THE GREEN SATIN GOWN

BY LAURA E. RICHARDS

_Author of_ "Captain January, " "Melody, " "Three Margarets, ""Peggy, " "Queen Hildegarde, " etc. , etc. 

Illustrated by Etheldred B. Barry

THE GREEN SATIN GOWN

Published May, 1903

TOTHE GIRLS OFThe Friday Club of Gardiner, MaineTHIS VOLUMEIS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

CONTENTS

THE GREEN SATIN GOWN

BLUE EGYPTIANS

LITTLE BENJAMIN

DON ALONZO

THE SHED CHAMBER

MAINE TO THE RESCUE

THE SCARLET LEAVES

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"THE FIRST TITTER PUT A FIRE IN MY VEINS THAT KEPT ME WARM ALL THE EVENING"

"GREGORY POLISHED IT ON HIS SLEEVE, AND HELD IT UP AGAIN"

"'A LONG BASKET WITH SOMETHING WHITE INSIDE; AND--IT'S CRYING!'"

"'FATHER SAYS THE LORD SENT YOU. DID HE?'"

"MAINE HAILED HIM FROM THE TOP OF A GREAT DRIFT"

THE CONFERENCE

THE GREEN SATIN GOWN

Who ever wore such a queer-looking thing? I wore it myself, dear, once upon a time; yes, I did! Perhaps you would like to hear about it, while you mend that tear in your muslin. Sit down, then, and let usbe cosy. 

I was making a visit in Hillton once, when I was seventeen years old, just your age; staying with dear old Miss Persis Elderby, who is nowdead. I have told you about her, and it is strange that I have nevertold you the story of the green satin gown; but, indeed, it is yearssince I looked at it. We were great friends, Miss Persis and I; andwe never thought much about the difference in our ages, for she wasyoung for her years, and I was old for mine. In our daily walkthrough the pretty, sleepy Hillton street--we always went for themail, together, for though Miss Persis seldom received letters, shealways liked to see mine, and it was quite the event of the day--mygood friend seldom failed to point out to me a stately mansion thatstood by itself on a little height, and to say in a tone of pride, "The Le Baron place, my dear; the finest place in the county. MadamLe Baron, who lives there alone now, is as great a lady as any inEurope, though she wears no coronet to her name. "

I never knew exactly what Miss Persis meant by this last remark, butit sounded magnificent, and I always gazed respectfully at the graystone house which sheltered so grand a personage. Madam Le Baron, itappeared, never left the house in winter, and this was January. Herfriends called on her at stated intervals, and, to judge fromMiss Persis, never failed to come away in a state of reverentialenthusiasm. I could not help picturing to myself the great lady asabout six feet tall, clad in purple velvet, and waving apeacock-feather fan; but I never confided my imaginings even to thesympathetic Miss Persis. 

One day my friend returned from a visit to the stone house, quitebreathless, her pretty old face pink with excitement. She sat downon the chair nearest the door, and gazed at me with, speechlessemotion. 

"Dear Miss Persis!" I cried. "What has happened? Have you had badnews?"

Miss Persis shook her head. "Bad news? I should think not, indeed!Child, Madam Le Baron wishes to see you. More I cannot say at present. Not a word! Put on your best hat, and come with me. Madam Le Baronwaits for us!"

It was as if she had said, "The Sultan is on the front door-step. " Iflew up-stairs, and made myself as smart as I could in such a hurry. My cheeks were as pink as Miss Persis's own, and though I had notthe faintest idea what was the matter, I felt that it must besomething of vital import. On the way, I begged my companion toexplain matters to me, but she only shook her head and trotted on thefaster. "No time!" she panted. "Speech delays me, my dear! All willbe explained; only make haste. "

We made such haste, that by the time we rang at the door of thestone house neither of us could speak, and Miss Persis could onlymake a mute gesture to the dignified maid who opened the door, andwho looked amazed, as well she might, at our burning cheeks anddisordered appearance. Fortunately, she knew Miss Persis well, andlost no time in ushering us into a cool, dimly lighted parlor, hungwith family portraits. Here we sat, and fanned ourselves with ourpocket-handkerchiefs, while I tried to find breath for a question;but there was not time! A door opened at the further end of the room;there was a soft rustle, a smell of sandal-wood in the air. The nextmoment Madam Le Baron stood before us. A slender figure, about myown height, in a quaint, old-fashioned dress; snowy hair, arrangedin puff on puff, with exquisite nicety; the darkest, softest eyes Iever saw, and a general air of having left her crown in the next room;this was the great lady. 

We rose, and I made my best courtesy, --we courtesied then, my dear, instead of bowing like pump-handles, --and she spoke to us in a softold voice, that rustled like the silk she wore, though it had a clearsound, too. "So this is the child!" she said. "I trust you are verywell, my dear! And has Miss Elderby told you of the small particularin which you can oblige me?"

Miss Persis hastened to say that she wasted no time on explanations, but had brought me as quickly as might be, thinking that the mainthing. Madam Le Baron nodded, and smiled a little; then she turnedto me; a few quiet words, and I knew all about it. She had receivedthat morning a note from her grandniece, "a young and giddy person, "who lived in B----, some twenty miles away, announcing that she anda party of friends were about to drive over to Hillton to see theold house. She felt sure that her dear aunt would be enchanted tosee them, as it must be "quite too forlorn for her, all alone inthat great barn;" so she might expect them the next evening (that is, the evening of this very day), in time for supper, and no doubt ashungry as hunters. There would be about a dozen of them, probably, but she knew there was plenty of room at Birchwood, and it would bea good thing to fill up the empty rooms for once in a way; so, looking forward to a pleasant meeting, the writer remained herdearest aunt's "affectionate niece, Effie Gay. "

"The child has no mother, " said Madam Le Baron to Miss Persis; thenturning to me, she said: "I am alone, save for my two maids, who areof middle age, and not accustomed to youthful visitors. Learningfrom my good friend, Miss Elderby, that a young gentlewoman wasstaying at her house, I conceived the idea of asking you to spendthe night with me, and such portion of the next day as my guests mayremain. If you are willing to do me this service, my dear, you mayput off your bonnet, and I will send for your evening dress and yourtoilet necessaries. "

I had been listening in a dream, hearing what was said, but thinkingit all like a fairy story, chiefly impressed by the fact that thespeaker was the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life. The last sentence, however, brought me to my senses with a vengeance. With scarlet cheeks I explained that I had brought no evening dresswith me; that I lived a very quiet life at home, and had expectednothing different here; that, to be quite frank, I had not such athing as an evening dress in the world. Miss Persis turned pale withdistress and mortification; but Madam Le Baron looked at me quietly, with her lovely smile. 

"I will provide you with a suitable dress, my child, " she said. "I have something that will do very well for you. If you like to goto your room now, my maid will attend you, and bring what isnecessary. We expect our guests in time for supper, at eight o'clock. "

Decidedly, I had walked into a fairy tale, or else I was dreaming!Here I sat in a room hung with flowered damask, in a wonderful chair, by a wonderful fire; and a fairy, little and withered and brown, dressed in what I knew must be black bombazine, though I knew itonly from descriptions, was bringing me tea, and plum-cake, on asilver tray. She looked at me with kind, twinkling eyes, and saidshe would bring the dress at once; then left me to my own wonderingfancies. I hardly knew what to be thinking of, so much was happening:more, it seemed, in these few hours, than in all my life before. Itried to fix my mind on the gay party that would soon fill the silenthouse with life and tumult; I tried to fancy how Miss Effie Gaywould look, and what she would say to me; but my mind kept comingback to the dress, the evening dress, that I was to be privileged towear. What would it be like? Would silk or muslin be prettier? Ifonly it were not pink! A red-haired girl in pink was a sad sight!

Looking up, I saw a portrait on the wall, of a beautiful girl, in acurious, old-time costume. The soft dark eyes and regal turn of thehead told me that it was my hostess in her youth; and even as Ilooked, I heard the rustle again, and smelt the faint odor ofsandalwood; and Madam Le Baron came softly in, followed by the fairymaid, bearing a long parcel. 

"Your gown, my dear, " she said, "I thought you would like to bepreparing for the evening. Undo it, Jessop!"

Jessop lifted fold on fold of tissue-paper. I looked, expecting Iknow not what fairy thing of lace and muslin: I saw--the green satingown!

We were wearing large sleeves then, something like yours at thepresent day, and high collars; the fashion was at its height. Thisgown had long, tight, wrinkled sleeves, coming down over the hand, and finished with a ruffle of yellow lace; the neck, rounded andhalf-low, had a similar ruffle almost deep enough to be called a ruff;the waist, if it could be called a waist, was up under the arms:briefly, a costume of my grandmother's time. Little green satinslippers lay beside it, and a huge feather-fan hung by a green ribbon. Was this a jest? was it--I looked up, with burning cheeks and eyessuffused; I met a glance so kind, so beaming with good-will, that myeyes fell, and I could only hope that my anguish had not been visible. 

"Shall Jessop help you, my dear?" said Madam Le Baron. "You can doit by yourself? Well, I like to see the young independent. I thinkthe gown will become you; it has been considered handsome. " Sheglanced fondly at the shining fabric, and left the room; the maid, after one sharp glance at me, in which I thought I read an amusedcompassion, followed; and I was left alone with the green satin gown. 

Cry? No, I did not cry: I had been brought up not to cry; but Isuffered, my dear, as one does suffer at seventeen. I thought ofjumping out of the window and running away, back to Miss Persis; Ithought of going to bed, and saying I was ill. It was true, I saidto myself, with feverish violence: I _was_ ill, sick with shame andmortification and disappointment. Appear before this gay party, dressed like my own great-grandmother? I would rather die! A personmight easily die of such distress as this--and so on, and so on!

Suddenly, like a cool touch on my brow, came a thought, a word of myUncle John's, that had helped me many a time before. 

"Endeavor, my dear, to maintain a sense of proportion!"

The words fell with weight on my distracted mind. I sat up straightin the armchair into which I had flung myself, face downward. Wasthere any proportion in this horror? I shook myself, then put thetwo sides together, and looked at them. On one side, two lovely oldladies, one of whom I could perhaps help a little, both of whom Icould gratify; on the other, my own--dear me! was it vanity? Ithought of the two sweet old faces, shining with kindness; I fanciedthe distress, the disappointment, that might come into them, if I--

"Yes, dear uncle, " I said aloud, "I have found the proportion!" Ishook myself again, and began to dress. And now a happy thoughtstruck me. Glancing at the portrait on the wall, I saw that the fairgirl was dressed in green. Was it? Yes, it must be--it was--the verysame dress! Quickly, and as neatly as I could, I arranged my hair intwo great puffs, with a butterfly knot on the top of my head, in thestyle of the picture; if only I had the high comb! I slipped on thegown, which fitted me well enough. I put on the slippers, and tiedthe green ribbons round and round my ankles; then I lighted all thecandles, and looked at myself. A perfect guy? Well, perhaps--andyet--

At this moment Jessop entered, bringing a pair of yellow gloves; shelooked me over critically, saying nothing; glanced at the portrait, withdrew, and presently reappeared, with the high tortoise-shellcomb in her hand. She placed it carefully in my hair, surveyed meagain, and again looked at the picture. Yes, it was true, thenecklace was wanting; but of course--

Really, Jessop was behaving like a jack-in-the-box! She haddisappeared again, and now here she was for the third time; but thistime Madam Le Baron was with her. The old lady looked at me silently, at my hair, then up at the picture. The sight of the pleasure in herlovely face trampled under foot, put out of existence, the lastremnant of my foolish pride. 

She turned to Jessop and nodded. "Yes, by all means!" she said. Themaid put into her hand a long morocco box; Madam kissed me, and withsoft, trembling fingers clasped the necklace round my neck. "It is a graceful compliment you pay me, my child, " she said, glancing at the picture again, with eyes a little dimmed. "Oblige meby wearing this, to complete the vision of my past youth. "

Ten stars of chrysoprase, the purest and tenderest green in the world, set in delicately wrought gold. I need not describe the necklace toyou. You think it the most beautiful jewel in the world, and so do I;and I have promised that you shall wear it on your eighteenthbirthday. 

Madam Le Baron saw nothing singular in my appearance. She neverchanged the fashion of her dress, being of the opinion, as she toldme afterward, that a gentlewoman's dress is her own affair, not hermantua-maker's; and her gray and silver brocade went very well withthe green satin. We stood side by side for a moment, gazing into thelong, dim mirror; then she patted my shoulder and gave a little sigh. 

"Your auburn hair looks well with the green, " she said. "My hair wasdark, but otherwise--Shall we go down, my dear?"

I will not say much about the evening. It was painful, of course;but Effie Gay had no mother, and much must be pardoned in such a case. No doubt I made a quaint figure enough among the six or eight gaygirls, all dressed in the latest fashion; but the first moment wasthe worst, and the first titter put a fire in my veins that kept mewarm all the evening. An occasional glance at Madam Le Baron'splacid face enabled me to preserve my sense of proportion, and Iremembered that two wise men, Solomon and my Uncle John, hadcompared the laughter of fools to the crackling of thorns under a pot. And--and there were some who did not laugh. 

Pin it up, my dear! Your father has come, and will be wanting his tea. 

I can tell you the rest of the story in a few words. 

A year from that time Madam Le Baron died; and a few weeks after herdeath, a parcel came for me from Hillton. 

Opening it in great wonder, what did I find but the gown, the greensatin gown, with the slippers and fan, and the tortoise-shell combin a leather case! Lifting it reverently from the box, the dress feltsingularly heavy on my arm, and a moment's search revealed a strangematter. The pocket was full of gold pieces, shining half-eagles, which fell about me in a golden shower, and made me cry out withamazement; but this was not all! The tears sprang to my eyes as Iopened the morocco box and took out the chrysoprase necklace: tearspartly of gratitude and pleasure, partly of sheer kindness and loveand sorrow for the sweet, stately lady who had thought of me in herclosing days, and had found (they told me afterward) one of her lastpleasures in planning this surprise for me. 

There is something more that I might say, my dear. Your dear fatherwas one of that gay sleighing party; and he often speaks of thefirst time he saw me--when I was coming down the stairs in the greensatin gown. 

BLUE EGYPTIANS [1]

A PAPER-MILL STORY

"I wouldn't, Lena!"

"Well, I guess I shall!"

"Don't, Lena! please don't! you will be sorry, I am sure, if you doit. It cannot bring good, I know it cannot!"

"The idea! Mary Denison, you are too old-fashioned for anything. I'dlike to know what harm it can do. "

The rag-room was nearly deserted. The whistle had blown, and most ofthe girls had hurried away to their dinner. Two only lingered behind, deep in conversation; Mary Denison and Lena Laxen. 

Mary was sitting by her sorting-table, busily sorting rags as shetalked. She was a fair, slender girl, and looked wonderfully freshand trim in her gray print gown, with a cap of the same materialfitting close to her head, and hiding her pretty hair. The othergirl was dark and vivacious, with laughing black eyes and a carelessmouth. She was picturesque enough in her blue dress, with thescarlet handkerchief tied loosely over her hair; but both kerchiefand dress showed the dust plainly, and the dark locks that escapedhere and there were dusty too, showing little of the care that maykeep one neat even in a rag-room. 

"It's just as pretty as it can be!" Lena went on, half-coaxing, half-defiant. "You ought to see it, Mame! A silk waist, every bit asgood as new, only of course it's mussed up, lying in the bag; and askirt, and lots of other things, all as nice as nice! I can't thinkwhat the folks that had them meant, putting such things into the rags:why, that waist hadn't much more than come out of the shop, youmight say. And do you think I'm going to let it go through the duster, and then be thrown out, and somebody else get it? No, sir! and it'sno good for rags, you know it isn't, Mary Denison. "

"I know that it is not yours, Lena, nor mine!" said Mary, steadily. "But I'll tell you what you might do; go straight to Mr. Gordon, andtell him about the pretty waist, --very likely it got in by mistake, --tell him it is no good for rags, and ask if you may have it. Likeas not he'll let you have it; and if not, you will find out what hisreason is. I think we ought to suppose he has some reason for whathe does. "

Lena laughed spitefully. 

