him sneeze before he replied, "Not that I know of; more'sthe pity. I tried my best to have him make one. The last time I urged ithe said, 'There's no need. I've fixed it. Amy will be all right. ' I wasthinking of her. If there is no will, and she wasn't adopted and wasn'this daughter, it's hard lines for her. " "But she was his daughter, " came in a clear, decided voice, and both thelawyer and Howard turned to see Eloise standing in the door. Rain was beginning to fall, and she had come to close a window, with nothought that any one was in the library, until she heard the lawyer'slast words, which stopped her suddenly. Where her mother was concernedshe could be very brave, and, stepping into the room, she startled thetwo men with her assertion, "She was his daughter. " "He told me so, " she continued. "He did? When?" Howard asked, and Eloise replied, "I asked him, and hiseyes looked yes, and when I said, 'You are my grandfather?' I was verysure he nodded. I know he meant it. " The lawyer smiled and answered her, "That is something, but not enough. We must have a will or some document. He might have been your mother'sfather. I think he was; and still, she may not be--be--" He hesitated, for Eloise's eyes were fixed upon him, and the hot bloodof shame was crimsoning her face. After a moment he continued, "A willcan set things right; or, if we can prove a marriage, all will be fairsailing for your mother and you. " "I was not thinking of myself, " Eloise returned. "I am thinking ofmother. I know all the dreadful gossip and everything. Mrs. Biggs hastold me, and I am going to find out. Somebody knows, and I shall findthem. " She looked very fearless as she left the room, and Howard felt that shewould be no weak antagonist if he wanted to contest his right to theestate. But he didn't, he told himself, and Mr. Ferris, too. He waswilling to abide by the law. If there was a will he'd like to find it;and, in any case, should be generous to Amy and--Eloise! "No doubt of it, " the lawyer said, looking at him now over hisspectacles, and taking a second pinch of snuff preparatory to the searchamong the dead man's papers, which Howard suggested that he make. Every place Howard had gone through was gone through again, --every paperunfolded and every envelope looked into. There was no will or scrap ofwriting bearing upon Amy. There were some receipts from Tom Hardy, ofPalatka, for money received from the Colonel and paid over to EudoraHarris, and at these the lawyer looked curiously. "Harris was the name Amy sometimes went by before her marriage, Ibelieve, " he said. "Eudora was probably her mother. Now, if we can findTom Hardy we may learn something. Shall I write to Palatka and inquire?" "Certainly, " Howard replied, with a choke in his throat which he managedto hide from the lawyer. He didn't mean to be a scoundrel. He only wanted his own, and he meantto do right if chance made him master of Crompton, he said to himself, as he went to the drawing-room, where Jack and Eloise were sitting witha few friends who seemed to be waiting for something. Ruby and Mrs. Biggs, who, on the strength of their intimacy with Eloise, had remainedin the house while the family was at the grave, were there, evidentlyexpectant. It was not Howard's idea to broach the subject at once. Hewanted to talk it over with Jack and Eloise, and make himself right withthem. The lawyer had no such scruples. He had read wills after manyfunerals, and now that there was none to read, he spoke up: "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry I can't oblige you, but there ain't anywill as we can find, and nothing to show who Mrs. Amy is, and mattersmust rest for a spell as they are. Meanwhile, Mr. Howard Crompton, asthe Colonel's nephew and only known heir, must take charge of things. " Eloise's face flushed, and Jack, who stole a look at her, saw that herhands trembled a little. No one spoke until Mrs. Biggs rose and said, "'Squire Ferris, if no will ain't found, and nothin' is proved for Mrs. Amy, --adoption nor nothin', --you know what I mean, --can't she inherit?" "Not a cent!" was the reply. "You mean she'll have nothin'?" "Legally nothing!" "And Mr. Howard will have everything?" "Yes, everything, as he is sole heir and next of kin. " "Get out with your 'sole heir and next of kin' and law!" Mrs. Biggsexclaimed vehemently. "There ain't no justice in law. Look a-here, Squire; when women vote we'll have things different. Here is Amy, beenused to them elegancies all her life. " She swept her arm around theroom, and, still keeping it poised, continued: "And now she's to beturned out because there ain't no will and you can't prove nothin'! Andthat's law! It makes me so mad! Who is goin' to take care of her, I'dlike to know?" "I am!" and Eloise sprang to her feet, the central figure now in theroom. "I shall take care of my mother! I don't care for the will, noranything, except to prove that she is Col. Crompton's legitimatedaughter, and that I will do. I am going where she was born, if I canfind the place, and take her with me. I am not very lame now, and Iwould start to-morrow if--" She stopped, remembering that in her purse were only two and one halfdollars, and this she owed to Mrs. Biggs for board; then her eyes fellupon Ruby, the friend who had stood by her in her need, and who had beenthe first to congratulate her on finding her mother. Ruby had offeredher money for the journey to California, and something in Ruby's facetold her it was still ready for her, and she went on: "I was foolishenough to think Crompton Place was her rightful home, and be glad forher, but if it is not, I shall take her away at once. No one need worryabout mother! I shall care for her. " "Bravo!" Mrs. Biggs rejoined, as Eloise sank back in her chair. "That'swhat I call pluck! Law, indeed! It makes me so mad! You can fetch her tomy house any minit. Your old room is ready for you, and I won't charge acent till you find something to do and can pay. Maybe Ruby'll give upthe school. Won't you, Ruby Ann?" "Certainly, if she wishes it, " Ruby answered, and going over to Eloise, she said, "You are a brave little girl, and the money is still waitingfor you if you want it. " As for Jack, he was ready to lay himself at her feet, but all he coulddo then was to say to Ruby, "Perhaps Miss Smith had better go to herroom; she seems tired, " and taking her arm, he went with her to thedoor, which Howard opened for her. That young man did not feel verycomfortable, and as soon as Eloise was gone he said to the inmates ofthe room, "If any of you think me such a cad as to turn Mrs. Amy and herdaughter from the house, or to allow them to go, you are mistaken. If itshould prove that I am master here, they will share with me. I can do nomore. " "Good for you!" Jack said, wringing Howard's hand, while the party beganto break up, as it was time for those who lived at a distance to takethe train. Among those who arose to go was the Rev. Arthur Mason, whom Howard hadasked to lunch after the burial. As he left the house he said to Jack, who stood for a moment with him on the piazza, "Please say to Miss Smiththat I can direct her to her mother's birthplace in Florida. My fatheris preaching there. " "Thanks! I will tell her, " Jack replied, in some surprise, and then wentin to where Howard was standing, with an expression on his face notquite such as one ought to have when he has just come into possession ofa fortune. "I congratulate you, old boy, " Jack said cheerily, as he went up to him. "Don't!" Howard answered impetuously. "Nothing is sure. A will may befound, or my uncle's marriage proved; in either case, I sink back intothe cipher I was before. I cannot say I'm not glad to have money, but Idon't want people blaming me. I can't help it if my uncle made no willand did not marry Amy's mother, and I don't believe he did, or why washe silent so many years?" Jack could not answer him and left the room, taking his way, he hardlyknew why, to the village, where he fell in again with the rector. Totalk of the recent events at the Crompton House was natural, and beforethey parted Jack knew the contents of the Rev. Charles's letter to hisson, and in his mind there was no doubt of a secret marriage and Amy'slegitimacy. "It will be hard on Howard, " he thought, "but Amy ought to have herrights, --and, --Eloise! And she shall!" he added, as he retraced hissteps to the Crompton House. Chancing to be alone with her, he told her in part what he had heardfrom the rector, keeping back everything pertaining to the poverty ofthe surroundings, and speaking mostly of Jakey and Mandy Ann, whom Amymight remember. "She does, " Eloise replied, "and at every mention of them her brainseems to get clearer. Peter has brought me a copy of a letter which Col. Crompton received from Jake just before he went for my mother, and whichhe has kept all these years. It may help me to find whatever there is tobe found, good or bad. " She handed him the copy, and continued, "Theletter was mailed in Palatka, but from what you tell me, Jakey isfarther up the river. Shall I have any trouble in finding him, do youthink?" "None whatever, " Jack replied, a plan rapidly maturing in his mind asto what he would do if Eloise persisted in going to Florida. "Betterleave your mother here, " he said, when she told him of her determinationto unravel the mystery. "No, " she answered. "Mother must go. I expect much from a sight of herold home and Jakey. " Jack shivered as he recalled the Rev. Charles Mason's picture of thathome, but he would not enlighten her. She must guess something fromJakey's note to the Colonel, he thought. Evidently she did, for sheasked him what a Cracker was. "I ought to know, of course, and have some idea, " she said. "I askedmother, and she said she was one. What did she mean?" "If you go to Florida you will probably learn what a Cracker is, " Jackreplied, as he bade her good-night, pitying her for what he knew was instore for her. The next day a telegram from New York called him to the city. But beforehe went he had an interview with Ruby with regard to the journey whichEloise was designing to take as soon as her mother should have recoveredfrom the shock of the Colonel's death. For a few days after his departure matters moved on quietly at theCrompton House, where Howard assumed the head unostentatiously, andwithout giving offence to any of the