"Like as not he's going to take it home to his own girl!" she said. "I saw her in the street the other day, and I wouldn't have beenseen dead with the hat she had on; not a flower, nor even a scrap ofa feather; just a plain band and a goose-quill stuck in it. Realpoorhouse, I thought it looked, and he as rich as a Jew. I guess Isha'n't go to Mr. Gordon; he's just as hateful as he can be. He gaveout word that no one was to touch that bag, nor so much as go near it;and he had it set off in a corner of the outer shed, close by thechloride barrels, so that everything in it will smell like poison. If that isn't mean, I don't know what is. 

"Well, I can't stay here all day, Mame. Aren't you coming?"

"Pretty soon!" said Mary. "Don't wait for me, Lena! I want to finishthis stint, so as to have the afternoon off. Mother's poorly to-day, and I want to cook something nice for her supper. "

Lena nodded and went out, shutting the door with a defiant swing. Mary looked after her doubtfully, as if hesitating whether she oughtnot to follow and make some stronger plea; but the next moment shebent over her work again. 

"I must hurry!" she said. "I'll see Lena after dinner, and try tomake her promise not to touch that bag. I don't see what has gotinto her. "

Mary worked away steadily. The rags were piled in an iron sievebefore her; they were mostly the kind called "Blue Egyptians, "cotton cloth dyed with indigo, which had come far across the sea fromEgypt. Musty and fusty enough they were, and Mary often turned herhead aside as she sorted them carefully, putting the good rags intoa huge basket that stood beside her on the floor, while the bits ofwoollen cloth, of paper and string and other refuse, went intodifferent compartments of the sorting-table, which was somethinglike an old-fashioned box-desk. 

Mary was a quick worker, and her basket was already nearly full ofrags. Fastened upright beside her seat was a great knife, not unlikea scythe-blade, with which she cut off the buttons and hooks and eyes, running the garment along the keen edge with a quick and practisedhand. Usually she amused herself by imagining stories about thebuttons and their former owners, for she was a fanciful girl, andher child-life, without brothers or sisters, had bred in her thehabit of solitary play and "make-believe, " which clung to her nowthat she was a tall girl of sixteen. But to-day she was not thinkingof the Blue Egyptians. Her thoughts were following Lena on herhomeward way, and she was hoping devoutly that her own words mighthave had some effect, and that Lena might pass by the forbidden bagwithout lingering to be further tempted. It _was_ strange that thisone special bundle of rags, coming from a village at some distance, should have been kept apart when the day's allowance was put intothe dusters. But--"Mother always says we ought to suppose there is areason for things!" she said to herself. And she shook her headresolutely, and tried to make a "button-play. "

She pulled from the heap before her a dark blue garment, and turnedit over, examining it carefully. It seemed to be a woman's jacket. It was of finer material than most of the "Egyptians, " and thefashion was quaint and graceful. There were remnants of embroideryhere and there, and the heavy glass buttons were like nothing Maryhad ever seen before. 

"I'll keep these, " she said, "for little Jessie Brown; she will bedelighted with them. That child does make so much out of so little, I'm fairly ashamed sometimes. These will be a fortune to Jessie. I'll tell her that I think most likely they belonged to a princesswhen they were new; they were up and down the front of a dress ofgold cloth trimmed with pearls, and she looked perfectly beautifulwhen she had it on, and the Prince of the Fortunate Islands fell inlove with her. "

Buttons were a regular perquisite of the rag-girls in the CumquotMill; indeed, any trifle, coin, or seal, or medal, was consideredthe property of the finder, this being an unwritten law of therag-room. 

Mary cut the buttons off, and slipped them into her pocket; then sheran her fingers round the edge of the jacket, in case there were anyhooks or other hard substance that had escaped her notice, and thatmight blunt the knives of the cutter, into which it would next go. 

In a corner of the lining, her fingers met something hard. Here wassome object that had slipped down between the stuff and the lining, and must be cut out. Mary ran the jacket along the cutting-knife, and something rolled into her lap. Not a button this time! she heldit up to the light, and examined it curiously. It was a brooch, ofglass, or clear stones, in a tarnished silver setting. Dim and dusty, it still seemed full of light, and glanced in the sun as Mary heldit up. 

"What a pretty thing!" she said. "I wonder if it is glass. I musttake this to Mr. Gordon, for I never found anything like it before. Jessie cannot have this. "

She laid it carefully aside, and went on with her sorting, workingso quickly that in a few moments the sieve was empty, and the basketpiled with good cotton rags, ready for the cutting-machine. 

Taking her hat and shawl, Mary passed out, holding the broochcarefully in her hand. There were few people in the mill, only themachine-tenders, walking leisurely up and down beside their machines, which whirred and droned on, regardless of dinnertime. The greatrollers went round and round, the broad white streams flowed on andon over the screens, till the mysterious moment came when theyceased to be wet pulp and became paper. 

Mary hardly glanced at the wonderful machines; they were an oldstory to her, though in every throb they were telling over and overthe marvellous works of man. The machine-tenders nodded kindly inreturn to her modest greeting, and looked after her with approval, and said, "Nice gal!" to each other; but Mary hurried on until shecame to the finishing-room. Here she hoped to find a friend whom shecould consult about her discovery; and, sure enough, old JamesGregory was sitting on his accustomed stool, tying bundles of paperwith the perfection that no one else could equal. His back wasturned to the door, and he was crooning a fragment of an oldpaper-mill song, which might have been composed by the beatingengine itself, so rhythmic and monotonous it was. 

 "'Gene, 'Gene, Made a machine; Joe, Joe, Made it go; Frank, Frank, Turned the crank, His mother came out, And gave him a spank, And knocked him over The garden bank. "

At Mary's cheerful "Good morning, Mr. Gregory!" the old man turnedslowly, and looked at the young girl with friendly eyes. 

"Good day, Mary! glad to see ye! goin' along home?"

"In just a minute! I want to show you something, Mr. Gregory, and toask your advice, please. "

The old finisher turned completely round this time, and looked hisinterest. Mary opened her hand, and displayed the brooch she hadfound. 

James Gregory drew his lips into the form of a whistle, but made nosound. He looked from the brooch to Mary, and back again. 

"Well?" he said. 

"I found it in the rags; blue Egyptians, you know, Mr. Gregory. Itwas inside the lining of a jacket. Do you think--what do you thinkabout it? is it glass, or--something else?"

Gregory took the ornament from her, and held it up to the light, screwing his eyes to little points of light; then he polished it onhis sleeve, and held it up again. 

[Illustration: "GREGORY POLISHED IT ON HIS SLEEVE, AND HELD IT UPAGAIN. "]

"Something else!" he said, briefly. 

"Is it--do you think it might be worth something, Mr. Gregory?"asked Mary, rather timidly. 

"Yes!" roared Gregory, with a sudden explosion. "I do! I b'lievethem's di'monds, sure as here I sit. Mary Denison, you've struck itthis time, or I'm a Dutchman. "

He got off his stool in great excitement, and walked up and down theroom, still holding the brooch in his hand. Mary looked after him, and her face was very pale. She said one word softly, "Mother!" thatwas all. 

Mary Denison and her mother were poor. Mrs. Denison was far fromstrong, and they had no easy time of it, for there was little saveMary's wages to feed and clothe the two women and pay their rent. James Gregory knew all this; his pale old face was lighted withemotion, and he stumped up and down the room at a rapid pace. 

Suddenly he stopped, and faced the anxious girl, who was followinghim with bewildered eyes. 

"Findin's havin'!" he said, abruptly. "That's paper-mill law. Somefolks would tell ye to keep this to yourself, and sell it for whatyou could get. "

Mary's face flushed. 

"But you do not tell me that!" she said, quietly. 

"No!" roared the old man, with another explosion, stamping violentlyon the floor. "No, I don't. You're poor as spring snakes, and yourmother's sickly, and you've hard work to get enough to keep theflesh on your bones; but I don't tell ye to do that. I tell ye totake it straight to the Old Man, and tell him where ye found it, andall about it. I've knowed him ever since his mustash growed, andbefore. You go straight to him! He's in the office now. "

"I was going!" said Mary, simply. "I thought I'd come and see youfirst, Mr. Gregory, you've always been so good to mother and me. You--you couldn't manage to come with me, could you? I am afraid ofMr. Gordon; I can't help it, though he is always pleasant to me. "

"I'll go!" said old James, with alacrity. "You come right along withme!"

In his eagerness he seized Mary by the arm, and kept his hold on heras they passed out through the mill. The few "hands" who were atwork here and there gazed after them in amazement; for the old manwas dragging the girl along as if he had caught her in some offence, and was going to deliver her up to justice. 

The same impression was made in the office, when the pair appearedthere. The two clerks stared open-mouthed, and judged after theirnature; for one of them said, instantly, to himself, "It's a mistake!"while the other said, "I always knew that Denison girl was too piousto last!"

A tall man who sat at a desk in the corner looked up quietly. 

"Ah, Gregory!" he said. "What is it? Mary Denison? Good morning, Mary!Anything wrong in the rag-room?"

Gregory waved his hat excitedly. 

"If you'd look here, sir!" he said. "If you would just cast your eyeover that article, and tell this gal what you think of it! BlueEgyptians, sir! luckiest rags that ever come into this mill, I'vealways said. Well, sir?"

Mr. Gordon was not easily stirred to excitement. It seemed an age tothe anxious girl and the impetuous old man, as he turned the broochover and over, holding it up in every light, polishing it, breathingon it, then polishing it again. Gregory's hands twitched witheagerness, and Mary felt almost faint with suspense. 

"You found this in the rags?" he asked at length, turning to Mary. He spoke in his ordinary even tone, and Mary's heart sank, she couldnot have told why. 

"Yes, sir!" she faltered. "I found it in a blue jacket. It was inbetween the stuff and the lining. There were glass buttons on thejacket. "

She drew them from her pocket and held them out; but Mr. Gordon, after a glance, waved them back. 

"Those are of no value!" he said. "About this brooch, I am not sosure. The stones may be real stones--I incline to think they are;but it is possible that they may be paste. The imitations aresometimes very perfect; no one but a jeweller can tell positively. Iwill take it to Boston with me to-morrow, and have it examined. "

He dropped the brooch into a drawer at his side, turned the key andput it in his pocket, all in his quiet, methodical way, as if hewere in the habit of examining diamond brooches every day; then henodded kindly to the pair, and bent over his papers again. 

Mary went out silently, and Gregory followed her with a dazed lookon his strong features. He looked back at the door two or three times, but said nothing till they were back in the finishing-room. 

Then--"It's one of his days!" he said. "I've knowed him ever sincehis mustash growed, and there's days when he's struck with a dumbsperit, just like Scriptur'. Don't you fret, Mary! He'll see yourighted, or I'll give you my head. "

Mary might have thought that Mr. Gregory's head would be of littleuse to her without the rest of him. She felt sadly dashed anddisappointed. She hardly knew what she had expected, but it wassomething very different from this calm, every-day reception, thistotal disregard of her own and her companion's excitement. 

"I guess he thinks they're nothing great!" she said, wearily. "What was that he said about paste, Mr. Gregory? You never saw anypaste like that, did you?

"No!" said Gregory, "I've heered of Di'mond Glue, but 'twan'tnothin' like stones--nor glass neither. You may run me through thecalenders if I know what he's drivin' at. But I'll trust him!" headded, vehemently. "I done right to tell you to go to him. He's inone of his moods to-day, but you'll hear from him, if there'sanything to hear, now mark my words! And now I'd go home, if I wasyou, and see your ma'am, and get your dinner. And--Mary--I dono asI'd say anything about this, if I was you. Things get round so in amill, ye know. "

Mary nodded assurance, and went home, trying to feel that nothing ofimportance had happened. Do what she would, however, the goldenvisions would come dancing before her eyes. Suppose--suppose thestones should be real, after all! and suppose Mr. Gordon should giveher a part, at least, of the money they might bring in Boston. Itmight--she knew diamonds were valuable--it might be thirty or fortydollars. Oh! how rich she would be! The rent could be paid some timein advance, and her mother could have the new shawl she needed sobadly: or would a cloak be better? cloaks were more in fashion, butMother said a good shawl was always good style. 

Turning the corner by her mother's house, she met one of the clerkswho had been in the office when she went in there. He looked at herwith the smile she always disliked, she hardly knew why. 

"You did the wrong thing that time, Miss Denison!" he said. 

"What do you mean, Mr. Hitchcock?" asked Mary. 

"You'll never see your diamonds again, nor the money for them!"replied the man. "That's easy guessing. He'll come back and tell youthey're glass or paste, and that's the last you'll hear of them. Andthe diamonds--for they are diamonds, right enough--will go into hispocket, or on to his wife's neck. I know what's what! I wasn't borndown in these parts. "

"You don't know Mr. Gordon!" said Mary, warmly. "That isn't the wayhe is thought of by those who do know him. "

The clerk was a newcomer from another State, and was not liked bythe mill-workers. 

"I know his kind!" he said, with a sneer; "and they're no good toyour kind, Mary Denison, nor to mine. Mark my words, you'll hear nomore of that breastpin. "

Mary turned away so decidedly that he said no more, but his eyesfollowed her with a sinister look. 

Next moment he was greeting Lena Laxen cordially, and she wasdimpling and smiling all over at his compliments. Lena thoughtMr. Hitchcock "just elegant!" and believed that Mary was jealous whenshe said she did not like him. Something now prompted her to tellhim about the silk waist in the forbidden sack; he took her view atonce and zealously. The boss (for he did not use the kindly title of"Old Man, " by which the other mill-hands designated Mr. Gordon, though he was barely forty) had his eye on the things, most likely, as he had on the pin Mary Denison found. Hadn't Lena heard about that?Well, it was a burning shame, he could tell her; he would see thatshe, Lena, wasn't fooled that way. And Lena, listening eagerly, heard a story very different from that which had been told toMr. Gordon. 

In an hour the whole mill knew that Mary Denison had found a diamondpin in the rags, and that Mr. Gordon had told her it was nothing buthard glue, and had sold it himself in Boston for a thousand dollars, and spent the money on a new horse. 

Nor was this all! Late that evening Lena Laxen stole from her homewith a shawl over her head, and met the clerk by the corner of theouter shed. A few minutes of whispering and giggling, and she stoleback, with a bundle under her shawl; while Hitchcock tied a brightsilk handkerchief round his neck, and strutted off with the air of aconqueror. 

Next morning, as Mary Denison was going to her work, Lena rapped onthe window, and called her attention by signs to the bodice she hadon. It was a gay striped silk, little worn, but still showing, inspite of pressing, the marks of crumpling and tossing. The brightcolors suited Lena's dark skin well, and as she stood there withflushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, Mary thought she had never seenher look prettier. At first she nodded and smiled in approval; butthe next moment a thought darted into her mind that made her claspher hands, and cry anxiously:

"Oh! Lena, you didn't do it! you never did it! it's not _that_ waistyou have on?"

Lena affected not to hear. She only nodded and laughed triumphantly, and turned away, leaving Mary standing pale and distressed outsidethe window. 

Mary hesitated. Should she go in and reason further with the wilfulgirl, and try to persuade her to restore the stolen garment?Something told her it would be useless; but still she was on thepoint of going in, when old James Gregory came by, and asked her towalk on with him. 

She complied, but not without an anxious look back at the window, where no one was now to be seen. 

"Well, May, " said Gregory, "how're ye feelin' to-day? hearty? that'sclever! I hope you wasn't frettin' about that pin any. Most girlswould, but you ain't the fool kind. "

"I don't know, Mr. Gregory!" said Mary, laughing. "I'm afraid I havethought about it more or less, but I haven't been fretting. Where'sthe use?"