servants. The Crompton estate, asreported to him by Lawyer Ferris, was larger than he had supposed, andif it were his he would be a richer man than he had ever hoped to be. Heliked money, and what it would bring him, and if he had been sure of hisfoothold he would have been very happy. And he was nearly sure. Therewas no will in the house, he was certain, for he had gone a second andthird time through every place where one could possibly have been put, and found nothing. He was safe there, and as he did not know all whichMr. Mason had written to his son, he did not greatly fear the result ofEloise's trip to the South, which he thought a foolish undertaking. Butshe was bent upon going and the day was fixed. Grandmother Smith hadreturned home to await developments. Amy was ready. Eloise's lamenesswas nearly gone, "And to-morrow we start, " she said to him one evening, when, after dinner, she joined him in the library, where he spent mostof his time. Every day since his uncle's death, and he had seen so much of Eloise, Howard's interest in her had increased, until it amounted to a passion, if not positive love. Jack was a formidable rival, he knew, but now thathe was probably master of Crompton Place, where her mother would behappier than elsewhere, she might think favorably of him. At all eventshe'd take the chance, and now was his time. Looking up quickly as shecame in, and drawing a chair close to him for her, he said, "Sit down amoment while I talk to you. " She sat down, and he continued, "I wish youwould give up this journey, which can only end in disappointment. I haveno idea there was a marriage, or that you could prove it if there was. My uncle was not a brute. He loved Amy, and would not have kept silenttill he died if she had been his legitimate daughter. Give up theproject. I will gladly share the fortune with you, and be a son to yourmother. Will you, Eloise? I must call you that, and I ask you to be mywife. It is not so sudden as you may think, " he continued, as he saw herlook of surprise. "I do not show all I feel. I admired you from thefirst, but Jack seemed to be ahead, and I gave way to him, notunderstanding until within the last few days how much you were to me. Ilove you, and ask you again to be my wife. " He had one of her hands in his, but it was cold and pulseless, and itseemed to him it told her answer before she said, very kindly, as ifsorry to give him pain: "I believe you are my cousin, or, rather, my mother's, and I can esteemyou as such, but I cannot be your wife. " "Because you love Jack Harcourt, I suppose, " Howard said, a littlebitterly, and Eloise replied, "I do not think we should bring Mr. Harcourt into the discussion. When he asks me to be his wife it will betime to know whether I love him or not. I cannot marry you. " She arose to go, while Howard tried to detain her, feeling every momenthow his love was growing for this girl who had so recently come into hislife, and was crossing his path, as he had felt she would when he firstheard of her from his uncle, and had promised to sound her as to herfitness for a teacher. There had been no need for that; his uncle wasdead, and she was going from him, perhaps to return as a usurper. "Eloise, " he said again, with more feeling in his voice than when hefirst spoke, "you must listen to me. I cannot give you up. I wouldrather lose Crompton, if it is mine, than to lose you. " Rising to his feet, he took her face between his hands and kissed itpassionately. "How dare you!" she said, wresting herself from him. "Because I dare! Jack may have the second kiss, but I have had thefirst, " he replied. Then his manner changed, and he said, entreatingly, "Forgive me, Eloise, I was beside myself for a moment. Don't give me ananswer now. Think of what I have said while you are gone, if you willgo; and if you fail, remember this is your home and your mother's, justas much as it will be if you succeed. Promise me you will come back herewhatever happens. You will come?" "For a time, yes; till I know what to do if I fail, " she replied. Then she went out and left him alone, to go again through thepigeon-holes and drawers and shelves he had been through so often andfound nothing. CHAPTER VI IN FLORIDA The Boston train was steaming into the Central Station in New York, andEloise was gathering up her satchels and wraps, and looking anxiouslyout into the deepening twilight, wondering if the cars would be gonefrom the Jersey side, and what she should do if they were. She hadintended taking a train which reached New York earlier, but there wassome mistake in her reading of the time-table, and now it was growingdark, and for a moment her courage began to fail her, and she halfwished herself back in Crompton, where every one had been so kind toher, and where every one had looked upon the journey as useless, exceptthe rector and Ruby. These had encouraged her to go, and Ruby hadfurnished the money and had been very hopeful, and told her there wasnothing to fear even in New York, which Eloise dreaded the most. Howardhad seen her to the train and got her seats in the parlor car, and saidto her, as he had once before: "I'd like to offer you money, but you say you have enough. " "Oh, yes, " Eloise answered; "more than enough. Ruby has been so kind. " Then he said good-by, and went back to the house, which seemed empty anddesolate. "I ought at least to have gone to New York with them, but that littlegirl is so proud and independent, I dare say she would not have let me, "he said to himself, and all day his thoughts followed them, until bysome clairvoyant process he seemed to see them at the station alone andafraid, just as for a short time Eloise was afraid and wished she hadnot come. Then, rallying, she said to herself, "This won't do. I must keep up, "and she helped her mother from the car, and began to walk through thelong station toward the street. Only half the distance had been goneover when a hand was laid upon her shoulder, and a voice which made herheart bound with delight, said to her, "Here you are! I was afraid I hadmissed you in the crowd. " "Oh, Mr. Harcourt, I am so glad! How did you know we were coming?"Eloise exclaimed, her gladness showing in her eyes and sounding in hervoice. "Oh, I knew, " Jack answered, taking her satchel and wraps and umbrellafrom her, and giving his disengaged arm to her mother. "I have a friendat court who lets me know what is going to happen. It is Ruby. Shetelegraphed. " Calling a carriage, which was evidently waiting for him, Jack put theladies into it, attended to the baggage, and then sprang in himself. With him opposite her, Eloise felt no further responsibility. Everythingwould be right, she was sure, and it was. They were in time for thesouth-bound train, and after a word with the porter, were ushered into adrawing-room compartment, which Jack said was to be theirs during thelong journey. "Yes, I know, " Eloise said. "It is large and comfortable, and away fromthe people, but I'm afraid it costs too much. " "It's all right, " Jack answered, beginning to remove Amy's jacket, withan air of being at home. Just then Eloise glanced from the window and saw they were moving. "Oh, Mr. Harcourt!" she screamed. "We have started! You will be carriedoff! Do hurry!" She put both hands on his arm to force him from the room, while helaughed and said, "Did you think I would let you go to Florida alone? Iam going with you. I have a section all to myself outside, where you cansit when you are tired in here. Are you sorry?" "Sorry!" she repeated. "I was never so glad in my life. But are you sureyou ought to go? Is it right?" "You mean proper? Perfectly!" he answered. "Your mother is with us. Yourfriend Ruby knows I am going, and Mr. Mason, and Mrs. Biggs, andeverybody else by this time. It's all right. Mrs. Grundy will approve. " Eloise was too happy to care for Mrs. Grundy, and her happinessincreased with every hour which brought her nearer to Florida, and shesaw more and more how thoroughly kind and thoughtful Jack was. Sometimeshe sat with her and her mother in the compartment he had engaged forthem, but oftener when Amy was resting she sat with him in his section, planning what she was to do first when Florida was reached, and how shewas to find Jakey. Jack knew exactly what to do, but he liked to listento her and watch the expression of her face, which seemed to him togrow more beautiful every hour. On the last evening they were to be uponthe road, she was sitting with him just before the car lamps werelighted, and he said to her, "Suppose you don't succeed? What will youdo?" For a moment Eloise was silent; then she replied, "I shall take motherhome to my grandmother's. I call her that still, although you know sheis not really mine, but I love her just the same, and shall take care ofher and mother. I can do it. Ruby will let me have the school, I amsure, if I ask her, but I couldn't take it from her now. I can getanother somewhere, or if not a school, I can find something to do. I amnot afraid of work. " She was trying to be very brave, but there was a pathetic look in herface which moved Jack strangely. Her hands were lying in her lap, andtaking the one nearest to him, he said, "Eloise, I'll tell you what youare going to do, whether you succeed or not. You are going to be mywife! Yes, my wife!" "Mr. Harcourt!" Eloise exclaimed, trying to withdraw her hand from him. But he only held it closer, while he said, "Don't Mr. Harcourt me! Callme Jack, and I shall know you assent. I think I have loved you eversince I saw you on the rostrum in Mayville, --at any rate, ever sincethat stormy night when you came near being killed. I did not mean tospeak here in the car, but I am glad I have settled it. " He was taking her consent for granted, and was squeezing her hand untilshe said involuntarily, "Oh, Jack, you hurt me!" Then he dropped it and, stooping, kissed her, saying, "I am answered. You have called me Jack. You are mine, --my little wife, --the dearest aman ever had. " He kissed her again, while she whispered, "Oh, Jack, how can you, withall the people looking on? and it isn't very dark yet. " "There are not many to look on, and they are in front of us, and I don'tcare if the whole world sees me, " Jack replied, passing his arm aroundher and drawing her close to him. "You must not, right here in the car; besides that, I haven't told you Iwould, " she said, making an effort to free herself from him, as theporter began to light the lamps. He was satisfied with her answer, and kept his arm around her in theface of the porter, who was too much accustomed to such scenes to payany attention to this particular one. He had spotted them as lovers fromthe first and was not surprised, but when eleven o'clock came and everyberth was made up except that of Jack, who still sat with Eloise besidehim, loath to let her go, the negro grew uneasy and anxious to finishhis night's work. "Sir, " he said at last to Jack, "'scuse me, but you might move into thegentlemen's wash-room whiles I make up the berth; it's gwine on towardmornin'. " In a flash Eloise sprang up, and without a word went to her mother, whowas sleeping quietly, just as she had left her three hours before. Alurch of the train awoke her, and, kneeling beside her, Eloise said toher, "Mr. Harcourt has asked me to be his wife. Are you glad?" "Yes, daughter, very glad. Are we in Florida?" Amy replied. "Yes, mother, and before long we shall reach your old home and Jakey, "was Eloise's answer, as she kissed her mother good-night and sought herown pillow to think of the great happiness which had come to her in JackHarcourt's love, and which would compensate for any disappointment theremight be in store for her. CHAPTER VII IN THE PALMETTO CLEARING There were not many guests at the Brock House as the season had notfully opened, and Jack had no trouble to find rooms for the ladies andhimself. Amy's was in front, looking upon the St. John's, which herespreads out into Lake Monroe. She had had glimpses of the river from therailway car, but had not seen it as distinctly as now, when she stood bythe window with an expression on her face as if she were thinking of thepast, before her reason was clouded. "Oh, the river!--the beautiful river!" she said. "It brings thingsback, --the boat I went in; not like that, " and she pointed to a large, handsome steamboat lying at the wharf. "Not like that. What was itsname?" Jack, who was in the room, and who had read Mr. Mason's letter to hisson, suggested, "The 'Hatty'?" "Yes, the 'Hatty'!" Amy said. "Strange, I remember it when I haveforgotten so much. And he was with me, --my father. Wasn't he my father?" She looked at Eloise, who answered promptly, "Yes, he was your father. " "I thought so. He said I was to call him so, " Amy went on, more toherself than to Eloise. "I didn't always, he was so cold and proud andhard with me, but he was kind at the last, and he is dead, and this isFlorida, where the oranges and palm trees grow. They are there, --see!"and she pointed to the right, where a tall palm tree raised its headabove an orange grove below. She was beginning to remember, and Eloise and Jack kept silent while shewent on: "And we are here to find my mother and Jakey. " She looked again at Eloise, who answered her: "To find Jakey, --yes; andto-morrow we shall see him. To-night you must rest. " "Yes, rest to-night, and to-morrow go to Jakey, " Amy replied, submissiveas a little child to whatever Eloise bade her do. She was very tired, and slept soundly without once waking, and her firstquestion in the morning was, "Is it to-morrow, and are we in Florida?" "Yes, dearest, we are in Florida, and going to find Jakey, " was Eloise'sreply, as she kissed her mother's face, and thought how young and fairit was still, with scarcely a line upon it. Only the eyes and the droop of the mouth showed signs of past suffering, and these were passing away with a renewal of old scenes and memories. Jack had found the Rev. Mr. Mason, who received him cordially. "I was expecting you, " he said. "A telegram from my son told me you wereon the way. I have not seen Jake, as it was only yesterday I had thedespatch. I have one piece of news, however, for which I am sorry. ElderCovil died in Virginia soon after the war, and nothing can be learnedfrom him. " Jack was greatly disappointed. His hope had been to find Elder Covil, if living, or some trace of him, and that was swept away; but he wouldnot tell Eloise. She was all eagerness and excitement, and was readysoon after breakfast for the drive to the palmetto clearing, and Amyseemed almost as excited and eager. Born amid palms and orange trees, and magnolias and negroes, the sight of them brought back the past in amisty kind of way, which was constantly clearing as Eloise helped her toremember. Of Mr. Mason she of course had no recollection, and shrankfrom him when presented to him. He did not tell her he had buried hermother. He only said he knew Jakey, and was going to take her to him, and they were soon on their way. The road was very different from theone over which he had been driven behind the white mule, and there weremarks of improvement everywhere, --gardens and fields and cabins withlittle negroes swarming around the doors, and these, with the palm treesand the orange trees, helped to revive Amy's memories of the time whenshe played with the little darkys among the dwarf palmettos and ateoranges in the groves. In the doorway of one of the small houses a colored woman was standing, looking at the carriage as it passed. Recognizing Mr. Mason, she gavehim a hearty "How d'ye, Mas'r Mason?" to which he responded withouttelling his companions that it was Mandy Ann. He wished Amy to see Jakefirst. "Here we are, " he said at last. "This is the clearing; this is thehouse, and there is Jake himself. " He pointed to a negro in the distance, and to a small house, --half logand half frame, for Jake had added to and improved it within a fewyears. "I'se gwine to make it 'spectable, so she won't be 'shamed if she evercomes back to see whar she was bawn, " he had thought, and to him itseemed almost palatial, with its addition, which he called a "linter, "and which consisted of a large room furnished with a most heterogeneousmass of articles gathered here and there as he could afford them. Conspicuous in one corner was "lil Dory's cradle, " which had beenpainted red, with a lettering in white on one side of it, "In memory oflil chile Dory. " This he had placed in what he called the parlor thatmorning, after dusting it carefully and putting a fresh pillow case onthe scanty pillow where Amy's head had lain. He was thinking of her andwondering he did not hear from the Colonel, when the sound of carriagewheels made him look up and start for his house. Mr. Mason was the firstto alight; then Jack; then Eloise; and then Amy, whose senses for amoment left her entirely. "What is it? Where are we?" she said, pressing her hands to herforehead. Evidently the place did not impress her, except as something strange. "Let's go!" she whispered to Eloise. "We've nothing to do here; let's goback to the oranges and palmettos. " "But, mother, Jakey is here!" Eloise replied, her eyes fixed upon theold man to whom Mr. Mason had been explaining, and whose "Bress de Lawd. I feels like havin' de pow', ef I b'lieved in it, " she heard distinctly. Then he came rapidly toward them, and she could see the tears on hisblack face, which was working nervously. "Miss Dory! Miss Dory! 'Tain't you! Oh, de Lawd, --so growed, --sochanged! Is it you for shu'?" he said, stretching his hands toward Amy, who drew closer to Eloise. "Go gently, Jake; gently! Remember her mind is weak, " Mr. Mason said. "Yes, sar. I 'members de Harris's mind mostly was weak. Ole Miss didn'tknow nuffin', an' Miss Dory was a little quar, an' dis po' chile is like'em, " was Jake's reply, which brought a deep flush to Eloise's face. She had felt her cheeks burning all the time she had been looking roundon her mother's home, wondering what Jack would think of it. At Jake'smention of the Harrises she glanced at him so appealingly, that foranswer he put his arm around her and whispered, "Keep up, darling, I seeyour mother is waking up. " Jake had taken one of her hands, and was looking in her face as if hewould find some trace of the "lil chile Dory" who left him years ago. And she was scanning him, not quite as if she knew him, but with apuzzled, uncertain manner, in which there was now no fear. "Doan' you know me, Miss Dory? I'm Shaky, --ole Shaky, --what use' to playb'ar wid you, an' tote you on his back, " he said to her. "I think I do. Yes. Where's Mandy Ann?" Amy asked. "She 'members, --she does!" Jake cried, excitedly. "Mandy Ann was de nussgirl what looked after her an' ole Miss. " Then to Amy he said, "MandyAnn's done grow'd like you, an' got chillen as big as you. Twins, fouron 'em, as was christened in your gown. Come into de house. You'llmember then. Come inter de gret room, but fust wait a minit. I seen aboy out dar, --Aaron, --one of Mandy Ann's twins, an' I'se gwine to sen'for Mandy Ann. "Hello, you flat-footed chap!" he called. "Make tracks home the fastestyou ever did, an' tell yer mother to come quick, 'case lil Miss Dory'shyar. Run, I say. " The boy Aaron started, and Jake led the way to the door of the "gretroom, " which he threw open with an air of pride. "Walk in, gemmen an' ladies, walk in, " he said, holding Amy's hand. They walked in, and he led Amy to a lounge and sat down beside her, close to the red cradle, to which he called her attention. "Doan' you 'member it, Miss Dory?" he said, giving it a jog. "I use' terrock yer to sleep wid you kickin' yer heels an' doublin' yer fists, an'callin' me ole fool, an' I singin': "'Lil chile Dory, Shaky's lil lam', Mudder's gone to heaven, Shaky leff behime To care for lil chile Dory, Shaky's lil lam'. ' Doan' you 'member it, honey, --an' doan' you member me? I'm Shaky, --Iis. " There was a touching pathos in Jakey's voice as he sang, and it wasintensified when he asked, "Doan' you 'member me, honey?" Both Mr. Mason and Jack turned their heads aside to hide the moisture intheir eyes, while Eloise's tears fell fast as she watched the strangepair, --the wrinkled old negro and the white-faced woman, in whom awonderful transformation seemed to be taking place. With the first soundof the weird melody and the words "Lil chile Dory, Shaky's lil lam', "she leaned forward and seemed to be either listening intently or tryingto recall something which came and went, and which she threw out herhands to retain. As the singing went on the expression of her facechanged from one of painful thought to one of perfect peace and quiet, and when it ceased and Jakey appealed lo her memory, she answered