"Jes' so! jes' so!" assented the old man, with alacrity. 

"And I didn't say anything to Mother, " Mary went on. "I didn't wanther to know about it unless something was really coming of it. PoorMother! she has enough to think about. "

"She has so!" said Gregory. "A sight o' thinkin' your mother doos, Mary, and good thoughts, every one of 'em, I'll bet my next pay. She's a good woman, your mother; I guess likely you know it withoutme sayin' so. I call Susan Denison the best woman I know, and I'vetold my wife so, more times than she says she has any occasion for. I don't say she's an angel, but she's a good woman, and that's as furas we're likely to get in this world. 

"But that ain't what I wanted to say to you, May! Somehow or 'nother, the story's got round about your findin' that pin yesterday. Youdidn't say nothin'?"

"Not a word!" said Mary. "How could it--"

"'Twas that pison Hitchcock, I expect!" said Gregory. "I see himlookin' up with his little eyes, as red as a ferret, and as ugly. Ibet he started the hull thing; and he's tacked on a passel of lies, and the endurin' place is hummin' with it. Thought I'd tell yebefore ye went in, so's ye could fix up a little what to say. "

Mary thanked him cordially, and passed on into the mill: the old manlooked after her with a very friendly glance in his keen blue eyes. 

"She's good stuff, May is!" he murmured. "Good stuff, like her mother. 

"Folks is like rags, however you look at 'em. Take a good linen rag, no matter how black it is, and put it through the washers, and thebleachers, and the cutters, and all the time it's gettin' whiter andwhiter, and sweeter and sweeter, the more you bang it round; till atlast you have bank-note paper, and write to the Queen of England onit, if you're a mind to, and she won't have none better. And takejute or shoddy, and the minute you touch to wash it, it cockles up, or drops to pieces, and it ain't no good to mortal man. Jest likefolks, I tell ye! and May and her mother's pure linen clippin's, ifever I see 'em. "

Forewarned is forearmed, and Mary met quietly the buzz of inquirythat greeted her when she entered the rag-room. The girls crowdedround her, the men were not far behind. To each and all Mary told thesimple truth, trying not to say a word too much. "The tongue is afire!" her mother's favorite text, was constantly in her mind, andshe was determined that no ill word should be spoken of Mr. Gordon, if she could help it. Almost every one in the mill liked andrespected the "Old Man;" but the human mind loves a sensation, andLena and Hitchcock had told their story so vividly the day beforethat Mary's account seemed tame and dull beside it; and some of thehands preferred to think that "Mame Denison was a sly one, andwarn't goin' to let on, fear some one'd git ahead of her. "

Lena, who came shortly, in her usual dress, fostered this feeling, not from malice, but from sheer love of excitement and gossip. Inspite of Mary's efforts, the excitement increased, and when, late inthe afternoon, word came that Mary Denison was wanted in the office, the rag-room was left fairly bubbling with wild surmise. 

Mr. Gordon did not see Mary when she came in. He was standing at hisdesk, with an open letter in his hand, and his face was disturbed ashe spoke to the senior clerk. 

"Myers, it is as I feared about that bag of rags from Blankton. Youhave kept it carefully tied up, and close by the chlorides, as Itold you?"

Myers, a clear-eyed, honest-browed man, looked troubled. 

"I did, sir!" he said. "I have looked at the bag every time I passedthat way, and have cautioned every one in the mill not to go near it, besides keeping the shed-gate locked; but this morning I found thatit had been tampered with, and evidently something taken out. I hopethere is nothing wrong, sir!"

George Gordon struck his hand heavily on the desk. "Wrong!" herepeated. "There have been two fatal cases of smallpox in Blankton, and that bag has been traced to the house where they were. "

There was a moment of deathly silence. He went on:

"I suspected something wrong, the moment you told me of things thatlooked new and good; but I did not want to raise a panic in the mill, when there might be some other explanation. I thought I had takenevery precaution--what is that?"

He turned quickly, hearing a low cry behind him. Mary Denison wasstanding with clasped hands, her face white with terror. 

"Mary!" said Mr. Gordon, in amazement. "You--surely you have hadnothing to do with this?"

"No, sir!" cried Mary. "Oh, no, Mr. Gordon, indeed I have not. But Ifear--I fear I know who has. Oh, poor thing! poor Lena!"

Then, with an impulse she could not explain, she turned suddenlyupon Hitchcock. 

"Who let Lena Laxen into the yard last night?" she cried. "She couldnot have got in without help. You had a key--you were talking to herafter I left her yesterday. Oh! look at him, Mr. Gordon! Mr. Myers, look at that man!"

But Hitchcock did not seem to hear or heed her. He sat crouched overhis desk, his face a greenish-gray color, his eyes staring, hishands clutching the woodwork convulsively; an awful figure of terror, that gasped and cowered before them. Then suddenly, with a cry thatrattled in his throat, he dashed from his seat and ran bareheadedout of the door. 

Myers started up to pursue him, but Mr. Gordon held up his hand. 

"Let him go!" he said, sternly. "It may be that he carries hispunishment with him. In any case we shall see him no more. "

Quickly and quietly he gave Myers his orders; to take Lena Laxen toher home, notify the physician, and proclaim a strict quarantine; toburn the infected rags without loss of time; to have every part ofthe shed where the fatal bag had stood thoroughly disinfected. Whenthe man had hastened away, Mr. Gordon turned to Mary, and his sternface lightened. 

"Do not distress yourself, Mary, " he said, kindly. "It may be thatLena will escape the infection; it seems that she only had thegarment on a few minutes; and you did all you could, I am sure, todissuade her from this piece of fatal and dishonest folly. "

"Oh! I might have said more!" cried Mary, in an agony ofself-reproach. "I meant to go into her house this morning, and tryto make her hear reason; it might not have been too late then. "

"Thank Heaven you did not!" said Mr. Gordon, gravely. "The air ofthe house was probably already infected. No one save the doctor mustgo near that house till all danger of the disease developing is over. "

He then told Mary briefly why he had sent for her. Finding that hecould not go to Boston himself at present, as he had planned, he hadsent the brooch by express to a jeweller whom he knew, and would beable to tell her in a few days whether it was of real value or not. Mary thanked him, but his words fell almost unheeded on her ears. What were jewels or money, in the face of a danger so awful as thatwhich now threatened her friend, and, through her, the whole village?

Days of suspense followed. From the moment when the weeping, agonized Lena was taken home and put, tenderly, pityingly, in hermother's hands (it was Mr. Gordon himself who had done this, refusingto let any other perform the duty), an invisible line was drawnabout the Laxen cottage, which few dared pass. The doctor came andwent, reporting all well to the eager questioners. Mr. Gordon calleddaily to inquire, and every evening Mary Denison stole to the doorwith a paper or magazine for Lena and her mother, or some home-madedelicacy that might please the imprisoned girl. Lena was usually atthe window, sometimes defiant and blustering, sometimes wild withfright, sometimes again crying for sheer loneliness and vexation;but always behind her was her mother's pale face of dread, and herthin voice saying that Lena was "as well as common, thank ye, " andshe and Mary would exchange glances, and Mary would go away drawingbreath, and thanking the Lord that another day was gone. 

So on, for nine anxious days; but on the tenth, when Mary looked upat the window, the mother stood there alone, crying; and the doctor, coming out of the house at the moment, told Mary harshly to keep awayfrom him, and not to come so near the house. 

In the dreadful days that followed, his people learned to knowGeorge Gordon as they had never known him before. The grave, silentman, who never spoke save when speech was necessary, was now amongthem every day, going from room to room with cheerful greetings, encouraging, heartening, raising the drooping spirits, and rebukingsharply the croakers, who foretold with dismal unction a generalepidemic. While taking every possible precaution, he made light ofthe actual danger, and by his presence and influence warded off thepanic which might have brought about the dreaded result. 

As a matter of fact, there were no more cases in the mill; and Lenaherself had the terrible disease more lightly than any one had daredto hope. The doctor, hurrying through back ways and alleys to changehis clothes and take his bath of disinfectants, was hailed from backgates and windows at every step; and he never failed to return acheery "Doing well! out of it soon now! No, not much marked, only afew spots here and there. "

This was when he left the quarantined house; but when he sought it, he might be seen to stop at one gate and another, picking up here ajar, there a bowl, here again a paper bag; till by the time hereached the Laxen gate he stood out all over with packages like asummer Santa Claus. 

"There ain't anybody goin' to starve round here, if they _have_ gotthe smallpox!" was the general verdict, voiced by James Gregory, andwhen he added, for the benefit of the mill-yard, that he had heardMr. Gordon order ice-cream, oranges, and oysters, all at once, forLena, a growl of pleasure went round, which deepened into a hearty"What's the matter with the Old Man? _he's_ all right!"

At length, one happy day, Mary Denison met Mr. Gordon at the Laxens'gate, and heard the good news that Lena was sitting up; that in aday or two now the quarantine would be taken off, the housedisinfected, and Lena back in her place at the mill. The managerlooked with satisfaction at Mary's beaming face of happiness; then, as she was turning away to spread the good tidings, he said:

"Wait a moment, Mary! I have some other news for you. Have youforgotten the brooch that you found in the Blue Egyptians?"

The color rushed to Mary's face, and Mr. Gordon had his answer. 

"Because, " he added, "I have not forgotten, though you might wellthink I had done so. All this sad business has delayed matters, butnow I have it all arranged. I am ready to-day, Mary, to give youeither the brooch itself, or--what I think will be better--fivehundred dollars, the sum I find it to be worth. Yes, my child, I amspeaking the truth! The stones are fine ones, and the Bostonjeweller offers you that sum for them. Well, Mary, have you nothingto say? What, crying? this will never do!"

But Mary had nothing to say, and she was crying, because she couldnot help it. Presently she managed to murmur something about"Too much! too great kindness--not fair for her to have it all!" butMr. Gordon cut her short. 

"Certainly you are to have it all, every penny of it! Finding'shaving! that is paper-mill law; ask James Gregory if it is not!There comes James this moment; go and tell him of your good fortune, and let him bring you up to my house this evening to get the money. 

"But, Mary, "--he glanced at a letter in his hand, and his face, which had been bright with kindness and pleasure, grew very grave, --"there is something else for you to tell James, and all the hands. James Hitchcock died yesterday, of malignant smallpox!"

[Footnote 1: The main incidents in this story are founded on fact. ]

LITTLE BENJAMIN

 "Then is little Benjamin their ruler. "

"I THINK the kitty wants to come in, " said Mother Golden. "I hearhim crying somewhere. Won't you go and let him in, Adam?"

Adam laid down his book and went out; the whole family looked upcheerfully, expecting to see Aladdin, the great Maltese cat, enterwith his stately port. There was a pause; then Adam came back with awhite, scared face, and looked at his father without speaking. 

"What is the matter, my son?" asked Father Golden. 

"Is Kitty hurt?" asked Mother Golden, anxiously. 

"Was it that dog of Jackson's?" cried Lemuel, Mary, Ruth, and Joseph. 

"The cat isn't there!" said Adam. "It's--it's a basket, father. "

"A basket? What does the boy mean?"

"A long basket, with something white inside; and--it's crying!"

The boy had left the door open, and at this moment a sound camethrough it, a long, low, plaintive cry. 

"My heart!" said Mother Golden; and she was out of the door in aflash. 

"See there now!" said Father Golden, reprovingly. "Your mother'ssmarter than any of you to-day. Go and help her, some of you!"

The children tumbled headlong toward the door, but were met byMother Golden returning, bearing in her strong arms a long basket, in which was indeed something white and fluffy that cried. 

[Illustration: "'A LONG BASKET WITH SOMETHING WHITE INSIDE;AND--IT'S CRYING!'"]

"A baby!" exclaimed Father Golden. 

"A baby!" echoed Mary, Lemuel, Ruth, and Joseph. 

"Well, I knew it was a baby, " protested Adam; "but I didn't like tosay so. "

Mother Golden lifted the child out and held it in a certain way; thecries ceased, and the little creature nestled close against her andlooked up in her face. 

"My heart!" said Mother Golden again. "Come here, girls!"

The girls pressed forward eagerly; the boys hung back, and glancedat their father; these were women's matters. 

"It's got hair!" cried Ruth, in rapture. "Mother! real hair, and itcurls; see it curl!"

"Look at its little hands!" murmured Mary. "They're like pink shells, only soft. Oh! see it move them, Ruth!" She caught her sister's armin a sudden movement of delight. 

"Oh, mother, mayn't we keep it?" cried both girls at once. 

Mother Golden was examining the baby's clothes. 

"Cambric slip, fine enough, but not so terrible fine. Flannel blanket, machine-embroidered--stop! here's a note. "

She opened a folded paper, and read a few words, written in acarefully rough hand. 

"His mother is dead, his father a waif. Ask the woman with the kindeyes to take care of him, for Christ's sake. "

"My heart!" said Mother Golden, again. 

"It's a boy, then!" said Father Golden, brightening perceptibly. Hecame forward, the boys edging forward too, encouraged by anothermasculine presence. 

"It's a boy, and a beauty!" said Mother Golden, wiping her eyes. "I never see a prettier child. Poor mother, to have to go and leavehim. Father, what do you say?"

"It's for you to say, mother;" said Father Golden. "It's to you thechild was sent. "

"Do you suppose 'twas me that was meant? They might have mistaken thehouse. "

"Don't talk foolishness!" said Father Golden. "The question is, whatshall we do with it? There's places, a plenty, where foundlings havethe best of bringing up; and you've got care enough, as it is, mother, without taking on any more. "

"Oh! we could help!" cried Mary. "I could wash and dress it, I knowI could, and I'd just love to. "

"So could I!" said twelve-year-old Ruth. "We'd take turns, Mary and I. Do let's keep it, mother!"

"It's a great responsibility!" said Father Golden. 

"Great Jemima!" said Mother Golden, with a sniff. "If I couldn'ttake the responsibility of a baby, I'd give up. "

Father Golden's mind moved slowly, and while he was meditating areply, his wife issued various commands, and went through someintricate feminine manoeuvres, with the effect of increasedfluffiness on the baby's part. In five minutes she was feeding thechild with warm milk from a spoon, and proclaiming that he ate"like a Major!"

The boys, gaining more and more confidence, were now close at herknee, and watched the process with eager eyes. 

"He's swallering like anything!" cried Lemuel. "I can see him do itwith his throat, same as anybody. "

"See him grab the spoon!" said Joseph. "My! ain't he strong? Can hetalk, mother?"

"Joe, you chuckle-head!" said Adam, who was sixteen, and knew mostthings. "How can he talk, when he hasn't got any teeth?"

"Uncle 'Rastus hasn't got any teeth, " retorted Joseph, "and he talkslike a buzz-saw. "

"Hush, Joseph!" said Mother Golden, reprovingly. "Your Uncle 'Rastusis a man of years. "

"Yes, mother!" said Joseph, meekly. 

"Baby _has_ got a tooth, too, Adam!" Mother Golden continued, triumphantly. "I feel it pricking through the gum this minute. Andhe so good, and laughing like a sunflower! Did it hurt him, then, alittle precious man? he shall have a nice ring to-morrow day, tobitey on, so he shall!"

"I suppose, then, he must be as much as a week old, " hazarded Adam, in an offhand tone. "They are never born with teeth, are they, unless they are going to be Richard the Thirds, or somethingwonderful?"

"Perhaps he is!" said Ruth. "He looks wonderful enough for Richardthe Twentieth, or anything. "

But--"A week old!" said Mother Golden. "It's time there was a baby inthis house, if you don't know better than that, Adam. About sixmonths old I call him, and as pretty a child as ever I saw, even myown. "

She looked half-defiantly at Father Golden, who returned the lookwith one of mild deprecation. 