him, "Yes, Shaky, I remember. " Then to Eloise she said, "The lullaby of mychildhood, which has rung in my ears for years. He used to want me tosing a negro melody to the people, and said it made them cry. That'sbecause I wanted to cry, as I do now, and can't. I believe I must havesung it that last night in Los Angeles before everything grew dark. " Moving closer to Jakey she laid her head upon his arm and whispered tohim, "Sing it again, Shaky. The tightness across the top of my head isgiving way. It has ached so long. " Jake began the song again, his voice more tremulous than before, whileAmy's hands tightened on his arm, and her head sank lower on his breast. As he sang he jogged the cradle with one foot, and kept time with theother and a swaying motion of his body, which brought Amy almost acrosshis lap. When she lifted up her head there were tears in her eyes, andthey ran at last like rivers down her cheeks, while a storm ofhysterical sobs shook her frame and brought Eloise to her. "Don't cry so, " she said. "You frighten me. " Amy put her aside, and answered, "I must cry; it cools my brain. Thereare oceans yet to come, --all the pent-up tears of the years--since hetold me you were dead. I am so glad to cry. " For some moments she wept on, until Jakey began to soothe her with his"Doan' cry no mo', honey. Summat has done happened you bad, but it'sdone gone now, an' we're all here, --me an' I do' know her name, butshe's you uns, an' Mas'r Mason an' de oder gemman. We're all here, an'de light is breakin'. Doan' you feel it, honey?" "Yes, I feel it, " she said, lifting up her head and wiping away hertears. "The light is breaking; my head is better. This is the old home. How did we get here?" Her mind was misty still, but Eloise felt a crisis was past, and that intime the films which had clouded her mother's brain would clear away, not wholly, perhaps, for she was a Harris, and "all the Harrises, " Jakesaid, "were quar. " She was very quiet now, and listened as they talked, but could recall nothing of her mother or the funeral, which Mr. Masonhad attended. She seemed very tired, and at Eloise's suggestion layclown upon the lounge and soon fell asleep, while Jack put questionafter question to Jake, hoping some light would be thrown upon themystery they had come to unravel. CHAPTER VIII THE LITTLE HAIR TRUNK Jake could tell them but little more than he had told Mr. Mason on aformer visit. This he repeated with some additions, while Eloiselistened, sometimes with indignation at Col. Crompton, and sometimeswith shame and a thought as to what Jack would think of it. Her mother'sfamily history was being unrolled before her, and she did not like it. There was proud blood in her veins, and she felt it coming to thesurface and rebelling against the family tree of which she was abranch, --the Harrises, the Crackers, and, more than all, the uncertaintyas to her mother's legitimacy, which she began to fear must remain anuncertainty. It was not a very desirable ancestry, and she glancedtimidly at Jack to see how he was taking it. His face was very placidand unmoved as he questioned Jake of the relatives in Georgia, whomAmy's mother had visited. "We must find them, " he said. "Do you know anything of them? Were theyHarrises, or what?" Jake said they were "Browns an' Crackers; not the real no 'counts. Thar's a difference, an' I'm shu' ole Miss Lucy was fust class, 'caseMiss Dory was a lady bawn. " "Are there no papers anywhere to tell us who they were?" Jack asked, andJake replied, "Thar's papers in de little har trunk whar I keeps dewritin' book Miss Dory used, an' de book she read in to learn, but dem'sno 'count. Some receipts an' bills an' some letters ole Mas'r Harriswrit to Miss Lucy 'fo' they was married, --love letters, in course, whichI seen Miss Dory tie up wid a white ribbon. I've never opened dem, 'caseit didn't seem fittin' like to read what a boy writ to a gal. " "Why, Jake, " Jack exclaimed, "don't you see those letters may tell uswhere Miss Lucy lived in Georgia? and that is probably where Miss Doryvisited. Bring us the trunk. " "'Clar for't. I never thought of that, " Jake said, rising with alacrityand going into the room where he slept. Mr. Mason, too, stepped out for a few moments, leaving Eloise alone withJack. Now was her time, and, going up to him, she said, "Jack, I want totell you now, you mustn't marry me!" "Mustn't marry you!" Jack repeated. "Are you crazy?" "Not yet, " Eloise answered with a sob, "but I may be in time, or queer, like all the Harrises, --mother and her mother and 'old Miss. ' We are allHarrises, and, --and, --oh, Jack, I know what a Cracker is now; mother isone; I am one, and it is all so dreadful; and mother nobody, perhaps. Ican't bear it, and you must not marry me. " "I shall marry you, " Jack said, folding her in his arms. "Do you think Icare who your family are, or how queer they are? You'll never be queer. I'll shield you so carefully from every care that you can't even spellthe word. " He took her hands and made her look at him, while he kissed her lipsand said, "It is you I want, with all the Harrises and Crackers inChristendom thrown in, if necessary. Are you satisfied?" He knew she was, and was kissing her again when Jake appeared with thetrunk, which he said had held Miss Dory's clothes when she went toGeorgia. There was a musty odor about it when he opened it, and the fewpapers inside were yellow with age. "Dis yer is de reader Miss Dory use' to go over so much, " Jake said, handing the book to Eloise, who turned its worn pages reverently, as iftouching the hands of the dead girl, who, Jake said, "had rassled withthe big words an' de no 'count pieces. She liked de po'try, an' got byheart 'bout de boy on de burnin' deck, but de breakin' waves floo'd her, 'case 'twan't no story like Cassy-by-anker. " He pointed the latter poem out to Eloise, who said, "Will you give methis book?" Jake hesitated before he replied, "He wanted it, the Colonel, an' I tolehim no, but you're different. I'll think about it. " Mr. Mason had returned by this time, and with Jack was looking at thebundle of letters tied with a satin ribbon which Jake said Miss Dory hadtaken from her white dress, the one he believed she was married in, asit was her bestest. There were four letters and a paper which did notseem to be a letter, and which slipped to the floor at Eloise's feet asJack untied the ribbon. There was also a small envelope containing acard with "James Crompton" upon it, the one Mandy Ann had carried hermistress on a china plate, and which poor Dora had kept as a souvenir ofthat visit. With the card were the remains of what must have been abeautiful rose. The petals were brown and crumbling to dust, but stillgave out a faint perfume, which Eloise detected. While she was lookingat these mementos of a past, Jack was running his eyes over the almostillegible directions on the letters, making out "Miss Lucy Brown, Atlanta, Ga. " "That doesn't help us much, " he said to Mr. Mason. "Brown is a commonname, and the Atlanta before the war was not like the Atlanta ofto-day. " "Perhaps something inside will give a cue, " Mr. Mason suggested, andJack opened one of the letters carefully, for it was nearly torn apart. The spelling was bad and the writing was bad, but it rang true with ayoung man's love for the girl of his choice, and it seemed to Jack likesacrilege to read it. Very hurriedly he went through the four letters, finding nothing to guide him but "Atlanta, " and a few names of peoplewho must have been living in the vicinity. "Here's another, " Eloise said, passing him the paper which she hadpicked from the floor. Jack took it, and opening it, glanced at the contents. Then, with a cryof "Eureka!" he began a sort of pirouette, while Eloise and Mr. Masonwondered if he, too, had gone quar, like the Harrises. "It's the marriage certificate, " he said, sobering down at last, andreading aloud that at the Hardy Plantation, Fulton County, Georgia, onDecember--, 18--, the Rev. John Covil united in marriage James Crompton, of Troutburg, Massachusetts, and Miss Eudora Harris, of Volucia County, Florida. Upon no one did the finding of this certificate produce so miraculous aneffect as upon Jake. "Fo' de Lawd!" he exclaimed, "I feels as if I mus' have de pow', --whatI hain't had since I jined de 'Piscopals. To think dat ar was lyin' inthar all dis time, an' I not know it. I 'members now dat Elder Covilcomed hyar oncet after the lil chile was bawn, to see Miss Dory, an' Iseen him write a paper an' give it to her, an' she put it in her bosom. I axed no questions, but I know now 'twas this. The Cunnel tole her notto tell, an' if she said she wouldn't, she wouldn't. Dat's like deHarrises, --dey's mighty quar, stickin' to dar word till they die likethat Cassy-by-anker on de burnin' ship. Glory to God, glory! I mus'shout, I mus' hurrah. Glory!" He went careering round the room like one mad, knocking over a chair, waking up Amy, and bringing her to the scene of action. "Bress de Lawd!" he said, taking her by the arm and giving her a whirl, "we've done foun' your mudder's stifficut in de letters whar she put itan' tied 'em wid her weddin' ribbon. Glory hollerluyer!" Amy looked frightened, and when Eloise explained to her she did not seemas much impressed as the others. Her mind had grasped Jake and the oldhome, and could not then take in much more. Still, in a way sheunderstood, and when Eloise said to her, "Col. Crompton was really yourfather, --married to your mother, --and you were Amy Crompton, and notHarris, " she said, "I am glad, and wish he knew. He used to taunt mewith my low birth and call me a Cracker. When are we going home?" Her mind had reverted at once to Crompton Place, now hers in reality, although she probably did not think of that. "I am very glad, and congratulate you that Crompton Place is your homewithout a doubt, " Jack said to her. Then, turning to Eloise, hecontinued, in a low tone, "I can't tell you how glad I am for you, provided you don't feel so high and mighty that you want to cast meoff. " "Oh, Jack, " Eloise replied, "don't talk such nonsense. I am still of theHarris blood and part Cracker, and maybe quar. If you can stand that Ithink I can stand you. " At this point there was the sound of hurrying feet outside, and awoman's voice was heard saying, "Now, mind your manners, or you'll cotchit. " Then four