"I was only thinking of the care 'twould be to you, mother, " he said. "We're bound to make inquiries, and report the case, and so forth;but if nothing comes of that, we might keep the child for a spell, and see how things turn out. "

"That's what I was thinking!" said Mother Golden, eagerly. "I wasthinking anyway, Joel, 'twould be best to keep him through histeething and stomach troubles, and give him a good start in the wayof proper food and nursing. At them homes and nurseries, they meanwell, but the most of them's young, and they _don't_ understand achild's stomach. It's experience they need, not good-will, I'm wellaware. Of course, when Baby begun to be a boy, things might bedifferent. You work hard enough as it is, father, and there's places, no doubt, could do better for him, maybe, than what we could. But--well, seeing whose name he come in, I _do_ feel to see himthrough his teething. "

"Children, what do you say?" asked Father Golden. "You're old enoughto have your opinion, even the youngest of you. "

"Oh, keep him! keep him!" clamored the three younger children. 

Adam and Lemuel exchanged a glance of grave inquiry. 

"I guess he'd better stay, father!" said Adam. 

"I think so, too!" said Lemuel; and both gave something like a sighof relief. 

"Then that's settled, " said Father Golden, "saying and supposingthat no objection turns up. Next thing is, what shall we call thischild?"

All eyes were fixed on the baby, who, now full of warm milk, satthroned on Mother Golden's knee, blinking content. 

It was a pretty picture: the rosy, dimpled creature, the yellowfloss ruffled all over his head, his absurd little mouth open in abeaming smile; beaming above him, Mother Golden's placid face in itsframe of silver hair; fronting them, Father Golden in his bigleather chair, solid, comfortable, benevolent; and the five children, their honest, sober faces lighted up with unusual excitement. Apleasant, homelike picture. Nothing remarkable in the way of setting;the room, with its stuffed chairs, its tidies, and cabinet organ, wasonly unlike other such rooms from the fact that Mother Goldenhabitually sat in it; she could keep even haircloth from beingcommonplace. But now, all the light in the room seemed to centre onthe yellow flossy curls against her breast. 

"A-goo!" said the baby, in a winning gurgle. 

"He says his name's Goo!" announced Joseph. 

"Don't be a chuckle-head, Joe!" said Adam. "What was the name on thepaper, mother?"

"It said 'his father is a Waif;' but I don't take that to be aChristian name. Surname, more likely, shouldn't you say, father?"

"Not a Christian name, certainly, " said Father Golden. "Not much ofa name anyhow, 'pears to me. We'd better give the child a suitablename, mother, saying and supposing no objection turns up. Cominginto a Christian family, let him have Christian baptism, I say. "

"Oh, call him Arthur!"

"Bill!"

"Richard!"

"Charlie!"

"Reginald!" cried the children in chorus. 

"I do love a Bible name!" said Mother Golden, pensively. "It gives achild a good start, so to say, and makes him think when he hearshimself named, or ought so to do. All our own children has Biblenames, father; don't let us cut the little stranger off from hisprivilege. "

"But Bible names are so ugly!" objected Lemuel, who was sensitive, and suffered under his own cognomen. 

"Son, " said Father Golden, "your mother chooses the names in thisfamily. "

"Yes, father!" said Lemuel. 

"Lemuel, dear, you was named for a king!" said Mother Golden. "He was a good boy to his mother, and so are you. Bring the Bible, and let us see what it opens at. Joseph, you are the youngest, youshall open it. "

Joseph opened the great brown leather Bible, and closing his eyes, laid his hand on the page; then looking down, he read:

"'There is little Benjamin their ruler, and the princes of Judahtheir council: the princes of Zebulun and the princes of Nephtali. '"

"Zebulun and Nephtali are outlandish-sounding names, " said MotherGolden. 

"I never knew but one Nephtali, and he squinted. Benjamin shall bethis child's name. Little Benjamin: the Lord bless and keep him!"

"Amen!" said Father Golden. 

_PART II_. 

"Father, may I come in, if you are not busy?"

It was Mary who spoke; Mary, the dear eldest daughter, now a womangrown, grave and mild, trying hard to fill the place left emptythese two years, since Mother Golden went smiling out of life. 

Father Golden looked up from his book; he was an old man now, buthis eyes were still young and kind. 

"What is it, daughter Mary?"

"The same old story, father dear; Benny in mischief again. This timehe has rubbed soot on all the door-handles, and the whole house isblack with it. I hate to trouble you, father, but I expect you'llhave to speak to him. I do love the child so, I'm not strictenough--I'm ashamed to say it, but they all think so, and I knowit's true--and Adam is too strict. "

"Yes, Adam is too strict, " said Father Golden. He looked at aportrait that stood on his desk, a framed photograph of Mother Golden. 

"I'll speak to the child, Mary, " he said. "I'll see that this doesnot happen again. What is it, Ruthie?"

"I was looking for Mary, father. I wanted--oh, Mary! what shall I dowith Benny? he has tied Rover and the cat together by their tails, and they are rushing all about the garden almost crazy. I mustfinish this work, so I can't attend to it. He says he is playingSamson. I wish you would speak to him, father. "

"I will do so, Ruth, I will do so. Don't be distressed, my daughter. "

"But he is so naughty, father! he is so different from the other boys. Joe never used to play such tricks when he was little. "

"The spring vacation will be over soon now, Ruth, " said Sister Mary. "He is always better when he is at work, and there is so little fora boy to do just at this time of year. "

"I left Joe trying to catch the poor creatures, " said Ruth. "Here he comes now. "

Joe, a tall lad of seventeen, entered with a face of tragedy. 

"Any harm done, Joseph?" asked Father Golden, glancing at theportrait on his desk. 

"It's that kid again, father!" said Joe. "Poor old Rover--"

"Father knows about that, Joe!" said Mary, gently. 

"Did you get them apart?" cried Ruth. 

"Yes, I did, but not till they had smashed most of the glass in thekitchen windows, and trampled all over Mary's geraniums. Somethinghas got to be done about that youngster, father. He's getting to bea perfect nuisance. "

"I am thinking of doing something about him, son Joseph, " said FatherGolden. "Are your brothers in the house?"

"I think I heard them come in just now, sir. Do you want to see them?"

Apparently Adam and Lemuel wanted to see their father, for theyappeared in the doorway at this moment: quiet-looking men, with grave, "set" faces; the hair already beginning to edge away from theirtemples. 

"You are back early from the office, boys!" said Father Golden. 

"We came as soon as we got the message, " said Adam. "I hope nothingis wrong, father. "

"What message, Adam?"

"Didn't you send for us? Benny came running in, all out of breath, and said you wished to see us at once. If he has been playing tricksagain--"

Adam's grave face darkened into sternness. The trick was too evident. 

"Something must be done about that boy, father!" he said. "He is thetorment of the whole family. "

"No one can live a day in peace!" said Lemuel. 

"No dumb creature's life is safe!" said Joe. 

"He breaks everything he lays hands on, " said Ruth, "and he won'tkeep his hands off anything. "

"You were all little once, boys!" said Mary. 

"We never behaved in this kind of way!" said the brothers, sedatefrom their cradles. "Something must be done!"

"You are right, " said Father Golden. "Something must be done. "

Glancing once more at the portrait of Mother Golden, he turned andfaced his children with grave looks. 

"Sit down, sons and daughters!" said the old man. "I have somethingto say to you. "

The young people obeyed, wondering, but not questioning. FatherGolden was head of the house. 

"You all come to me, " said Father Golden, "with complaints of littleBenjamin. It is singular that you should come to-day, for I havebeen waiting for this day to speak to you about the child myself. "

He paused for a moment; then added, weighing his words slowly, aswas his wont when much in earnest, "Ten years ago to-day, that childwas left on our door-step. "

The brothers and sisters uttered an exclamation, half surprised, half acquiescent. 

"It doesn't seem so long!" said Adam. 

"It seems longer!" said Mary. 

"I keep forgetting he came that way!" murmured Joe. 

"I felt doubtful about taking him in, " Father Golden went on. "But your mother wished it; you all wished it. We decided to keephim for a spell, and give him a good start in life, and we have kepthim till now. "

"Of course we have kept him!" said Ruth. 

"Naturally!" said Lemuel. 

Adam and Mary said nothing, but looked earnestly at their father. 

"Little Benjamin is now ten years old, more or less, " said FatherGolden. "You are men and women grown; even Joseph is seventeen. Yourmother has entered into the rest that is reserved for the people ofGod, and I am looking forward in the hope that, not through anymerit of mine, but the merciful grace of God, I may soon be calledto join her. Adam and Lemuel, you are settled in the business, andlooking forward to making homes of your own with worthy young women. Joseph is going to college, which is a new thing in our family, butone I approve, seeing his faculty appears to lie that way. Ruth willmake a first-rate dressmaker, I am told by those who know. Mary--"

His quiet voice faltered. Mary took his hand and kissed itpassionately; a sob broke from her, and she turned her face awayfrom the brothers and sister who loved but did not understand her. They looked at her with grave compassion, but no one would havethought of interrupting Father Golden. 

"Mary, you are the home-maker, " the old man went on. "I hope thatwhen I am gone this home will still be here, with you at the head ofit. You are your mother's own daughter; there is no more to say. " Hewas silent for a time, and then continued. 

"There remains little Benjamin, a child of ten years. He is no kinto us; an orphan, or as good as one; no person has ever claimed him, or ever will. The time has come to decide what shall be done withthe child. "

Again he paused, and looked around. The serious young faces were allintent upon him; in some, the intentness seemed deepening intotrouble, but no one spoke or moved. 

"We have done all that we undertook to do for him, that night wetook him in, and more. We have brought him--I should say your motherbrought him--through his sickly days; we 'most lost him, you remember, when he was two years old, with the croup--and he is now a healthy, hearty child, and will likely make a strong man. He has been welltreated, well fed and clothed, maybe better than he would have beenby his own parents if so't had been. He is turning out wild andmischievous, though he has a good heart, none better; and you all, except Mary, come to me with complaints of him. 

"Now, this thing has gone far enough. One of two things: either thisboy is to be sent away to some institution, to take his place amongother orphans and foundlings, or--he must be one of you for now andalways, to share alike with you while I live, to be bore with andhelped by each and every one of you as if he was your own blood, andto have his share of the property when I am gone. Sons and daughters, this question is for you to decide. I shall say nothing. My life is'most over, yours is just beginning. I have no great amount to leaveyou, but 'twill be comfortable so far as it goes. Benjamin hasone-sixth of that, and becomes my own son, to be received andtreated by you as your own brother, or he goes. "

Mary hid her face in her hands. Adam walked to the window and lookedout; but the other three broke out into a sudden, hurried clamor, strangely at variance with their usual staid demeanor. 

"Oh, father, we couldn't let him go!"

"Why, father, I can't think what you mean!"

"I'm sure, sir, we never thought of such a thing as sending him away. Why, he's our Ben. "

"Good enough little kid, only mischievous. "

"Needs a little governing, that's all. Mary spoils him; no harm inhim, not a mite. "

"And the lovingest little soul! the minute he found that Kitty's pawwas cut, he sat down and cried--"

"I guess if Benny went, I'd go after him pretty quick!" said Joseph, who had been loudest in his complaint against the child. 

Mary looked up and smiled through her tears. "Joe, your heart is inthe right place!" she said. "I finished your shirts this morning, dear; I'm going to begin on your slippers to-night. "

"Well, but, father--"

"Father dear, about little Benny--"

"Yes, sir--poor little Ben!"

"Go easy!" said Father Golden; and his face, as he looked from oneto the other, was as bright as his name. 

"Why, children, you're real excited. I don't want excitement, norcrying--Mary, daughter, I knew how you would feel, anyway. I want aserious word, 'go, ' or 'stay, ' from each one of you; a word thatwill last your lives long. I'll begin with the youngest, becausethat was your mother's way. She always said the youngest was nearestheaven. Joseph, what is your word about little Benjamin?"

"Stay, of course!" cried Joe. "Benny does tease me, but I should benowhere without him. "

"Ruth! you seemed greatly tried just now. Think what you are goingto say. "

"Oh, of course he must stay, father. Why, the child is the life ofthe house. We are all so humdrum and mopy, I don't know what weshould do without Benny to keep us moving. "

"Mary, daughter--not that I need your answer, my dear. "

"He is the only child I shall ever have!" said Mary, simply. 

There was silence for a moment, and all thought of the grave whereher young heart had laid its treasure. 

"Lemuel!"

"I've been hard on the child, Father!" said Lemuel. "He's sodifferent from the rest of us, and he does try me. But mother lovedhim, and down at the bottom we all do, I guess. I say 'stay, ' too, and I'll try to be more of a brother to him from now on. "

"Son Adam, I have left you the longest time to reflect, " said FatherGolden. "You are the oldest, and when I am gone it will be on youand Mary that the heft of the care will come. Take all the time youwant, and then give us your word!"

Adam turned round; his face was very grave, but he spoke cheerfully. 

"I have had time enough, Father, " he said. "I was the first thatheard that little voice, ten years ago, and the first, except mother, that saw the child; 'twould be strange if I were the one to send himaway. He came in Christ's name, and in that name I bid him stay. "

"Amen!" said Father Golden. 

A silence followed; but it was broken soon by a lively whistle, shrilling out a rollicking tune; the next moment a boy came runninginto the room. Curly, rosy, dirty, ragged, laughing, panting, littleBenjamin stood still and looked round on all the earnest, seriousfaces. 

"What's the matter, all you folks?" he asked. "I should think youwas all in meeting, and sermon just beginning. Ruth, I tied upKitty's leg all right; and I'll dig greens to pay for the glass, Joe. Say, Bro'rer-Adam-an'-Lem (Benny pronounced this as if it were oneword), did you forget it was April Fool's Day? Didn't I fool you good?And--say! there's a fierce breeze and my new kite's a buster. Who'llcome out and fly her with me?"

"I will, Benny!" said Adam, Lemuel, Mary, Ruth, and Joseph. 

DON ALONZO

"Don Alonzo! Don Alonzo Pitkin! Where be you?"

There was no answer. 

"Don Alonzo! Deacon Bassett's here, and wishful to see you. DonAlonzo Pit-_kin_!"

Mrs. Joe Pitkin stood at the door a moment, waiting; then she shookher shoulders with a despairing gesture, and went back into thesitting-room. "I don't know where he is, Deacon Bassett, " she said. "There! I'm sorry; but he's so bashful, Don Alonzo is, he'll creepoff and hide anywheres sooner than see folks. I do feel mortified, but I can't seem to help it, no way in the world. "

"No need to, Mis' Pitkin, " said Deacon Bassett, rising slowly andreaching for his hat. "No need to. I should have been pleased to seeDon 'Lonzo, and ask if he got benefit from those pills I left for himlast time I called; what he wants is to doctor reg'lar, and keepstraight on doctorin'. But I can call again; and I felt it a duty tolet you know what's goin' on at your own yard-gate, I may say. Mis'Pegrum's house ain't but a stone's throw from yourn, is it? Well, I'll be wishing you good day, and I hope Joseph will be home beforethere's any trouble. I don't suppose you've noticed whether DonAlonzo has growed any, sence he took those pills?"

"No, I haven't!" said Mrs. Pitkin, shortly. "Good day, Deacon Bassett. "

"Yes, you can call again, " she added, mentally, as she watched thedeacon making his way slowly down the garden walk, stopping thewhile to inspect every plant that looked promising. "You can callagain, but you will not see him, if you come every day. It does beatall, the way folks can't let that boy alone. Talk about his beingcranky! I'd be ten times as cranky as he is, if I was pestered byevery old podogger that's got stuff to sell. "

She closed the door, and addressed the house, apparently empty andstill. "He's gone!" she said, speaking rather loudly, "Don 'Lonzo, he's gone, and you can come out. I expect you're hid somewheresabout here, for I didn't hear you go out. "

There was no sound. She opened the door of the ground-floor bedroomand looked in. All was tidy and pleasant as usual. Every mat lay inits place; the chairs were set against the wall as she loved to seethem; the rows of books, the shelves of chemicals, at which shehardly dared to look, and which she never dared to touch for fearsomething would "go off" and kill her instantly, the specimens intheir tall glass jars, the case of butterflies, all were in theirplace; but there was no sign of life in the room, save the canary inthe window. 

"Deacon Bassett's gone!" she said, speaking to the canary. 

There was a scuffling sound from under the bed; the valance waslifted, and a head emerged cautiously. 

"I tell you he's gone!" repeated Mira Pitkin, rather impatiently. "Come out, Don Alonzo! There! you are foolish, I must say!"

The head came out, followed by a figure. The figure was that of aboy of twelve, but the head belonged to a youth of seventeen. Therounded shoulders, the sharp features, the dark, sunken eyes, alltold a tale of suffering; Don Alonzo Pitkin was a hunchback. 

His pretty, silly mother had given him the foolish name which seemeda perpetual mockery of his feeble person. She had found it in an oldromance, and had only wavered between it and Señor Gonzalez, --whichshe pronounced Seener Gon-zallies, --the other dark-eyed hero of thebook. Perhaps she pictured to herself her baby growing up into suchanother lofty, black-plumed hidalgo as those whose magnificentlanguage and mustachios had so deeply impressed her. It was truethat she herself had pinkish eyes and white eyelashes, while herhusband was familiarly known as "Carrots, "--but what of that?

But he had a fall, this poor baby, --a cruel fall, from theconsequences of which no high-sounding name could save him; and thenpresently the little mother died, and the father married again. 

The boy's childhood had been a sad one, and all the happiness he hadknown had been lately, since his elder brother married. Big, good-natured Joe Pitkin, marrying the prettiest girl in the village, had been sore at heart, even in his new-wedded happiness, at thethought of leaving the deformed, sensitive boy alone with thecareless father and the shrewish stepmother. But his young wife hadbeen the first to say:

"Let Don Alonzo come and live with us, Joe! Where there is room fortwo, there is room for three, and that boy wants to be made of!"

So the strong, cheerful, wholesome young woman took the sickly ladinto her house and heart, and "made of him, " to use her own quaintphrase; and she became mother and sister and sweetheart, all in one, to Don Alonzo. 

Now she stood looking at him, shaking her head, yet smiling. "Don 'Lonzo, how can you behave so?" she asked. "This is the thirdtime Deacon Bassett has been here to see you, and he's coming again;and what be I to say to him next time he comes? You can't go throughlife without seeing folks, you know. "

Don Alonzo shook his shoulders, and pretended to look for dust onhis coat. He would have been deeply mortified to find any, for hetook care of his own room, and prided himself, with reason, on itsneatness. Also, the space beneath his bedstead was cupboard as wellas hiding-place. 

"He troubles me, " he said, meekly. "Deacon Bassett troubles me morethan any of 'em. Did he ask if I'd grown any?"

"Well, he did, " Mira admitted. "But I expect he didn't mean anythingby it. "

"He's asked that ever since I can remember, " said Don Alonzo;"and I'm weary of it. There! And then he says that if I would onlytake his Green Elixir three times a day for three months, I'd growlike a sapling willow. He hopes to make his living out of me, yet!"

Mrs. Pitkin laughed, comfortably, and smoothed the lad's hair backwith a motherly touch. "All the same, " she said, "you must quithiding under the bed when folks come to call, Don 'Lonzo. You don'twant 'em to think I treat you bad, and keep you out o' sight, so'sthey'll not find it out. " Then, seeing the boy's face flush withdistress, she added, hastily, "Besides, you're getting to be 'most aman now; I want strangers should know there's men-folks about theplace, now Joe's away. There's burglars in town, Don 'Lonzo, and wemust look out and keep things shut up close, nights. "

"Burglars!" repeated the youth. 

"Yes; Deacon Bassett was telling me about 'em just now. I guesslikely half what he came for was to give me a good scare, knowingJoe was away. Now, ain't I uncharitable! 'Twas just as likely to bea friendly warning. Anyway, he was telling me they came through fromTupham Corner day before yesterday, and they've been lurking andspying round. "

"Some boys saw them, coming through Green Gully, and were scared todeath at their looks; they said they were big, black-looking men, strangers to these parts; and they swore at the boys and ordered 'emoff real ugly. Nobody else has seen them in honest daylight, butthey broke into Dan'l Brown's house last night. He's deaf, you know, and didn't hear a sound. They came right into the room where he slept, --Deacon Bassett was there the next day, and saw their tracks allover the floor, --and took ten dollars out of his pants pocket. Thepants was hanging right beside the bed, and they turned them cleaninside out, and Dan'l never stirred. "

"My, oh!" exclaimed Don Alonzo. 

"Why, it's terrible!" Mira went on. "Then, last night, they got intoMis' Pegrum's house, too. She's a lone woman, you know, same asDan'l is a man. Seems as if they had took note of every house wherethere wasn't plenty of folks to be stirring and taking notice. Theygot into the pantry window, and took every living thing she had toeat. They might do that, and still go hungry, Deacon Bassett says;you know there's always been a little feeling between him and Mis'Pegrum; her cat and his hens--it's an old story. Well, and she didhear a noise, and came out into the kitchen, and there sat two great, black men, eating her best peach preserves, and the cake she'd madefor the Ladies' Aid, to-day. She was so scare't, she couldn't speaka word; and they just laughed and told her to go back to bed, andshe went. Poor-spirited, it seems, but I don't know as I should havedone a bit better in her place. There! I wish Joe'd come back! Ifeel real nervous, hearing about it all. Oh, and her gold watch, too, they got, and three solid silver teaspoons that belonged to hermother. She's sick abed, Deacon Bassett says, and I don't wonder. Idon't feel as if I should sleep a wink to-night!"

The color came into Don Alonzo's thin cheeks. "There sha'n't no onedo you any hurt while I'm round, Mira!" he said; and for a moment heforgot his deformity, and straightened his poor shoulders, and heldup his head like a man. 

There was no shade of amusement in Mira Pitkin's honest smile. "I expect you'd be as brave as a lion, Don 'Lonzo, " she said. "I expect you'd shoo 'em right out of the yard, same as you did theturkey gobbler when he run at my red shawl; don't you remember? Butall the same, I hope they will not come; and I shall be glad to seeJoe back again. "

At that moment the lad caught sight of himself in the littlelooking-glass that hung over his chest of drawers. Mira, watching him, saw the sparkle go out of his eyes, saw his shoulders droop, and hishead sink forward; and she said, quickly:

"But there! we've said enough about the burglars, I should think!How's the experiments, Don 'Lonzo? I heard an awful fizzing going on, just before Deacon Bassett came in. I expect you've got great thingshidden under that bed; I expect there's other perils round besidesburglars! Joe may come back and find us both blown into kindlin'-wood, after all!"

This was a favorite joke of theirs; she had the pleasure of seeing asmile come into the boy's sad eyes; then, with another of thosemotherly touches on his hair, she went away, singing, to her work. 

Don Alonzo looked after her. From the way his eyes followed her, shemight have been a glorified saint in robe and crown, instead of arosy-cheeked young woman in a calico gown. "There sha'n't nothinghurt her while I'm round!" he muttered again. 

The night fell, dark and cloudy. Mrs. Pitkin went to bed early, after shaking every door and trying every window to make sure thatall was safe. Don Alonzo went through the same process twice aftershe was gone, but he did not feel like sleeping, himself. He laydown on his bed, but his thoughts seemed dancing from one thing toanother, --to Brother Joe, travelling homeward now, he hoped, after aweek's absence; to Mira's goodness, her patience with his waywardself, her kindness in letting him mess with chemicals, and turn theshed into a laboratory, and frighten her with explosions; to Dan'lBrown and Mis' Pegrum and the burglars. 

Ah, the burglars! What could he do, if they should really come tothe house? They were two men, probably well-grown; he--he knew whathe was! How could he carry out his promise to Mira, if she should bein actual danger? Not by strength, clearly; but there must be someway; bodily strength was not the only thing in the world. He lookedabout him, seeking for inspiration; his eyes, wandering here andthere, lighted upon something, then remained fixed. The room wasdimly lighted by a small lamp, but the corners were dark, and in oneof these dark corners something was shining with a faint, uncertainlight. The phosphorescent match-box! He had made it himself, and hadornamented it with a grotesque face in luminous paint. This face nowglimmered and glowered at him from the darkness; and Don Alonzo laystill and looked back at it. Lying so and looking, there crept intohis mind an old story that he had once read; and he laughed tohimself, and then nodded at the glimmering face. "Thank you, oldfellow!" said Don Alonzo. 

Was there a noise? Was it his imagination, or did a branch snap, atwig rustle down the road? The hunchback had ears like a fox, and inan instant he was at the window, peering out into the darkness. Atfirst he could see nothing; but gradually the lilac bushes at thegate came into sight, and the clumps of flowers in the little gardenplot. Not a breath was stirring, yet--hark! Again a twig snapped, abranch crackled; and now again! and nearer each time. Don Alonzostrained his eyes to pierce the darkness. Were those bushes, thosetwo shapes by the gate? They were not there a moment ago. Ha! theymoved; they were coming nearer. Their feet made no sound on thesoft earth, but his sharp ears caught a new sound, --a whisper, faint, yet harsh, like a hiss. Don Alonzo had seen and heard enough. Heleft the window, and the next moment was diving under the bed. 

 * * * * *

Mira Pitkin usually slept like a child, from the moment her headtouched the pillow till the precise second when something woke inher brain and said "Five o'clock!" But to-night her sleep was broken. She tossed and muttered in her dreams; and suddenly she sat up in bedwith eyes wide open and a distinct sense of something wrong. Herfirst thought was of fire; she sniffed; the air was pure and clear. Then, like a cry in her ears, came--"The burglars!" She held herbreath and listened; was the night as still as it was dark? No! afaint, steady sound came to her ears. A mouse, was it, or--the soundof a tool?

And then, almost noiselessly, a window was opened, the window of theupper entry, next her room. Mira was at her own window in an instant, raising it; that, too, opened silently, for Joe was a carpenter anddetested noisy windows. She peered out into the thick darkness. Black, black! Was the blackness deeper there, just at the front door?Surely it was! Surely something, somebody, was busy with the lock ofthe door; and then she heard, as Don Alonzo had heard, a low soundlike a hiss, beside the soft scraping of the tool. What should she do?The windows were fast, there was a bar and chain inside the door, but what of that? Two desperate men could force an entrance anywherein a moment. What could she do, a woman, with only a sickly boy tohelp her? And--who had opened that upper window? Was there a thirdaccomplice--for she thought she could see two spots of deeperblackness by the door--hidden in the house? Oh, if only Joe hadborrowed his father's old pistol for her, as she had begged him to do!

Mira opened her lips to shout, in the hope of rousing the nearestneighbors, though they were not very near. Opened her lips--but nosound came from them. For at that instant something appeared at thewindow next her own; something stepped from it, out on to the littleporch over the front door. Mira Pitkin gasped, and felt her heartfail within her. A skeleton! Every limb outlined in pale fire, thebony fingers points of wavering flame. What awful portent was this?The Thing paused and turned, a frightful face gazed at her for aninstant, a hand waved, then the Thing dropped, silent as a shadow, onthat spot of deeper blackness that was stooping at the front door. 

Then rose an outcry wild and hideous. The burglar shouted hoarsely, and tried to shake off the Thing that sat on his shoulders, grippinghis neck with hands of iron, digging his sides with bony knees andfeet; but the second thief, who saw by what his comrade was ridden, shrieked in pure animal terror, uttering unearthly sounds that cutthe air like a knife. For a moment he could only stand and shriek;then he turned and fled through the yard, and the other fled afterhim, the glimmering phantom clutching him tight. Down the road theyfled. Mira could now see nothing save the riding Thing, apparentlyhorsed on empty air; but now she saw it, still clutching close withits left hand, raise the right, holding what looked like a shiningsnake, and bring it down hissing and curling. Again, and again! andwith every blow the shrieks grew more and more hideous, till nowthey had reached the cluster of houses at the head of the street, and every window was flung open, and lights appeared, and voicesclamored in terror and amaze. The village was roused; and now--now, the glimmering skeleton was seen to loose its hold. It dropped fromits perch, and turning that awful face toward her once more, cameloping back, silent as a shadow. But when she saw that, Mira Pitkin, for the first and last time in her sensible life, fainted away. 

When she came to herself, the skeleton was bending over her anxiously, but its face was no longer frightful; it was white and anxious, andthe eyes that met hers were piteous with distress. 

"My, oh!" cried Don Alonzo. "I vowed no one should do her any hurt, and now I've done it myself. "

There was little sleep in the Pitkin house that night. The neighborscame flocking in with cries and questions; and when all was explained, Don Alonzo found himself the hero of the hour. For once he did nothide under the bed, but received everybody--from Deacon Bassett downto the smallest boy who came running in shirt and trousers, half-awake, and athirst for marvels--with modest pride, and toldover and over again how it all happened. 

'Twas no great thing, he maintained. He had fooled considerable withphosphorus, and had some of the luminous paint that he had mixedsome time before. Thinking about these fellows, he remembered astory he read once, where they painted up a dead body to scare awaysome murdering robbers. He thought a living person was as good as adead one, any day; so he tried it on, and it appeared to succeed. Hedidn't think likely those men would stop short of the next township, from the way they were running when he got down. Oh, the snake? Thatwas Joe's whip. He presumed likely it hurt some, from the way theyyelled. 

But the best of all was when Joe came home, the very next day, andwhen, the three of them sitting about the supper-table, Mira herselftold the great story, from the first moment of Deacon Bassett'svisit down to the triumphant close--"And I see him coming back, shining like a corpse-candle, and I fell like dead on the floor!"

"There!" she continued, beaming across the table at Joe, as shehanded him his fourth cup of coffee, "you may go away again wheneveryou're a mind to; I sha'n't be afraid. You ain't half the man Don'Lonzo is!"

"I don't expect I be!" said big Joe, beaming back again. 

It seemed to Don Alonzo that their smiles made the kitchen warm asJune, though October was falling cold that year. 

_THE SHED CHAMBER_

"Well, I once answered an advertisement in the _Farmer's Friend_, girls, and I have always been glad I did. It was that summer whenfather broke his arm and the potato crop failed, and everythingseemed to be going wrong on the farm. There were plenty of girls todo the work at home, and I thought I ought to get something outsideto do if I could. I tried here and there, but without success; atlast my eye caught a notice in the _Farmer's Friend_, just the samekind of notice as that you are speaking of, Lottie: 'Wanted, acapable, steady girl to assist in housework and take care of children. Address, with reference, A. B. C. , Dashville. ' I talked it over withmother, and she agreed with me; father didn't take so kindly to theidea, naturally; he likes to have us all at home, especially insummer. However, he said I might do as I pleased; so I answered thenotice and sent a letter from our pastor, saying what he thought ofme. I was almost ashamed to send it, too; he has always been morethan kind to me, you know; if I'd been his own daughter he couldn'thave said more. Well, they wrote for me to come, and I went. 

"Girls, it was pretty hard when it came to that part, leaving thehouse, and mother standing in the doorway trying not to look anxious, and father fretting and saying it was all nonsense, and he shouldn'thave hands enough to pick the apples. Of course he knew I knew better, but I was glad he didn't want me to go, after all. Sister Nell andSister Margie had packed my trunk, and they were as excited as I was, and almost wished they were going instead, but not quite, I think;and so Joe whistled to old Senator, and I waved my handkerchief, andmother and the two girls waved their aprons, and off I went. 

"I didn't really feel alone till I was in the train and had lostsight of Joe standing and smoothing Senator's mane and nodding at me;then the world seemed very big and Tupham Corner a very small cornerin it. I will not say anything more about this part; you'll find itout soon enough yourselves, when you go away from home the first time. 