woolly heads were thrust in at the door and with them wasMandy Ann. "Hyar she comes wid de fo' twins, " Jake said, going forward to meet her. "Mandy Ann, " he began, "hyar's de lil chile Dory. Miss Amy they donecall her. Would you know'd her?" "Know'd her? I reckon so, --anywhar in de dark. Praise de Lawd, an' nowlet His servant 'part in peace, 'case my eyes has seen de lil chileoncet mo', " Mandy Ann exclaimed, going up to Amy and putting her handson her shoulders. "She's 'peatin' some o' de chant in de Pra'r Book. Mandy Ann is mightypious, she is, " Jake said in a low tone, while Amy drew back a little, and looked timidly at the tall negress calling her lil chile Dory. "Mandy Ann wasn't so big, " she said, turning to the twins, Alex andAaron, Judy and Dory, who brought the past back more vividly when MandyAnn was about their size. A look of inquiry passed from Mandy Ann to Jake, who touched hisforehead, while Mandy whispered, "Quar, like ole Miss an' all of 'em. Oh, de pity of it! What happened her?" Then to Amy she said, with allthe motherhood of her ten children in her voice, "Doan' you 'member me, Mandy Ann, what use' to dress you in de mornin', an' comb yer har, an'wass yer face?" "Up, instead of down, " Amy said quickly, while everybody laughed insteadof herself. "To be shu', " Mandy Ann rejoined. "I reckon I did sometimes wass up'sted of down. I couldn't help it, 'case you's gen'rally pullin' an'haulin' an' kickin' me to git away, but you 'members me, an' Judy, widdis kind of face?" She touched her eyes and nose and mouth to show where Judy's featureswere marked with ink, and then Amy laughed, and as if the mention ofJudy took her back to the vernacular of her childhood, she said, "Oh, yes, I done 'members Judy. Whar is she?" This lapse of her mother into negro dialect was more dreadful to Eloisethan anything which had gone before, but Mr. Mason, who read her concernin her face, said to her, "It's all right, and shows she is taking upthe tangled threads. " No one present knew of Judy's sale at the Rummage, and no one couldreply to the question, "Whar is she?" Amy forgot it in a moment in herinterest in the twins, whom Mandy presented one after another, saying, "I've six mo' grow'd up, some on 'em, an' one is married, 'case I'seold, --I'se fifty-three, an' you's about forty. " To this Amy paid no attention. She was still absorbed with the twins, who, Mandy Ann told her, had worn her white frock at their christening. Mandy Ann had not yet heard of the finding of the marriage certificate, and when Jake told her she did not seem greatly surprised. "I allus knew she was married, without a stifficut, " she said. "Ib'lieved it the fust time he come befo' lil Miss Dory was bawn. " "Tell me about his coming, " Eloise said, and Mandy Ann, who likednothing better than to talk, began at the beginning, and told everyparticular of the first visit, when Miss Dora wore the white gown shewas married in and buried in, and the rose on her bosom. "And you thinkthis is it?" Eloise asked, holding carefully in a bit of paper the ashesof what had once been a rose. "I 'clar for't, yes, " Mandy said, "I seen her put it somewhar with thecard he done gin me. You'se found it?" Eloise nodded and held fast to the relics of a past which in this waywas linking itself to the present. "Tell us of the second time, when hetook mother, " Eloise suggested, and here Mandy Ann was very eloquent, describing everything in detail, repeating much which Jake had told, telling of the ring, --a real stone, sent her from Savannah, and whichshe had given her daughter as it was too small for her now. From adrawer in the chamber above she brought a little white dress, stiff withstarch and yellow and tender with time, which she said "lil Miss Dorywore when she first saw her father. " This Eloise seized at once, saying, "You will let me have it assomething which belonged to mother far back. " Mandy Ann looked doubtful. There would probably be grandchildren, andJake's scruples might be overcome and the white gown do duty again as achristening robe. But Jake spoke up promptly. "In course it's your'n, an' de book, too, if you wants it, though it'slike takin' a piece of de ole times. Strange Miss Dora don't pay no'tention, but is so wropp'd up in dem twins. 'Specs it seems like whende little darkys use' to play wid her, " he continued, looking at Amy, who, if she heard what Mandy Ann was saying, gave no sign, but seemed, as Jake said, "wropp'd up" in the twins. There was not much more for Mandy Ann to tell of the Colonel, except tospeak of the money he had sent to her and Jake, proving that he was not"the wustest man in the world, if she did cuss him kneeling on MissDory's grave the night after the burial. " She spoke of that and of "oleMiss Thomas, who was the last to _gin in_, " and wouldn't have done itthen but for the ring on her finger. At this point Jake, who thought shehad told enough, said to her, "Hole on a spell. Your tongue is like amill wheel when it starts. Thar's some things you or'to keep to yourself. Ole man Crompton is dead, an' God is takin' keer of him. He knowsall the good thar was at the last, an' I 'specs thar was a heap. " By this time Amy had tired of the twins, who had fingered her rings andbuttons, and stroked her dress and hair, and called her a pretty lady, and asked her on the sly for a nickel. She was getting restless, whenJakey said, "If you'd like to see your mudder's grave, come wid me. " From the house to the enclosure where the Harrises were buried he hadmade a narrow road, beside which eucalyptus trees and oleanders weregrowing, and along this walk the party followed him to Eudora's grave. "I can have 'Crompton' put hyar now that I am shu', " Jake said, pointingto the vacant space after Eudora. "I wish dar was room for 'belobed wifeof Cunnel Crompton. ' I reckons, though, she wasn't 'belobed, ' or why washe so dogon mean to her?" he added, kneeling by the grave and picking adead leaf and bud which his quick eye had detected amid the bloom. "Couldn't you done drap a tear 'case your mother is lyin' here?" he saidto Amy, who shook her head. The dead mother was not as real to her as the living Jake, to whom shesaid, "As you talk to me I remember something of her, and people makinga noise. But it is long ago, and much has happened since. I can't cry. Is it wrong?" She looked at Eloise, who replied, "No, darling; you have cried enoughfor one day. Some time we will come here again, and you'll remembermore. Let us go. " "What is your plan now?" Mr. Mason asked Jack when, after a half hourspent with Jake, they were driving back to the Brock House. "I have been thinking, " Jack replied, "that I will leave the ladies fora few days at the hotel, while I go to Palatka and Atlanta, and see ifanything can be learned of the Browns, or Harrises, or the Hardyplantation, where the marriage took place. I wish to get all the facts Ican, although the certificate should be sufficient to establish Mrs. Amy's right to the estate. I don't think she realizes her position, asheir to the finest property in Crompton. " She didn't realize it at all, but was very willing to stay at the BrockHouse with Eloise, while Jack went to Palatka and Atlanta to see what hecould find. It was not much. Tom Hardy had been killed in the war, andhad left no family. This he was told in Palatka. In Atlanta he learnedthat before the war there had been a plantation near the city owned by aHardy family, all of whom were dead or had disappeared. There wereBrowns in plenty in the Directory, and Jack saw them all, but none hadany connection with the Harrises. At last he struck an old negress, whohad belonged to the Hardys, and who remembered a double wedding at theplantation years before, and who said that an Andrew Jackson Brown, whomust have been present, as he was a son of the house, was living inBoston, and was a conductor of a street car. With this information asthe result of his search Jack went back to Enterprise, where he foundAmy greatly improved in mind and body. Every day Jake and Mandy Ann hadbeen to see her, or with Eloise she had driven to the clearing, whereher dormant faculties continued to awaken with the familiar objects ofher childhood. Many people and much talking still bewildered her, andher memory was treacherous on many points, but to a stranger who knewnothing of her history she seemed a quiet, sane woman, "not a bit quar, "Eloise said to Jack as she welcomed him back. "And I believe she willcontinue to improve when we get her home, away from the people who talkto her so much and confuse her. When can we go?" "To-morrow, if you like, " Jack said, and the next day they leftEnterprise, after bidding an affectionate good-by to Mandy Ann, withwhom they left a substantial remembrance of their visit. Amy would have liked to take the twins with her, but Eloise said, "Notyet, mother; wait and see, and perhaps they will all come later. " It was sure that Jakey was to follow them soon and spend as much timewith them as he pleased. "Stay always, if you will. We owe you everything, " Eloise said to him, when at parting he stood on the platform with his "God bress you, Mas'rHarcourt an' Miss Amy, an' Miss t'other one, " until the train was out ofsight. They made the journey by easy stages, for Amy was worn with excitement, and it was a week after leaving Florida when a telegram was received atthe Crompton House saying they would arrive that evening. CHAPTER IX WHAT HOWARD FOUND Jack had sent Howard a postal on the road to Florida, and a few linesfrom Enterprise on the day of their arrival. Since that time he had beenso busy that he had failed to write, thinking he could tell the news somuch better, and Howard argued from his silence that the errand had beenunsuccessful. Crompton Place was undoubtedly his, and still he had notbeen altogether happy in his rôle as heir. The servants had been veryrespectful; people had treated him with deference; trades-people hadsought his patronage; subscription papers had poured in upon him fromall quarters, and in many ways he was made to feel that he was reallyCrompton of Crompton, with a prospective income of many thousands. Hehad gone over his uncle's papers, and knew exactly what he was worth, and when his dividends and rents were due. He was a rich man, unlessthey found something unexpected in Florida, and he did not believe theywould. It seemed