"It was a long journey, or it seemed so then; but everything comesto an end some time, and there was plenty of daylight left for me tosee my new home when I arrived. It was a pleasant-looking house, long and rambling, painted yellow, too, which made me more homesickthan ever. There were two children standing in the doorway, andpresently Mr. Bowles came out and shook hands with me and helped medown with my things. He was a kind, sensible-looking man, and hemade the children come and speak to me and shake hands. They wereshy then and hung back, and put their fingers in their mouths; Iknew just how they felt. I wanted to hang back, too, when he took meinto the house to see Mrs. Bowles. She was an invalid, he told me, and could not leave her room. 

"Girls, the minute I saw that sweet, pale face, with the look ofpain and patience in it, I knew what I had come for. I do think weunderstood each other from the first minute, Mrs. Bowles and I; forshe held my hand a good while, looking into my face and I into hers, and she must have seen how sorry I was for her, and how I hoped Icould help her; for when I went into the kitchen I heard her say, with a little sigh, as she lay back again, 'O John, I do believethis is the right one at last!' You may believe I made up my mindthat I would be the right one, Lottie!

"That kitchen was in a scandalous condition. It was well I had seenMrs. Bowles first or I should have wanted to run away that veryminute. The eldest little girl--it seems strange to think that thereever was a time when I didn't know Barbara's name!--followed me out, --I think her father told her to, --and rubbed along against the wall, just exactly as I used to when I felt shy. When I asked her a littleabout where things were, and so on--they were everywhere and nowhere;you never saw such a looking place in your life!--she took herfinger out of her mouth, and pretty soon I told her about our yellowcoon kittens, and after that we got on very well. She said they hadhad one girl after another, each worse than the last. The shoefactory had taken off all the good help and left only the incapableones. The last one, Barbara said, had almost starved them, and beensaucy to Mrs. Bowles, and dirty--well, there was no need to tell methat. It was a shame to see good things so destroyed; for the thingswere good, only all dirty and broken, and--oh, well! there's no usein telling about that part. 

"I asked when her mother had had anything to eat, and she said notsince noon; I knew that was no way for an invalid to be taken care of, so I put the kettle on and hunted about till I found a cup and saucerI liked, and then I found the bread-box--oh, dear! that bread-box, girls! But the mold scraped right off, and the bread wasn't reallybad; I made some toast and cut the crust off, and put just a thinscrape of butter on it; then I sent Barbara in with a little trayand told her to see that her mother took it all. I thought she'dfeel more like taking it from the child than from a stranger, if shehadn't much appetite. My dears, the child came out again in a fewminutes, her face all alight. 

"'She drank it all, every drop!' she cried. 'And now she's eatingthe toast. She said how did you know, and she cried, but now she'sall right. Father 'most cried, too, I think. Say!'

"'Yes, dear. '

"'Father says the Lord sent you. Did he?'"

[Illustration: "'FATHER SAYS THE LORD SENT YOU. DID HE?'"]

"I nodded, for I couldn't say anything that minute. I kissed thelittle girl and went on with my cleaning. Girls, don't ever grudgethe time you spend in learning to cook nicely. Food is what keeps thebreath of life in us, and it all depends upon us girls now, and later, when we are older women, whether it is good or bad. No, Sue, I'm notgoing to preach, but I shall never forget how that tired man andthose hungry children enjoyed their supper. 'Twas mother's supper, every bit of it, from the light biscuit down to the ham omelette; Ifound the ham bone in a dark cupboard, all covered with mold, likethe bread, but 'twas good and sweet underneath. I only wish motherhad been there to see them eat. After supper Mr. Bowles came andshook hands with me. I didn't know then that he never used any morewords than he had to; but I was pleased, if I did think it funny. 

"I was tired enough by the time bedtime came, and after I had putthe children to bed and seen that Mrs. Bowles was comfortable, andhad water and crackers and a candle beside her--she was a very poorsleeper--I was glad enough to go to bed myself. Barbara showed me myroom, a pretty little room with sloping gables and windows down bythe floor. There were two doors, and I asked her where the other ledto. She opened it and said, 'The shed chamber. ' I looked over hershoulder, holding up the candle, and saw a great bare room, withsome large trunks in it, but no other furniture except a highwardrobe. I liked the look of the place, for it was a little likeour play room in the attic at home; but I was too tired to explore, and I was asleep in ten minutes from the time I had tucked upBarbara in her bed, and Rob and Billy in their double crib. 

"I should take a week if I tried to tell you all about those firstdays; and, after all, it is one particular thing that I started totell, only there is so much that comes back to me. In a few days Ifelt that I belonged there, almost as much as at home; they werethat kind of people, and made me feel that they cared about me, andnot only about what I did. Mrs. Bowles has always been the bestfriend I have in the world after my own folks; it didn't take us aday to see into each other, and by and by it got to be so that Iknew what she wanted almost before she knew, herself. 

"At the end of the week Mr. Bowles said he ought to go away onbusiness for a few days, and asked her if she would feel safe tostay with me and the children, or if he should ask his brother tocome and sleep in the house. 

"'No, indeed!' said Mrs. Bowles. 'I shall feel as safe with Nora asif I had a regiment in the house; a good deal safer!' she added, andlaughed. 

"So it was settled, and the next day Mr. Bowles went away and I wasleft in full charge. I suppose I rather liked the responsibility. Iasked Mrs. Bowles if I might go all over the house to see howeverything fastened, and she said, 'Of course. ' The front windowswere just common windows, quite high up from the floor; but in theshed chamber, as in my room, they opened near the floor, and therewas no very secure way of fastening them, it seemed to me. However, Iwasn't going to say anything to make her nervous, and that was theway they had always had them. If I had only known!

"After the children went to bed that evening I read to Mrs. Bowlesfor an hour, and then I went to warm up a little cocoa for her; sheslept better if she took a drop of something hot the last thing. Itwas about nine o'clock. I had just got into the kitchen, and wasgoing to light the lamp, when I heard the door open softly. 

"'Who's there?' I asked. 

"'Only me, ' said a girl's voice. 

"I lighted my lamp, and saw a girl about my own age, pretty, andshowily dressed. She said she was the girl who had left the house afew days ago; she had forgotten something, and might she go up intothe shed chamber and get it? I told her to wait a minute, and wentand asked Mrs. Bowles. She said yes, Annie might go up. 'Annie wascareless and saucy, ' she said, 'but I think she meant no harm. Shecan go and get her things. '

"I came back and told the girl, and she smiled and nodded. I did notlike her smile, I could not tell why. I started to go with her, butshe turned on me pretty sharply, and said she had been in the housethree months and didn't need to be shown the way by a stranger. Ididn't want to put myself forward, but no sooner had she runup-stairs, and I heard her steps in the chamber above me, thansomething seemed to be pushing, pushing me toward those stairs, whether I would or no. I tried to hold back, and tell myself it wasnonsense, and that I was nervous and foolish; it made no difference, I had to go up-stairs. 

"I went softly, my shoes making no noise. My own little room was dark, for I had closed the blinds when the afternoon sun was pouring inhot and bright; but a slender line of light lay across the blacknesslike a long finger, and I knew the moon was shining in at thewindows of the shed chamber. I did a thing I had never done beforein my life; that silver finger came through the keyhole, and it drewme to it. I knelt down and looked through. 

"The big room shone bare and white in the moonlight; the trunkslooked like great animals crouching along the walls. Annie stood inthe middle of the room, as if she were waiting or listening forsomething. Then she slipped off her shoes and went to one of thewindows and opened it. I had fastened it, but the catch was old andshe knew the trick of it, of course. In another moment somethingblack appeared over the low sill; it was a man's head. My heartseemed to stand still. She helped him, and he got in without makinga sound. He must have climbed up the big elm-tree which grew closeagainst the house. They stood whispering together for a few minutes, but I could not hear a word. 

"The man was in stocking feet; he had an evil, coarse face, yet hewas good-looking, too, in a way. I thought the girl seemed frightened, and yet pleased, too; and he seemed to be praising her, I thought, and once he put his arms round her and kissed her. She went to thewardrobe and opened it, but he shook his head; then she opened thegreat cedar trunk, and he nodded, and measured it and got into itand sat down. It was so deep that he could sit quite comfortablywith the cover down. Annie shut it and then opened it again. 

"I had seen all I wanted to see. I slipped down-stairs as I heardher move toward the door; when she came down I was stirring my cocoaon the stove, with my back to her. She came round and showed me abundle she had in her hand, and said she must be going now. I keptmy face in the shadow as well as I could, for I was afraid I mightnot be able to look just as usual; but I spoke quietly, and askedher if she had found everything, and wished her good night aspleasantly as I knew how. All the while my head was in a whirl andmy heart beat so loud I thought she must have heard it. There was agood deal of silver in the house, and I knew that Mr. Bowles haddrawn some money from the bank only a day or two before, to pay alife-insurance premium. 

"I never listened to anything as I did to the sound of her footsteps;even after they had died away, after she had turned the corner, agood way off, I stood still, listening, not stirring hand or foot. But when I no longer heard any sound my strength seemed to come backwith a leap, and I knew what I had to do. I told you my shoes madeno noise. I slipped up-stairs, through my own room, and into the shedchamber. Girls, it lay so peaceful and bare in the white moonlight, that for a moment I thought I must have dreamed it all. 

"It seemed half a mile to the farther end, where the great cedartrunk stood. As I went a board creaked under my feet, and Iheard--or fancied I heard--a faint rustle inside the trunk. I beganto hum a tune, and moved about among the trunks, raising andshutting the lids, as if I were looking for something. Now at last Iwas beside the dreadful chest, and in another instant I had turnedthe key. Then, girls, I flew! I knew the lock was a stout one andthe wood heavy and hard; it would take the man some time to get itopen from the inside, whatever tools he might have. I wasdown-stairs in one breath, praying that I might be able to control myvoice so that it would not sound strange to the sick woman. 

"'Would you mind if I went out for a few minutes, Mrs. Bowles? Themoonlight is so lovely I thought I would like to take a little walk, if there is nothing you want. '

"She looked surprised, but said in her kind way, yes, certainly Imight go, only I'd better not go far. 

"I thanked her, and walked quietly out to the end of the garden walk;then I ran! Girls, I had no idea I could run so! Strength seemedgiven me, for I never felt my body. I was like a spirit flying or awind blowing. The road melted away before me, and all the time I sawtwo things before my eyes as plain as I see you now, --the evil-facedman working away at the lock of the cedar chest, and the sweet ladysitting in the room below with her Bible on her knee. Yes, I thoughtof the children, too, but it seemed to me no one, not even thewickedest, could wish to hurt a child. So on I ran!

"I reached the first house, but I knew there was no man there, onlytwo nervous old ladies. At the next house I should find two men, George Brett and his father. 

"Yes, Lottie, my George, but I had never seen him then. He had onlylately come back from college. The first I saw of him was twominutes later, when I ran almost into his arms as he came out of thehouse. I can see him now, in the moonlight, tall and strong, withhis surprised eyes on me. I must have been a wild figure, I suppose. I could hardly speak, but somehow I made him understand. 

"He turned back to the door and shouted to his father, who camehurrying out; then he looked at me. 'Can you run back?' he asked. 

"I nodded. I had no breath for words but plenty for running, Ithought. 

"'Come on, then!'

"Girls, it was twice as easy running with that strong figure besideme. I noticed in all my hurry and distress how easily he ran, and Ifelt my feet, that had grown heavy in the last few steps, light asair again. Once I sobbed for breath, and he took my hand as we ran, saying, 'Courage, brave girl!' We ran on hand in hand, and I neverfailed again. We heard Mr. Brett's feet running, not far behind; hewas a strong, active man, but could not quite keep up with us. 

"As we neared the house, 'Quiet, ' I said; 'Mrs. Bowles does not know. '"

He nodded, and we slipped in at the back door. In an instant hisshoes were off and he was up the back stairs like a cat, and I afterhim. As we entered the shed chamber the lid of the cedar trunk rose. 

I saw the gleam of the evil black eyes and the shine of white, wolfish teeth. Without a sound George Brett sprang past me; withouta sound the robber leaped to meet him. I saw them in the white lightas they clinched and stood locked together; then a mist came beforemy eyes and I saw nothing more. 

"I did not actually faint, I think; it cannot have been more than afew minutes before I came to myself. But when I looked again Georgewas kneeling with his knee on the man's breast, holding him down, and Father Brett was looking about the chamber and saying, in hisdry way, 'Now where in Tunkett is the clothes-line to tie this fellow?'

"And the girl? Annie? O girls, she was so young! She was just my ownage and she had no mother. I went to see her the next day, and manydays after that. We are fast friends now, and she is a good, steadygirl; and no one knows--no one except our two selves and twoothers--that she was ever in the shed chamber. "

_MAINE TO THE RESCUE_

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! It's snowing!"

"Hurrah! hurrah! It's snowing!"

Massachusetts looked up from her algebra. She was the head of theschool. She was rosy and placid as the apple she was generallyeating when not in class. Apples and algebra were the things shecared most about in school life. 

"Whence come these varying cries?" she said, taking her feet off thefender and trying to be interested, though her thoughts went on with"a 1/6 b =" etc. 

"Oh, Virginia is grumbling because it is snowing, and Maine isfeeling happy over it, that's all!" said Rhode Island, the smallestgirl in Miss Wayland's school. 

"Poor Virginia! It is rather hard on you to have snow in March, whenyou have just got your box of spring clothes from home. "

"It is atrocious!" said Virginia, a tall, graceful, languishing girl. "How could they send me to such a place, where it is winter all thespring? Why, at home the violets are in blossom, the trees are comingout, the birds singing--"

"And at home, " broke in Maine, who was a tall girl, too, but litheand breezy as a young willow, with flyaway hair and dancing browneyes, "at home all is winter--white, beautiful, glorious winter, with ice two or three feet thick on the rivers, and great fields andfields of snow, all sparkling in the sun, and the sky a vastsapphire overhead, without a speck. Oh, the glory of it, thesplendor of it! And here--here it is neither fish, flesh, fowl, norgood red herring. A wretched, makeshift season, which they callwinter because they don't know what else to call it. "

"Come! come!" said Old New York, who was seventeen years old and hadher own ideas of dignity. "Let us alone, you two outsiders! We areneither Eskimos nor Hindoos, it is true, but the Empire State wouldnot change climates with either of you. "

"No, indeed!" chimed in Young New York, who always followed herleader in everything, from opinions down to hair-ribbons. 

"No, indeed!" repeated Virginia, with languid scorn. "Because youcouldn't get any one to change with you, my dear. "

Young New York reddened. "You are so disagreeable, Virginia!" shesaid. "I am sure I am glad I don't have to live with you all theyear round--"

"Personal remarks!" said Massachusetts, looking up calmly. "One cent, Young New York, for the missionary fund. Thank you! Let me give youeach half an apple, and you will feel better. "

She solemnly divided a large red apple, and gave the halves to thetwo scowling girls, who took them, laughing in spite of themselves, and went their separate ways. 

"Why didn't you let them have it out, Massachusetts?" said Maine, laughing. "You never let any one have a good row. "

"Slang!" said Massachusetts, looking up again. "One cent for themissionary fund. You will clothe the heathen at this rate, Maine. That is the fourth cent to-day. "

"'Row' isn't slang!" protested Maine, feeling, however, for herpocket-book. 

"Vulgar colloquial!" returned Massachusetts, quietly. "And perhapsyou would go away now, Maine, or else be quiet. Have you learned--"

"No, I haven't!" said Maine. "I will do it very soon, dear SaintApple. I must look at the snow a little more. "

Maine went dancing off to her room, where she threw the window openand looked out with delight. The girl caught up a double handful andtossed it about, laughing for pure pleasure. Then she leaned out tofeel the beating of the flakes on her face. 

"Really quite a respectable little snowstorm!" she said, noddingapproval at the whirling white drift. "Go on, and you will be worthwhile, my dear. " She went singing to her algebra, which she could nothave done if it had not been snowing. 

The snow went on increasing from hour to hour. By noon the windbegan to rise; before night it was blowing a furious gale. Furiousblasts clutched at the windows, and rattled them like castanets. Thewind howled and shrieked and moaned, till it seemed as if the airwere filled with angry demons fighting to possess the square whitehouse. 