impossible that if there were a marriage it should havebeen kept secret so long. "My uncle would certainly have told it at thelast and not left a stain on Amy, " he said to himself again and again, and nearly succeeded in making himself believe that he had a right to bewhere he was, --his uncle's heir and head of the house. Why no provisionwas made for Amy he could not imagine. "But it will make no difference, "he said; "I shall provide for her and Eloise. " At the thought of her his heart gave a great throb, for she was dearerto him than he had supposed. "I believe I'd give up Crompton if I couldwin her, " he thought, "but that cannot be; Jack is the lucky fellow, "and then he began to calculate how much he would give Amy out and out. "She can live here, of course, if she will, but she must have somethingof her own. Will twenty thousand be enough, or too much?" he said, andfrom the sum total of the estate he subtracted twenty thousand dollars, with so large a remainder that he decided to give her that amount inbonds and mortgages, which would cause her as little trouble aspossible. There were some government bonds in a private drawer, throughwhich he had searched for a will. He would have a look at them and seewhich were the more desirable for Amy. He had been through that drawerthree or four times, and there was no thought of the will now as heopened it, wondering that it came so hard, as if something were bindingon the top or side. It shut harder, or, rather, it didn't shut at all, and with a jerk he pulled it out to see what was the matter. As he didso a folded sheet of foolscap, which had been lodged between the drawerand the side of the desk, fell to the floor. With a presentiment of thetruth Howard took it up and read, "THE LAST WILL AND CONFESSION OF JAMESCROMPTON!" It had come at last, and, unfolding the sheet, Howard began to read, glancing first at the date, which was a few weeks after Amy came fromCalifornia. "KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS, " it began, "that I, JAMES CROMPTON, ama coward and a sneak and a villain, and have lived a lie for fortyyears, hiding a secret I was too proud to divulge at first, and whichgrew harder and harder to tell as time went on and people held me sohigh as the soul of honor and rectitude. Honor! There isn't a hair of iton my head! I broke the heart of an innocent girl, and left her to diealone. AMY EUDORA SMITH is my own daughter, the lawful child of mymarriage with EUDORA HARRIS, which took place December--, 18--, on theHardy Plantation, Fulton County, in Georgia, several miles fromAtlanta. " Up to this point Howard had been standing, but now the floor seemed torise up and strike him in the face. Sitting down in the nearest chair, he breathed hard for a moment, and then went on with what the Colonelcalled his CONFESSION, which he had not had courage to make verballywhile living. When in college he had for his room-mate Tom Hardy from Atlanta. The twowere fast friends, and when the Colonel was invited to visit Georgia hedid so gladly. Some miles from the town was the plantation owned by theHardys. This the Colonel visited in company with his friend. A smalllog-house on a part of the farm was rented to a Mr. Brown, a perfectlyrespectable man, but ignorant and coarse. His family consisted ofhimself and wife and son, and daughter Mary, a pretty girl of twenty, and a cousin from Florida, Eudora Harris, a beautiful girl of sixteen, wholly uneducated and shy as a bird. There was about her a wonderfulfascination for the Colonel, who went with his friend several times tothe Brown's, and mixed with them familiarly for the sake of the girlwhose eyes welcomed him so gladly, and in which he at last readunmistakable signs of love for himself, while the broad jokes of herfriends warned him of his danger. Then his calls ceased, for nothing wasfurther from his thought than marriage with Eudora. At last there cameto him and Tom a badly written and spelled invitation to Mary's wedding, which was to take place on the afternoon of the nineteenth day ofDecember, 18--. "Let's go; there'll be no end of fun, " Tom said, but when the day camehe was ill in bed with influenza, and the Colonel went without him, reaching the house just as the family were taking a hasty lunch, preparatory to the feast which was to follow the wedding. "I sat down with them, " the Colonel wrote, "and made myself one of them, and drank vile whiskey and home-made wine until my head began to feel asbig as two heads, and I do not think I knew what I was about. As badluck would have it, the man who was to stand with Eudora as groomsmanfailed to come, and I was asked to take his place. "'Certainly, I am ready for anything, ' I said, and my voice soundedhusky and unnatural, and I wondered what ailed me. "'Then, s'posin' you and Dory get spliced, and we'll have a doubleweddin'. You have sparked it long enough, and we don't stand foolin'here, ' Mr. Brown said to me, in a half-laughing, half-threatening tone. "I looked at Eudora, and her beautiful eyes were shining upon me with alook which made my pulses quicken as they never had before. I don't knowwhat demon possessed me, unless it were the demon of the whiskey punch, of which I had drank far too much, and which prompted me to say, 'Allright, if Eudora is willing. ' "To do her justice, she hesitated a moment, but when I kissed her sheyielded, and with the touch of her lips there came over me a feeling Imistook for love, and everything was forgotten except the girl. ElderCovil performed the double ceremony, and looked questioningly at me, asif doubtful whether I were in my right mind or not. I thought I was, andfelt extremely happy, until I woke to what I had done, and from whichthere was no escape. I was bound to a girl whose sweet disposition andgreat beauty were her only attractions, and whose environments made meshudder. I could not bring her to Crompton Place and introduce her to myfriends, and I did not know what to do. "Tom was furious when he heard of it, and suggested suicide and divorce, and everything else that was bad. But Dora's eyes held me for two weeks, and then I became so disillusionized and so sick of my surroundings, that I was nearly ready to follow Tom's advice and blow out my brains. "'If you won't kill yourself, ' he said, 'send the girl home to Florida, and leave her there till you make up your mind what to do. There must besome way to untie that knot. If not, you are in for it. ' "I sent her home, and after two or three weeks, during which Tom and Irevolved a hundred plans, I decided on one, and went to see her in herhome--and such a home! A log-house in a palmetto clearing, with afoolish old grandmother who did not know enough to ask or care what Iwas to Eudora. I could not endure it, and I told Eudora how impossibleit was for me to take her North until she had some education andknowledge of the world. I would leave her, I said, until I could decideupon a school to which I would send her, and, as it would be absurd fora married woman to be attending school, she was to retain her maidenname of Harris, and tell no one of our marriage until I gave herpermission to do so. I think she would have jumped into the river at mybidding, and she promised all that I required. "'I shall never tell I am your wife until you say I may, ' she said to mewhen I left her, but there was a look in her eyes like that I once sawin a pet dog I had shot, and which in dying licked my hands. "Through Tom Hardy, who left Atlanta for Palatka, I sent her moneyregularly and wrote occasionally, while she replied through the samemedium. Loving, pitiful letters they were, and would have moved theheart of any man who was not a brute and steeped to the dregs in prideand cowardice. I burned them as soon as I read them, for fear they mightbe found. I told her to do the same with mine, and have no doubt shedid. I did mean fair about the school, and was making inquiries, slowly, it is true, as my heart was not in it, and I had nearly decided uponLexington, Kentucky, when the birth of a little girl changed everything, but did not reconcile me to the situation. I never cared forchildren, --disliked them rather than otherwise, --and the fact that I wasa father did not move me a whit. "There was a letter imploring me to come and see our baby, and Ipromised to go, with a vague idea that I might some time keep my word. But I didn't. I had no love for Eudora, none for the child; and still athought of it haunted me continually, and was the cause of my giving thegrounds and the school-house to the town. I wanted to expiate my sin, and at the same time increase my popularity, for at that time I wastrying to make up my mind to acknowledge my marriage and bring Eudorahome. The poor girl never knew it, for on the day of the lawn party shewas buried. Tom Hardy wrote me she was dead, and that he was aboutstarting for Europe, and had given Jake, a faithful servant of thefamily, my address. God knows my remorse when I heard it, and still Iput off going for the child until Jake wrote me that the grandmother, too, had died, and added that it was not fitting for the little girl tobe brought up with Crackers and negroes. He did not know that I hadheard of Eudora's death from Tom, and was waiting for--I did not knowwhat, unless it was to hear from him personally. There was moremanliness in that negro's nature than in mine, and I knew it, and wasashamed of myself, and went for my daughter and stood by my wife'sgrave, and heard from Jake the story of her life, and knew she had kepther promise and never opened her lips, except to say that 'it was allright. ' "The people believed her for the most part, and anathematized theunknown man who had deserted her, but they could not heap upon me allthe odium I deserved. Why the story has never reached here I hardlyknow, except that intercourse between the North and the extreme Southwas not as easy as it is now, and then the war swept off Tom Hardy andmost likely all who knew of the marriage. "When I brought Amy home I was too proud to acknowledge her as mydaughter. The Harrises and the palmetto clearing stood in the way, and Ilet people think what they chose, hating myself with an added hatred forallowing a stain to rest on her birth. I was fond of her in a way, andangry when she married Candida, who died in Rome. Then she married aSmith, who took her round the