Many of the pupils of Miss Wayland's school came to the tea-tablewith disturbed faces; but Massachusetts was as calm as usual, andMaine was jubilant. 

"Isn't it a glorious storm?" she cried, exultingly. "I didn't knowthere could be such a storm in this part of the country, Miss Wayland. Will you give me some milk, please?"

"There is no milk, my dear, " said Miss Wayland, who looked rathertroubled. "The milkman has not come, and probably will not cometo-night. There has never been such a storm here in my lifetime!"she added. "Do you have such storms at home, my dear?"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" Maine said, cheerfully. "I don't know that weoften have so much wind as this, but the snow is nothing out of theway. Why, on Palm Sunday last year our milkman dug through a drifttwenty feet deep to get at his cows. He was the only milkman whoventured out, and he took me and the minister's wife to church inhis little red pung. 

"We were the only women in church, I remember. Miss Betsy Follansbee, who had not missed going to church in fifteen years, started on foot, after climbing out of her bedroom window to the shed roof andsliding down. All her doors were blocked up, and she lived alone, sothere was no one to dig her out. But she got stuck in a drift abouthalf-way, and had to stay there till one of the neighbors came byand pulled her out. "

All the girls laughed at this, and even Miss Wayland smiled; butsuddenly she looked grave again. 

"Hark!" she said, and listened. "Did you not hear something?"

"We hear Boreas, Auster, Eurus, and Zephyrus, " answered Old New York. "Nothing else. "

At that moment there was a lull in the screeching of the wind; alllistened intently, and a faint sound was heard from without whichwas not that of the blast. 

"A child!" said Massachusetts, rising quickly. "It is a child's voice. I will go, Miss Wayland. "

"I cannot permit it, Alice!" cried Miss Wayland, in great distress. "I cannot allow you to think of it. You are just recovering from asevere cold, and I am responsible to your parents. What shall we do?It certainly sounds like a child crying out in the pitiless storm. Of course it _may_ be a cat--"

Maine had gone to the window at the first alarm, and now turned withshining eyes. 

"It _is_ a child!" she said, quietly. "I have no cold, Miss Wayland. I am going, of course. "

Passing by Massachusetts, who had started out of her usual calm andstood in some perplexity, she whispered, "If it were freezing, itwouldn't cry. I shall be in time. Get a ball of stout twine. "

She disappeared. In three minutes she returned, dressed in herblanket coat, reaching half-way below her knees, scarlet leggingsand gaily wrought moccasins; on her head a fur cap, with a band ofsea-otter fur projecting over her eyes. In her hand she held a pairof snow-shoes. She had had no opportunity to wear her snow-shoeingsuit all winter, and she was quite delighted. 

"My child!" said Miss Wayland, faintly. "How can I let you go? Myduty to your parents--what are those strange things, and what useare you going to make of them?"

By way of answer Maine slipped her feet into the snow-shoes, and, with Massachusetts' aid, quickly fastened the thongs. 

"The twine!" she said. "Yes, that will do; plenty of it. Tie it tothe door-handle, square knot, so! I'm all right, dear; don't worry. "Like a flash the girl was gone out into the howling night. 

Miss Wayland wrung her hands and wept, and most of the girls weptwith her. Virginia, who was curled up in a corner, really sick withfright, beckoned to Massachusetts. 

"Is there any chance of her coming back alive?" she asked, in awhisper. "I wish I had made up with her. But we may all die in thisawful storm. "

"Nonsense!" said Massachusetts. "Try to have a little sense, Virginia!Maine is all right, and can take care of herself; and as forwhimpering at the wind, when you have a good roof over your head, itis too absurd. "

For the first time since she came to school Massachusetts forgot thestudy hour, as did every one else; and in spite of her brave effortsat cheerful conversation, it was a sad and an anxious group that satabout the fire in the pleasant parlor. 

Maine went out quickly, and closed the door behind her; then stoodstill a moment, listening for the direction of the cry. She did nothear it at first, but presently it broke out--a piteous little wail, sounding louder now in the open air. The girl bent her head to listen. Where was the child? The voice came from the right, surely! Shewould make her way down to the road, and then she could tell better. 

Grasping the ball of twine firmly, she stepped forward, planting thebroad snow-shoes lightly in the soft, dry snow. As she turned thecorner of the house an icy blast caught her, as if with furious hands, shook her like a leaf, and flung her roughly against the wall. 

Her forehead struck the corner, and for a moment she was stunned;but the blood trickling down her face quickly brought her to herself. She set her teeth, folded her arms tightly, and stooping forward, measured her strength once more with that of the gale. 

This time it seemed as if she were cleaving a wall of ice, whichopened only to close behind her. On she struggled, unrolling hertwine as she went. 

The child's cry sounded louder, and she took fresh heart. Pausing, she clapped her hand to her mouth repeatedly, uttering a shrill, long call. It was the Indian whoop, which her father had taught herin their woodland rambles at home. 

The childish wail stopped; she repeated the cry louder and longer;then shouted, at the top of her lungs, "Hold on! Help is coming!"

Again and again the wind buffeted her, and forced her backward astep or two; but she lowered her head, and wrapped her arms moretightly about her body, and plodded on. 

Once she fell, stumbling over a stump; twice she ran against a tree, for the white darkness was absolutely blinding, and she saw nothing, felt nothing but snow, snow. At last her snow-shoe struck somethinghard. She stretched out her hands--it was the stone wall. And now, as she crept along beside it, the child's wail broke out again closeat hand. 

"Mother! O mother! mother!"

The girl's heart beat fast. 

"Where are you?" she cried. At the same moment she stumbled againstsomething soft. A mound of snow, was it? No! for it moved. It movedand cried, and little hands clutched her dress. 

She saw nothing, but put her hands down, and touched a little coldface. She dragged the child out of the snow, which had almostcovered it, and set it on its feet. 

"Who are you?" she asked, putting her face down close, while byvigorous patting and rubbing she tried to give life to the benumbed, cowering little figure, which staggered along helplessly, clutchingher with half-frozen fingers. 

"Benny Withers!" sobbed the child. "Mother sent me for the clothes, but I can't get 'em!"

"Benny Withers!" cried Maine. "Why, you live close by. Why didn'tyou go home, child?"

"I can't!" cried the boy. "I can't see nothing. I tried to get tothe school, an' I tried to get home, an' I can't get nowhere 'ceptagainst this wall. Let me stay here now! I want to rest me a little. "

He would have sunk down again, but Maine caught him up in her strong, young arms. 

"Here, climb up on my back, Benny!" she said, cheerfully. "Hold ontight round my neck, and you shall rest while I take you home. So!That's a brave boy! Upsy, now! there you are! Now put your head onmy shoulder--close! and hold on!"

Ah! how Maine blessed the heavy little brother at home, who _would_ride on his sister's back, long after mamma said he was too big. Howshe blessed the carryings up and down stairs, the "horsey rides"through the garden and down the lane, which had made her shouldersstrong!

Benny Withers was eight years old, but he was small and slender, andno heavier than six-year-old Philip. No need of telling the child tohold on, once he was up out of the cruel snow bed. He clungdesperately round the girl's neck, and pressed his head closeagainst the woollen stuff. 

Maine pulled her ball of twine from her pocket--fortunately it was alarge one, and the twine, though strong, was fine, so that thereseemed to be no end to it--and once more lowered her head, and sether teeth, and moved forward, keeping close to the wall, in thedirection of Mrs. Withers's cottage. 

For awhile she saw nothing, when she looked up under the fringe ofotter fur, which, long and soft, kept the snow from blinding her;nothing but the white, whirling drift which beat with icy, stingingblows in her face. But at last her eyes caught a faint glimmer oflight, and presently a brighter gleam showed her Mrs. Withers's graycottage, now white like the rest of the world. 

Bursting open the cottage door, she almost threw the child into thearms of his mother. 

The woman, who had been weeping wildly, could hardly believe her eyes. She caught the little boy and smothered him with kisses, chafing hiscold hands, and crying over him. 

"I didn't know!" she said. "I didn't know till he was gone. I toldhim at noon he was to go, never thinking 'twould be like this. I wassure he was lost and dead, but I couldn't leave my sick baby. Blessyou, whoever you are, man or woman! But stay and get warm, and restye! You're never going out again in this awful storm!"

But Maine was gone. 

In Miss Wayland's parlor the suspense was fast becoming unendurable. They had heard Maine's Indian whoop, and some of them, Miss Waylandherself among the number, thought it was a cry of distress; butMassachusetts rightly interpreted the call, and assured them that itwas a call of encouragement to the bewildered child. 

Then came silence within the house, and a prolonged clamor--a sortof witches' chorus, with wailing and shrieking without. Once a heavybranch was torn from one of the great elms, and came thundering downon the roof. This proved the finishing touch for poor Virginia. Shewent into violent hysterics, and was carried off to bed by Miss Wayland and Old New York. 

Massachusetts presently ventured to explore a little. She hastenedthrough the hall to the front door, opened it a few inches, and puther hand on the twine which was fastened to the handle. What was herhorror to find that it hung loose, swinging idly in the wind! Sickat heart, she shut the door, and pressing her hands over her eyes, tried to think. 

Maine must be lost in the howling storm! She must find her; butwhere and how?

Oh! if Miss Wayland had only let her go at first! She was older; itwould not have mattered so much. 

But now, quick! she would wrap herself warmly, and slip out withoutany one knowing. 

The girl was turning to fly up-stairs, when suddenly something fellheavily against the door outside. There was a fumbling for the handle;the next moment it flew open, and something white stumbled into thehall, shut the door, and sat down heavily on the floor. 

"Personal--rudeness!" gasped Maine, struggling for breath. "You shutthe door in my face! One cent for the missionary fund. "

The great storm was over. The sun came up, and looked down on astrange, white world. No fences, no walls; only a smooth ridge whereone of these had been. Trees which the day before had been quitetall now looked like dwarfs, spreading their broad arms not far fromthe snow carpet beneath them. Road there was none; all was smooth, save where some huge drift nodded its crest like a billow curlingfor its downward rush. 

Maine, spite of her scarred face, which showed as many patches asthat of a court lady in King George's times, was jubilant. Tired!not a bit of it! A little stiff, just enough to need "limbering out, "as they said at home. 

"There is no butter!" she announced at breakfast. "There is no milk, no meat for dinner. Therefore, I go a-snow-shoeing. Dear Miss Wayland, let me go! I have learned my algebra, and I shall be discoveringunknown quantities at every step, which will be just as instructive. "

Miss Wayland could refuse nothing to the heroine of last night'sadventure. Behold Maine, therefore, triumphant, sallying forth, cladonce more in her blanket suit, and dragging her sled behind her. 

There was no struggling now--no hand-to-hand wrestling withstorm-demons. The sun laughed from a sky as blue and deep as her ownsky of Maine, and the girl laughed with him as she walked along, thepowdery snow flying in a cloud from her snow-shoes at every step. 

Such a sight had never been seen in Mentor village before. Thepeople came running to their upper windows--their lower ones werefor the most part buried in snow--and stared with all their eyes atthe strange apparition. 

In the street, life was beginning to stir. People had found, somewhat to their own surprise, that they were alive and well afterthe blizzard; and knots of men were clustered here and there, discussing the storm, while some were already at work tunnellingthrough the drifts. 

Mr. Perkins, the butcher, had just got his door open, and great washis amazement when Maine hailed him from the top of a great drift, and demanded a quarter of mutton with some soup meat. 

[Illustration: "MAINE HAILED HIM FROM THE TOP OF A GREAT DRIFT. "]

"Yes, miss!" he stammered, open-mouthed with astonishment. "I--I'vegot the meat; but I wasn't--my team isn't out this morning. I don'tknow about sending it. "

"I have a 'team' here!" said Maine, quietly, pulling her sledalongside. "Give me the mutton, Mr. Perkins; you may charge it toMiss Wayland, please, and I will take it home. "

The butter-man and the grocer were visited in the same way, and Maine, rather embarrassed by the concentrated observation of the wholevillage, turned to pull her laden sled back, when suddenly a windowwas thrown open, and a voice exclaimed:

"Young woman! I will give you ten dollars for the use of thosesnow-shoes for an hour!"

Maine looked up in amazement, and laughed merrily when she saw thewell-known countenance of the village doctor. 

"What! You, my dear young lady?" cried the good man. "This is 'Maineto the Rescue, ' indeed! I might have known it was you. But I repeatmy offer. Make it anything you please, only let me have thesnow-shoes. I cannot get a horse out, and have two patientsdangerously ill. What is your price for the magic shoes?"

"My price, doctor?" repeated Maine, looking up with dancing eyes. "My price is--one cent. For the Missionary Fund! The snow-shoes areyours, and I will get home somehow with my sled and the mutton. "

So she did, and Doctor Fowler made his calls with the snow-shoes, and saved a life, and brought cheer and comfort to many. But it wasten dollars, and not one cent, which he gave to the Missionary Fund. 

THE SCARLET LEAVES

"The Committee will please come to order!" said Maine. 

"What's up?" asked Massachusetts, pausing in her occupation ofpeeling chestnuts. 

"Why, you know well enough, Massachusetts. Here it is Wednesday, andwe don't know yet what we are going to do on Friday evening. We mustdo something, or go shamed to our graves. Never a senior class hasmissed its Frivolous Friday, since the school began. "

"Absolutely no hope of the play?"

"None! Alma's part is too important; no one could possibly take itat two days' notice. Unless--they say Chicago has a real gift foracting; but somehow, I don't feel as if she were the person. "

"I should bar that, positively, " put in Tennessee. "In the firstplace, Chicago has not been here long enough to be identified withthe class. She is clever, of course, or she could not have enteredjunior last year; but--well, it isn't necessary to say anything more;she is out of the question. "

"It is too exasperating!" said Massachusetts. "Alma might havewaited another week before coming down with measles. "

"It's harder for her than for any one else, Massachusetts, " saidMaine. "Poor dear; she almost cried her eyes out yesterday, when thespots appeared, and there was no more doubt. "

"Yes, I know that; she is a poor, unfortunate Lamb, and I love her, you know I do; still, a growl may be permitted, Maine. There'snothing criminal in a growl. The question is, as you were saying, what shall we do?"

"A dance?"

"We had a dance last week!" said Maine; "at least the sophomores did, and we don't want to copy them. "

"A straw-ride?"

"A candy-pull?"

"A concert?"

"The real question is, " said Tennessee, cracking her chestnutleisurely, "what does Maine intend to do? If she thinks we made herClass President because we meant to arrange things ourselves, she ismore ignorant than I supposed her. Probably she has the whole thingsettled in her Napoleonic mind. Out with it, Moosetocmaguntic!"

Maine smiled, and looked round her. The Committee was clustered in agroup at the foot of a great chestnut-tree, at the very edge of awood. The leaves were still thick on the trees, and the October sunshone through their golden masses, pouring a flood of warmth andlight down on the greensward, sprinkled with yellow leaves andhalf-open chestnut burrs. Massachusetts and Tennessee, sturdy andfour-square as their own hills; Old New York and New Jersey, andMaine herself, a tall girl with clear, kind eyes, and a color thatcame and went as she talked. This was the Committee. 

[Illustration: THE CONFERENCE. ]

"Well, " said Maine, modestly. "I did have an idea, girls. I don'tknow whether you will approve or not, but--what do you say to afancy ball?"

"A fancy ball! at two days' notice!"