country to sing in concerts, until hermind gave way, when he put her in a private asylum in San Francisco. Iwas very proud of her, and loved her more than she ever knew, but couldnot confess my relationship to her. When she married Candida I cast heroff. She must have some of my spirit, for she never came begging forfavors. Her rascally second husband wrote once for money, but I shut himup so that he never wrote again, and the next I heard was a message fromSanta Barbara, where he died, and where, before he died, he had biddenhis physician to write to me that his wife was in an asylum in SanFrancisco. I found her and brought her home, shattered in health and inmind, but I think she will recover. If she does before I die, I havesworn to tell her the truth, and will do it, so help me God! "She has at times spoken of a baby who died, --Smith's probably, and Ihated him and did not care for his child. I have thought to make mywill, but would rather write this confession, which will explain thingsand put Amy right as my heir. I have, however, one request to make toher, or those who attend to her affairs. I want my nephew, Howard, tohave twenty thousand dollars, --enough for any young man to start on ifthere is any get-up in him, and Howard has considerable. "Written by me and signed this -- day of July, 18--, the anniversary ofEudora's funeral and the big picnic on my grounds. "JAMES M. CROMPTON. " CHAPTER X HOWARD'S TEMPTATION Howard did not know how long it took him to read this paper. It seemedto him an age, and when it was read he felt as if turning into stone. There was a fire in the grate before which he sat, and something said tohim, "Burn it, " so distinctly, that he looked over his shoulder to seewho was there. "It's the devil, " he thought, and his hand went towardthe flame, then drew back quickly. He knew now what his uncle had triedso hard to tell them, and remembered how often his eyes had turned inthe direction of the private drawer. He had put his confession there, and it had become wedged in and was out of sight, until frequent openingand shutting the drawer had brought it into view. He read the documentagain, and felt the perspiration oozing out of every pore. The twentythousand recommended for him made him laugh, as he thought that was thesum he had intended for Amy, and which looked very small for his ownneeds. "Six times two are twelve, " he said, calculating the interest atsix per cent. "Twelve hundred a year is not much when one expected asmany thousands. I believe I'll burn it!" and again the paper was held sonear the fire that a corner of it was scorched. "I can't do it, " he said, drawing it back a second time. "It would dono good, either, if they find out in Florida. I don't see, though, howthey can, and if they have, Jack would have written, but I can't burn ityet. I must think a while. " He put the paper aside, and, without his overcoat, went out into thecold, sleety rain, which was falling heavily. It chilled him at once, but he did not think of it as he went through the grounds and gardensand fields of the Crompton Place, where everything was in perfect orderand bespoke the wealth of the owner. It was a fair heritage, and hecould not give it up without a pang. He never knew how many miles hewalked back and forth across the fields and through the woods. Nor didhe know that he was cold, until he returned to the house with drenchedgarments and a chill which he felt to his bones. He had taken a heavycold, and staid in-doors the next morning, shivering before the grate, which he told Peter to heap with coal until it was hot as--. He didn'tfinish the sentence, but added, "I'm infernally cold, --influenza, Ireckon, but I won't have any nostrums brought to me. All I want is agood fire. " Peter heaped up the fire until the room seemed to him like a furnace, and then left the young man alone with his thoughts and his temptation, which was assailing him a second time, stronger than before. He firmlybelieved the devil was there, urging him to burn the paper, and heldseveral spirited conversations with him, pro and con, the cons finallygaining the victory. Late in the afternoon Jack's telegram was brought to him. "We'll be homethis evening. " "That means seven o'clock, and dinner at halfpast seven, " he said toPeter. "Send Sam with the carriage, and see that there are fires intheir rooms. " He had given his orders and then sat down to decide what he would do. "I know the Old Harry is here with me, but his company is better thannone, " he said, wishing he had a shawl, he was so cold, with the room at90 degrees. The short day drew to a close. Peter came in and lighted the gas, andput more coal on the grate, and said Sam had gone to the station. Halfan hour later Howard heard the whistle of the train, and then the soundof wheels coming up the avenue. "Now or never!" was whispered in his ear, and his hand, with the paperin it, went toward the fire. There was a fierce struggle, and Howard felt that he was really fightingwith an unseen foe; then his hand came back with the paper in it, safeexcept for a second scorch on one side. "By the great eternal, it is never! I swear it!" he said, as his armdropped beside him and the paper fell to the floor. There was a sound below of people entering the house. They had come, andhe heard Eloise's voice as she passed his door on her way to her roomwith Amy. Was Jack there too? he was wondering--when Jack came in, gayand breezy, but startled when he met the woe-begone face turned towardhim. "By George! old man, " he said, "Peter told me you were shut up with acold, but I didn't expect this. Why, you look like a ghost, and aresweating like a butcher, and no wonder. The thermometer must be ahundred. What's the matter?" "Jack, " Howard said, "for forty-eight hours I have had a hand-to-handtussle with the devil. He was here bodily, as much as you are, but Ibeat him, and swore I wouldn't burn the paper. Read it!" He pointed to it upon the floor at his feet. "I had it pretty near the fire twice, and singed it some, " he continued, as Jack took it up, and, glancing at the first words, exclaimed, "Awill! You found one, then?" "Not a regularly attested will, but answers every purpose, " Howardreplied, while Jack read on with lightning rapidity, understanding muchthat was dark before, and guessing in part what it was to Howard to haveall his hopes swept away. "By Jove!" he said, as he finished reading, "there was good in the oldman after all. I didn't think so when I heard Jakey's story, and sawwhere his wife lived and died. We found the marriage certificate. " "You did!" Howard exclaimed, a great gladness that he had not destroyedthe paper taking possession of him. "Why didn't you write and tell me?It would have saved me that fight with the devil. " "I don't know why I didn't, " Jack replied. "I was awfully busy, and wentat once to Palatka to see if Tom Hardy left any family there, and foundhe was never married. Then I went to Atlanta to find some trace of theBrowns and the Hardy plantation. The latter had been sold, the Hardyswere all gone, and the Browns, too, --killed in the war, most likely, except one who is a street-car conductor in Boston, and I am going tohunt him up, as I believe he was at the wedding, although he must havebeen quite young. Yes, I ought to have written, and I'm sorry for you, upon my soul. You look as if you'd had a taste of the infernal regions. I'm glad you didn't burn it. " He took Howard's hand and held it, while he told him, very briefly, thecircumstances of their finding the certificate, of whose existence Col. Crompton could not have known. "And, Howard, " he added, "I've somethingelse to tell you. Eloise is to be my wife. We settled it in the trainbefore I knew she was a great heiress. Can't you congratulate me?" heasked, as Howard did not speak. "I expected it. You've got everything, --money and girl, too, " Howardsaid at last. "You are a lucky dog, and, whether you believe me or not, I'd rather have the girl than the money. I asked her to marry me. Didshe tell you?" "Of course not, " Jack replied, and Howard went on, "Well, I did, andkissed her, too!" "Did she kiss you?" Jack asked a little sharply, and Howard replied, "No, sir; she was madder than a hatter; you've no cause to be jealous. " "All right, " Jack answered, his brow clearing. "All right. I'm moresorry for you now than I was before. I didn't know you really cared forher that way; but, I say, aren't you coming to dinner? The bell has rungtwice, and I still in my travelling clothes and you in yourdressing-gown. " Howard shook his head. "Don't you see, I am sick with an infernal cold, "he said. "Got it tramping in the rain without my overcoat, and thatfight I told you of has unstrung me. It was a regular battle. But you goyourself, and perhaps Eloise will come to see me. I shall show her theColonel's confession, and she can do as she pleases about telling hermother. " Jack left him and went to the dinner, which had been kept waiting sometime, and at which Amy did not appear. She had gone at once to bed, Eloise explained, when she took her seat at the table with Jack. Whentold of Howard's message, she said, "Of course I'll go to him, " and halfan hour later she was in his room, and greatly shocked at his white, haggard face, which indicated more than the cold of which he complained. He did not tell her of his temptation. It was not necessary. Hecongratulated her upon her success, and upon her engagement, of whichJack had told him. Then he gave her the paper he had found, and watchedher as she read it, sometimes with flashes of indignation upon her face, and again with tears of pity in her eyes. "He was a bad man, " she said, with great energy, and then added, "A goodone, too, in some respects, although I cannot understand the pride whichmade him such a coward. " "I can, " Howard rejoined. "It's the Crompton pride, stronger than lifeitself. I know, for I am a Crompton. You, probably, are more Harris thanCrompton, and do not feel so deeply. " He did not mean to reflect upon her mother's family, but Eloise's facewas very red as she said, "The Harrises and Browns are not people to beproud of, I know, but they were as honest, perhaps, as the Cromptons, and they are mine, and if they all came here to-night I would not disownthem. " She looked every inch a Crompton as she spoke, and Howard laughed andsaid, "Good for you, little cousin; I believe you would, and if Jackfinds the conductor in Boston, I dare say you will have him at yourwedding. When is it to be?" "Just as soon as arrangements can be made, " Jack replied, coming in intime to hear the last of Howard's remark, "and, of course, we'll havethe street conductor if he will come. I start to-morrow to find him. " He took an early train the next morning for Boston, and two days afterhe wrote to Eloise: "I believe there are a million street cars in thecity and fifty conductors by the name of Brown. Fortunately, however, there is only one Andrew Jackson, or Andy, as they call him, and I foundhim on one of the suburban trains, rather old to be a conductor, butseemed young for his years. He is your grandmother's cousin, and waspresent at the double wedding, when Eudora Harris was married by ElderCovil to James Crompton, 'a mighty proud-lookin' chap, ' he said, 'whodeserted her in less than a month. I remember him well. Pop threatenedto shoot him if he ever cotched him, but the wah broke out and pop waskilled, and all of us but me, who married a little Yankee girl whatbrought things to us prisoners in Washington. She's right smart youngerthan I am, and I've got eight children and five grandchildren, peart andlively as rabbits. And you want me to swear that I seen Eudory married?Wall, I will, for I did, and I'd like to see her girl--Amy you call her. Mabby Mary Jane an' me will come to visit her when I have a spell off. ' "All this he said in a breath, and when I told him I was to marry Amy'sdaughter, he called me his cousin, and asked when the wedding was to be. If it had not been for those eight children and five grandchildren, thirteen Browns in all, which I felt sure he would bring with him, Ishould have promised him and Mary Jane an invitation. As it was, I didnothing rash. I got his affidavit, and we parted the best of friends, heurging me to call at his shanty and see Mary Jane and the kids. I had todecline, but told him perhaps I'd bring my wife to see them. What do yousay? Expect me to-morrow. "Lovingly, "JACK. " CHAPTER XI CONCLUSION It did not take long for all Crompton to know that Amy was Col. Crompton's daughter, and that the Colonel had left a paper to thateffect, which Mr. Howard had found, and that Eloise had also found themarriage certificate, proving her mother's legitimacy beyond a doubt, and making her sole heir to the Crompton estate. It was Friday nightwhen the travellers returned from the South, and on Saturday morning, Mrs. Biggs's washing day, she heard the news. Leaving her clothes in thesuds, and her tubs of rinsing and bluing water upon the floor, shestarted for the Crompton House, which she reached breathless with hasteand excitement, and eager to congratulate Amy and Eloise. "I swan, it 'most seem's if I was your relation, " she said, shakingEloise's hand, and telling her she always mistrusted she was somebodymore than common, "and I hope we shall be neighborly. I s'pose you'lllive here?" Eloise received her graciously, and said she should never forget herkindness, and told her some incidents of her journey, and, as Mrs. Biggsreported to Tim, "treated me as if I was just as good as she, if she isa Crompton. " Ruby Ann came later in the day, genuinely glad for Eloise, and surethat nothing would ever change the young girl's friendship for herself, no matter what her position might be. Many others called that day andthe following Monday, and Eloise received them with a dignity of whichshe was herself unconscious, and which they charged to the Cromptonblood. Howard, who was still suffering from a severe cold, kept his roomuntil Jack returned. Then he came out with a feeling of humiliation, notso much that he had lost the estate, as that he had thought to burn thepaper which took it from him. This feeling, however, gradually wore offunder Jack's geniality and Eloise's friendliness, and Amy's sweetness ofmanner as she called him Cousin Howard, and said she hoped he would lookupon Crompton as his home. Then he was to have twenty thousand dollarswhen matters were adjusted, and that was something to one who, when hecame to Crompton, had scarcely a dollar. His visit had paid, and, thoughhe was not the master, he was the favored guest and cousin, who, atEloise's request, took charge of affairs after Jack went home to NewYork. Early in December Jake came from the South, and was welcomed warmly byAmy and Eloise. To the servants he was a great curiosity, with his negrodialect and quaint ways, but no one could look at the old man's honestface without respecting him. Even Peter, who detected about him an orderof the bad tobacco which had so offended his nostrils in the letters tohis master, and who on general principles disliked negroes, was disarmedof his prejudices by Jake's confiding simplicity and thorough goodness. Taking him one day for a drive around the country and through thevillage, he bought him some first-class cigars with the thought "Maybethey'll take that smell out of his clothes. " "Thankee, Mas'r Peter, thankee, " Jake said, smacking his lips with hisenjoyment of the flavor of the Havanas. "Dis yer am mighty fine, but Is'pecks I or'to stick to my backy. I done brought a lot wid me. " He smoked the Havanas as long as they lasted, with no special diminutionof odor as Peter could discover, and then returned to his backy and hisclay pipe. In the love and tender care with which she was surrounded, Amy's mindrecovered its balance to a great extent, with an occasional lapse whenanything reminded her of her life in California as a public singer, orwhen she was very tired. She was greatly interested in Eloise's wedding, which was fixed for the 10th of January, her twentieth birthday. Jack, who came from New York every week, would have liked what he called ablow-out, but the recent death of the Colonel and Amy's mourningprecluded that, and only a very few were bidden to the ceremony, whichtook place in the drawing-room of the Crompton House, instead of thechurch. Amy gave the bride away, and a stranger would never havesuspected that she was what Jakey called quar. After Eloise left for herbridal trip she began to assume some responsibility as mistress of thehouse and to understand Mr. Ferris a little when he talked to her onbusiness. Jake was a kind of ballast to her during Eloise's absence, buta Northern winter did not agree with the old man, who wore nearly asmuch clothing to keep him warm as Harry Gill, and then complained ofthe cold. "Florida suits me best, and I've a kind of hankerin' for de ole placewhar deys all buried, " he said, and in the spring he returned to hisLares and Penates, leaving Amy a little unsettled with his loss, but shesoon recovered her spirits in the excitement of going abroad. It was Jack who suggested this trip, which he thought would benefit themall, and early in May they sailed for Europe, taking Ruby with them, notin any sense as a waiting maid, as some ill-natured ones suggested, butas a companion to Amy, and as the friend who had been so kind to Eloisein her need. That summer Howard was a conspicuous figure at a fashionable wateringplace with his fast horse and stylish buggy, and every other appearanceof wealth and luxury. He had received his twenty thousand dollars andmore, too, for Eloise was disposed to be very generous toward him, andAmy assented to whatever she suggested. "I'll have one good time and spend a whole year's interest if I choose, "he said, and he had a good time and made love to a little Westernheiress, whose eyes were like those of Eloise, and first attracted himto her, and who before the season was over promised to be his wife. Just before she left for Europe Eloise brought her grandmother, Mrs. Smith, from Mayville, and established her in Crompton Place as itsmistress, but that good woman had little to say, and allowed theservants to have their way in everything. The change from her quiet hometo all the grandeur and ceremony of the Crompton House did not suit her, and she returned, like Jakey, to her household gods when the familycame back in the spring. * * * * * Several years have passed since then, and Crompton Place is just aslovely as it was when we first saw it on the day of the lawn party. Three children are there now; two girls, Dora and Lucy, and a sturdyboy, who was christened James Harris Crompton, but is called Harry. Thedoll-house has been brought to light, with Mandy Ann and Judy, to thegreat delight of the little girls, and Amy is never brighter than whenplaying with the children, and telling them of the palms and oranges, alligators and negroes in Florida, which she speaks of as home. Eloise is very happy, and if a fear of the Harris taint ever creeps intoher mind, it is dissipated at once in the perfect sunshine which crownsher life. Nearly every year Jakey comes to visit "chile Dory an' her lilones, " and once Mandy Ann spent a summer in Crompton as cook in place ofCindy, who was taking a vacation. But Northern ways of regularity andpromptness did not suit her. "'Clar for't, " she said, "I jess can't git use't to de Yankee Doodlequickstep nohow. At Miss Perkinses dey wasn't partic'lar ef things washalf an hour behime. " Her mind dwelt a good deal on what she had seen at Miss Perkins's, morethan forty years before, and on her children and Ted, and when Cindyreturned in the autumn she went back to him and the twins, laden withgifts from Amy and Eloise, the latter of whom saw that her mother gavemore judiciously than she would otherwise have done. Both Amy and Eloiseare fond of driving, and nearly every day the carriage goes out, butthe coachman is no longer Sam. He is married and lives in the village, and his place is filled by Tom Walker, who wears a brown livery, andfills the position with a dignity one would scarcely expect in the tall, lank boy, once the bully in school and the blackguard of the town. There have been three or four different teachers in District No. 5, --allnormal graduates, and all during their term of office boarding with Mrs. Biggs, who is never tired of boasting of her intimacy with theCromptons, and Eloise in particular. Every detail of the accident isrepeated again and again, with many incidents of Amy's girlhood. Thenshe takes up the Colonel and his private marriage, and with hisintroduction we end our story and leave her to tell hers in her own way. THE END.