"Penobscot is losing her mind. Pity to see it shattered, for it wasonce a fine organ. "

"Be quiet, Tennessee! I don't mean anything elaborate, of course. But I thought we might have an informal frolic, and dress up in--oh, anything we happened to have. Not call it a dance, but have dancingall the same; don't you see? There are all kinds of costumes thatcan be got up with very little trouble, and no expense to speak of. "

"For example!" said Massachusetts. "She has it all arranged, girls;all we have to do is to sit back and let wisdom flow in our ears. "

"Massachusetts, if you tease me any more, _I'll_ sit back, and letyou do it all yourself. Well, then--let me see! Tennessee--to tellthe truth, I didn't sleep very well last night; my head ached; and Iamused myself by planning a few costumes, just in case you shouldfancy the idea. "

"Quack! quack!" said Massachusetts. "I didn't mean to interrupt, butyou _are_ a duck, and I must just show that I can speak your language. Go on!"

"Tennessee, I thought you might be an Indian. You must have somethingthat will show your hair. With my striped shawl for a blanket, andthe cock's feather out of Jersey's hat--what do you think?"

"Perfect!" said Tennessee. "And I can try effects with my newpaint-box, one cheek stripes, the other spots. Hurrah! next!"

"Old New York, you must be a flower of some kind. Or--why not abasket of flowers? You could have a basket-work bodice, don't you see?and flowers coming out of it all round your neck--your neck is sopretty, you ought to show it--"

"Or carrots and turnips!" said the irrepressible Massachusetts. "Call her a Harvest Hamper, and braid her lovely locks with stringsof onions!"

"Thank you, " laughed Old New York, a slender girl whose flower-likebeauty made her a pleasure to look at. "I think I'll keep to the posy, Massachusetts. Go on, Maine! what shall Massachusetts be, and whatwill you be yourself?"

"Massachusetts ought by rights to be an apple, a nice fat rosy apple;but I don't quite know how that can be managed. "

"Then I shall be a codfish!" said Massachusetts, decidedly. "I am not going to desert Mr. Micawber--I mean the Bay State. Ishall go as a salt codfish. _Dixi_! Pass on to the Pine-Tree!"

"Why, so I might be a pine-tree! I didn't think of that. But still, I don't think I will; I meant to be October. The leaves at home areso glorious in October, and I saw some scarlet leaves yesterday thatwill be lovely for chaplets and garlands. "

"What are they? the maples don't turn red here--too near the sea, Isuppose. "

"I don't know what they are. Pointed leaves, rather long and delicate, and the most splendid color you ever saw. There is just this onelittle tree, near the crossroad by the old stone house. I haven'tseen anything like it about here. I found it yesterday, and juststood and looked at it, it was so beautiful. Yes, I shall be October;I'll decide on that. What's that rustling in the wood? aren't we allhere? I thought I heard something moving among the trees. I dobelieve some one is in there, Massachusetts. "

"I was pulling down a branch; don't be imaginative, my dear. Well, go on! are we to make out all the characters?"

"Why--I thought not. Some of the girls will like better to choosetheir own, don't you think? I thought we, as the Committee, mightmake out a list of suggestions, though, and then they can do as theyplease. But now, I wish some of you others would suggest something;I don't want to do it all. "

"Daisy will have to be her namesake, of course, " said Tennessee. 

"Jersey can be a mosquito, " said Old New York; "she's just thefigure for it. "

"Thank you!" said Jersey, who weighed ninety pounds. "Going on thattheory, Pennsylvania ought to go as an elephant, and Rhode Island asa giraffe. "

"And Chicago as a snake--no! I didn't mean that!" cried Maine. 

"You said it! you said it!" cried several voices, in triumph. 

"The Charitable Organ has called names at last!" said Jersey, laughing. "And she has hit it exactly. Now, Maine, what is the useof looking pained? the girl _is_ a snake--or a sneak, which amountsto the same thing. Let us have truth, I say, at all hazards. "

"I am sorry!" said Maine, simply. "I am not fond of Chicago, andthat is the very reason why I should not call her names behind herback. It slipped out before I knew it; I am sorry and ashamed, andthat is all there is to say. And now, suppose we go home, and tellthe other girls about the party. "

The Committee trooped off across the hill, laughing and talking, Maine alone grave and silent. As their voices died away, the fernsnodded beside a great pine-tree that stood just within the border ofthe wood, not six yards from where they had been sitting. A slenderdark girl rose from the fern-clump in which she had been crouching, and shook the pine-needles from her dress. Very cautiously sheparted the screen of leaves, and looked after the retreating girls. 

"That was worth while!" she said; and her voice, though quiet, wasfull of ugly meaning. "Snakes can hear, Miss Oracle, and bite, too. We'll see about those scarlet leaves!"

PART II

 "Tra la, tra lee, I want my tea!"

Sang Tennessee, as she ran up-stairs. "Oh, Maine, is that you? mydear, my costume is simply too perfect for anything. I've been outin the woods, practising my war-whoop. Three yelps and a screech; Iflatter myself it is the _most_ blood-curdling screech you ever heard. I'm going to have a dress-rehearsal now, all by myself. Come andsee--why, what's the matter, Maine? something is wrong with you. What is it?"

"Oh! nothing serious, " said Maine, trying to speak lightly. "I must get up another costume, that's all, and there isn't much time. "

"Why! what has happened?"

"The scarlet leaves are gone. "

"Gone! fallen, do you mean?"

"No! some one has cut or broken every branch. There is not one left. The leaves made the whole costume, you see; it amounts to nothingwithout them, merely a yellow gown. "

"Oh! my dear, what a shame! Who could have taken them?"

"I cannot imagine. I thought I would get them to-day, and keep themin water over night, so as to have them all ready to-morrow. Oh, well, it can't be helped. I can call myself a sunflower, or Black-eyedSusan, or some other yellow thing. It's absurd to mind, of course, only--"

"Only, being human, you do mind, " said Tennessee, putting her armround her friend's waist. "I should think so, dear. We don't careabout having you canonized just yet. But, Maine, there must be morered leaves somewhere. This comes of living near the sea. Now, in mymountains, or in your woods, we could just go out and fill our armswith glory in five minutes, whichever way we turned. These murmuringpines and--well, I don't know that there are any hemlocks--are allvery splendid, and no one loves them better than I do; but for aHarvest festival decoration, '_Ils ne sont pas là dedans_, ' as theFrench have it. "

"Slang, Tennessee! one cent!"

"On the contrary; foreign language, mark of commendation. 

"But come now, and see my war-dance. I didn't mean to let any onesee it before-hand, but you are a dear old thing, and you shall. Andthen, we can take counsel about your costume. Not that I have thesmallest anxiety about that; I've no doubt you have thought ofsomething pretty already. I don't see how you do it. When any onesays 'Clothes' to me, I never can think of anything but red flannelpetticoats, if you will excuse my mentioning the article. I thinkBlack-eyed Susan sounds delightful. How would you dress for it? youhave the pretty yellow dress all ready. "

"I should put brown velveteen with it. I have quite a piece leftover from my blouse. I'll get some yellow crêpe paper, and make a hat, or cap, with a brown crown, you know, and yellow petals for the brim;and have a brown bodice laced together over the full yellow waist, and--"

The two girls passed on, talking cheerfully--it is always soothingto talk about pretty clothes, especially when one is as clever asMaine was, and can make, as Massachusetts used to say, a court trainout of a jack-towel. 

A few minutes after, Massachusetts came along the same corridor, andtapped at another door. Hearing "Come in!" she opened the door andlooked in. 

"Busy, Chicago? beg pardon! Miss Cram asked me, as I was going by, toshow you the geometry lesson, as you were not in class yesterday. "

"Thanks! come in, won't you?" said Chicago, rising ungraciously fromher desk, "I was going to ask Miss Cram, of course, but I'm muchobliged. "

Massachusetts pointed out the lesson briefly, and turned to go, whenher eyes fell on a jar set on the ground, behind the door. 

"Hallo!" she said, abruptly. "You've got scarlet leaves, too. Wheredid you get them?"

"I found them, " said Chicago, coldly. "They were growing wild, onthe public highway. I had a perfect right to pick them. "

There was a defiant note in her voice, and Massachusetts looked ather with surprise. The girl's eyes glittered with an uneasy light, and her dark cheek was flushed. 

"I don't question your right, " said Massachusetts, bluntly, "but I do question your sense. I may be mistaken, but I don'tbelieve those leaves are very good to handle. They look to meuncommonly like dogwood. I'm not sure; but if I were you, I wouldshow them to Miss Flower before I touched them again. "

She nodded and went out, dismissing the matter from her busy mind. 

"Spiteful!" said Chicago, looking after her sullenly. 

"She suspects where I got the leaves, and thinks she can frighten meout of wearing them. I never saw such a hateful set of girls asthere are in this school. Never mind, sweet creatures! The 'snake'has got the scarlet leaves, and she knows when she has got a goodthing. "

She took some of the leaves from the jar, and held them against herblack hair. They were brilliantly beautiful, and became her well. She looked in the glass and nodded, well pleased with what she sawthere; then she carefully clipped the ends of the branches, and putfresh water in the jar before replacing them. 

"Indian Summer will take the shine out of Black-eyed Susan, I'mafraid, " she said to herself. "Poor Susan, I am sorry for her. " Shelaughed; it was not a pleasant laugh; and went back to her books. 

PART III. 

"What a pretty sight!"

It was Miss Wayland who spoke. She and the other teachers wereseated on the raised platform at the end of the gymnasium. The longroom was wreathed with garlands and brilliantly lighted, and theywere watching the girls as they flitted by in their gay dresses, tothe waltz that good Miss Flower was playing. 

"How ingenious the children are!" Miss Wayland continued. "Look atVirginia there, as Queen Elizabeth! Her train is my old party cloakturned inside out, and her petticoat--you recognize that?"

"I, not!" said Mademoiselle, peering forward. "I am too near of mysight. What ees it?"

"The piano cover. That Persian silk, you know, that my brother sentme. I never knew how handsome it was before. The ruff, and thosewonderful puffed sleeves, are mosquito-netting; the whole effect issuperb--at a little distance. "

"I thought Virginie not suffeeciently clayver for to effect zis!"said Mademoiselle. "Of custome, she shows not--what do you say?--invention. "

"Oh, she simply wears the costume, with her own peculiar little airof dignity. Maine designed it. Maine is costumer in chief. TheValiant Three, Maine, Massachusetts, and Tennessee, took all theunpractical girls in hand, and simply--dressed them. _Entre nous_, Mademoiselle, I wish, in some cases, that they would do it every day. "

"_Et moi aussi_!" exclaimed Mademoiselle, nodding eagerly. 

"Maine herself is lovely, " said Miss Cram. "I think hers is reallythe prettiest costume in the room; all that soft brown and yellow isreally charming, and suits her to perfection. "

"Yes; and I am so glad of it, for the child was sadly disappointedabout some other costume she had planned, and got this up almost atthe last moment. She is a clever child, and a good one. Do look atMassachusetts! Massachusetts, my dear child, what do you callyourself? you are a most singular figure. "

"The Codfish, Miss Wayland; straight from Boston State-House. Admiremy tail, please! I got up at five o'clock this morning to finish it, and I must confess I am proud of it. "

She napped her tail, which was a truly astonishing one, made ofnewspapers neatly plaited and sewed together, and wriggled her body, clad in well-fitting scales of silver paper. "Quite a fish, Iflatter myself?" she said, insinuatingly. 

"Very like a whale, if not like a codfish, " said Miss Wayland, laughing heartily. "You certainly are one of the successes of theevening, Massachusetts, and the Mosquito is another, in that filmygray. Is that mosquito-netting, too? I congratulate you both on yourskill. By the way, what does Chicago represent? she is very effective, with all those scarlet leaves. What are they, I wonder!"

Massachusetts turned hastily, and a low whistle came from her lips. "Whew! I beg pardon, Miss Wayland. It was the codfish whistled, not I;it's a way they have on Friday evenings. I told that girl to askMiss Flower about those leaves; I am afraid they are--oh, here isMiss Flower!" as the good botany teacher came towards them, ratherout of breath after her playing. 

"Miss Flower, what are those leaves, please? those in Chicago's hair, and on her dress. "

Miss Flower looked, and her cheerful face grew grave. 

"_Rhus veneneta_" she said; "poison dogwood. "

"I was afraid so!" said Massachusetts. "I told her yesterday that Ithought they were dogwood, and advised her to show them to youbefore she touched them again. "

"Poor child!" said kind Miss Flower. "She has them all about herface and neck, too. We must get them off at once. "

She was starting forward, but Miss Wayland detained her. 

"The mischief is done now, is it not?" she said. "And after all, dogwood does not poison every one. I have had it in my hands, andnever got the smallest injury. Suppose we let her have her evening, at least till after supper, which will be ready now in a few minutes. If she is affected by the poison, this is her last taste of theHarvest Festivities. "

They watched the girl. She was receiving compliments on her strikingcostume, from one girl and another, and was in high spirits. Sheglanced triumphantly about her, her eyes lighting up when they fellon Maine in her yellow dress. She certainly looked brilliantlyhandsome, the flaming scarlet of the leaves setting off her darkskin and flashing eyes to perfection. 

Presently she put her hand up to her cheek, and held it there amoment. 

"Aha!" said Massachusetts, aloud. "She's in for it!"

"In for what?" said Maine, who came up at that moment. Following thedirection of Massachusetts' eyes, she drew her apart, and spoke in alow tone. "I shall not say anything, Massachusetts, and I hope youwill not. Don't you know?" she added, seeing her friend's look ofinquiry. "Those are my scarlet leaves. "

"No!"

"Yes. I have found out all about it. Daisy lingered behind the restof us the other day, when I had been telling you all about the leaves, to pick blackberries. She saw Chicago come out of the wood a fewminutes after we left, looking black as thunder. Don't you remember, I thought I heard a rustling in the fern, and you laughed at me? Shewas hidden there, and heard every word we said. Next day the leaveswere gone, and now they are on Chicago's dress instead of mine. "

"And a far better place for them!" exclaimed Massachusetts, "though I am awfully sorry for her. Oh! you lucky, lucky girl! andyou dear, precious, stupid ignoramus, not to know poison dogwoodwhen you see it. "

"Poison dogwood! those beautiful leaves!"

"Those beautiful leaves. That young woman is in for about two weeksof as pretty a torture as ever Inquisitor or Iroquois could devise. I know all about it, though there was a time when I also was ignorant. Look! she is feeling of her cheek already; it begins to sting. Tomorrow she will be all over patches, red and white; itching--thereis nothing to describe the itching. It is beyond words. Next day herface will begin to swell, and in two days more--the School Birthday, my dear--she will be like nothing human, a mere shapeless lump ofpain and horror. She will not sleep by night or rest by day. Shewill go home to her parents, and they will not know her, but willthink we have sent them a smallpox patient by mistake. Her eyes--"

"Oh, hush! hush, Massachusetts!" cried Maine. "Oh! poor thing! poorthing! what shall I do? I feel as if it were all my fault, somehow. "

"Your fault that she sneaked and eavesdropped, and then stole yourdecoration? Oh! come, Maine, don't be fantastic!"

"No, Massachusetts, I don't mean that. But if I had only known, myself, what they were, I should never have spoken of them, and allthis would never have happened. "

"The moral of which is, study botany!" said Massachusetts. 

"I'll begin to-morrow!" said Maine. 

 * * * * *

"And what is to be the end of the dogwood story, I wonder!" saidTennessee, meeting Massachusetts in a breathless interval betweentwo exercises on the School Birthday, the crowning event of theHarvest Festivities at Miss Wayland's. "Have you heard the lastchapter?"

"No! what is it?"

"Maine is in a dark room with the moaning Thing that was Chicago, singing to her, and telling her about the speeches and things lastnight. She vows she will not come out again to-day, just because shewas at chapel and heard the singing this morning; says that was thebest of it, and she doesn't care much about dancing. Maine! andMiss Wayland will not let us break in the door and carry her offbodily; says she will be happier where she is, and will always beglad of this day. I'll tell you what it is, Massachusetts, if thisis the New England conscience I hear so much about, I'm preciousglad I was born in Tennessee. "

"No, you aren't, Old One! you wish you had been born in Maine. "

"Well, perhaps I do!" said Tennessee. 

THE END.