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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Two Christmas Stories: Sam Franklin's
+Savings-Bank; A Miserable Christmas and a Happy New Year, by Hesba Stretton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Two Christmas Stories: Sam Franklin's Savings-Bank; A Miserable
+       Christmas and a Happy New Year
+
+Author: Hesba Stretton
+
+Release Date: July 12, 2021 [eBook #65830]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Charlene Taylor, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed
+             Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+             produced from images generously made available by The Internet
+             Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO CHRISTMAS STORIES: SAM
+FRANKLIN'S SAVINGS-BANK; A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR ***
+
+
+
+
+TWO CHRISTMAS STORIES
+
+
+
+
+By the Author of ‘Jessica’s First Prayer.’
+
+_Uniform with this Volume, gilt, cloth limp, each with Frontispiece._
+
+Price Sixpence each
+
+
+  FRIENDS TILL DEATH.
+  THE WORTH OF A BABY and HOW APPLE-TREE COURT WAS WON.  1 vol.
+  MICHEL LORIO’S CROSS.
+  OLD TRANSOME.
+
+  For a list of other Works by the same Author,
+  see the Catalogue at the end of this work.
+
+
+HENRY S. KING & CO., LONDON.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: ‘That’s an old waistcoat of mine.’
+
+                                                 _See page 24._]
+
+
+
+
+  TWO CHRISTMAS STORIES
+
+  _SAM FRANKLIN’S SAVINGS-BANK_
+
+  _A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS AND
+  A HAPPY NEW YEAR_
+
+
+  BY
+  HESBA STRETTON
+
+  AUTHOR OF
+  ‘LOST GIP’ ‘CASSY’ ‘JESSICA’S FIRST PRAYER’ ETC.
+
+
+  WITH TWO ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  _HENRY S. KING & CO., LONDON_
+  1876
+
+
+(_All rights reserved_)
+
+
+
+
+SAM FRANKLIN’S SAVINGS-BANK.
+
+
+If any one had told Sam Franklin before he married that he would ever
+save money out of his wages, he would have laughed the idea to scorn;
+they had never been more than enough when he had only himself to keep,
+and when there was a wife into the bargain, what chance would there be
+for him to have a penny to put by? Yet, before he had been a husband
+many weeks, he had made the discovery that the wages which had only
+been enough for one were rather more than enough for two. There were no
+dinners at the cookshops to be paid for, no long evenings spent in the
+public-houses, no laundresses’ bills to meet. He had a great deal more
+comfort with a somewhat smaller outlay.
+
+When Sam found half-a-crown in his pocket over and above the sum he
+allowed his wife for housekeeping and rent, he hardly knew what to do
+with it. His own fireside was very comfortable, and he did not care to
+leave it for the tavern. He and his wife were living on the first-floor
+of a house in a decent, quiet street, mostly occupied by artisans
+like himself, though the houses were from three to four stories high,
+and had been built for richer people. They had a sitting-room, with
+a bedroom behind it, and the use of a back kitchen for cooking and
+washing; so the place was quite large enough for comfort. Ann Franklin
+had notions of cleanliness and smartness, which made her take great
+pride in herself and all her belongings. The parlour, as she liked it
+to be called, was kept bright and cheerful, and that man must have
+had a strange idea of comfort who preferred the noise and smoke of a
+public-house taproom.
+
+What, then, was Sam to do with his spare half-crown? It doubled itself
+into five shillings, and by-and-by a golden half-sovereign lay among
+the silver and copper he carried loose in his pocket. He was a man
+of few words--a close man, his comrades called him--and silent as
+the grave concerning his own affairs. Had he told one of them when
+he was about to be married? Not his best friend amongst them! Had he
+mentioned it as a piece of news interesting to himself that he had a
+son born? Never! He despised men who could not keep a still tongue
+in their heads, but must prate about all they did or thought. Even
+with his wife he was sparing of words, though he liked her to tell him
+everything she did, and keep no secret from him. But then Ann was only
+a woman; a man should have more control over his tongue.
+
+So Sam Franklin did not say a word about his savings, though they
+seemed to grow like seed sown in good ground. Every week he gave his
+wife the sum they had first agreed upon, and she made the best of it
+cheerfully, letting him know how every penny was spent, and sometimes
+wondering to him how his comrades’ wives managed to be so much smarter
+than she was. At first he had thoughts of buying her a new bonnet or
+shawl, but he scarcely liked to own that he had been keeping back
+the money from her. This difficulty became greater as the sum grew
+larger; and, besides that, the possession of it began to get a hold
+upon him. It gave to him a secret consciousness of wealth among his
+fellow-workmen, which was very pleasant for a time; but by-and-by this
+feeling passed away, and a strange, unaccountable dread of being poor
+took possession of him. He began to talk about bad times, and the high
+prices of provisions and clothing, and the expenses of a family, though
+his own consisted of his cheery, managing wife, and one boy only. But
+this change in Sam Franklin was so gradual, that neither himself
+nor his wife had any idea what was going on. He spent his evenings
+at home, and went nearly every Sunday to the place of worship which
+Ann and Johnny constantly attended. Ann was very proud of her tall,
+fine-looking husband, whose clothes she kept in such good order that he
+looked, in her eyes at least, quite a gentleman. No one had a word to
+say against him, though if it had been otherwise, Ann was too true a
+wife to let it be said in her presence. He was industrious and steady,
+and kind to her and the boy; and if she had to work hard to keep them
+both tidy and respectable, why, it was the fault of the bad times, not
+her husband’s.
+
+When Sam Franklin had saved ten pounds, and had two Bank of England
+notes to take care of, his difficulty and perplexity had very much
+increased. There was no Post-office Savings-bank, and he had no faith
+in the old savings-banks, for he could remember how his poor old
+mother had lost every penny of her painful savings by the breaking of
+the one she had put her money into. He dare not tell Ann about it,
+after keeping such a secret so long. The money became a trouble to
+him, though perhaps it was his most cherished possession. Certainly he
+thought of it oftener than of Ann or Johnny, for wherever he hid it,
+it could not but be a source of anxiety to him. If he took it to the
+work-yard with him he was fearful of losing it, whilst if he left it
+at home he was quite as much alarmed lest Ann should find it. How it
+would alter the face of things if she discovered that he was the owner
+of all that money, and had never told her!
+
+At length, when his savings mounted up to twenty pounds, a bright idea
+struck him one day. He stayed at home the next Sunday evening, and
+having found his old wedding waistcoat, which was lined with a good
+strong linen lining, he carefully unpicked a part of one of the seams
+large enough to take in a folded bank-note, and spread them as high as
+he could reach with his finger up and down the breast of it. He could
+not stitch it up again as neatly as it had been sewn before, but he
+was obliged to trust to Ann not noticing it, for it was a worn-out
+waistcoat and past her regard altogether: yet when she came home the
+first thing she saw was that he had it on with his coat buttoned across
+it.
+
+‘Good gracious, Sam!’ she cried, ‘whatever made you put on that old
+thing?’
+
+‘It’s warmer than any I’ve got,’ he answered, putting his hand up
+against the breast of it where the bank-notes lay safe and hidden.
+
+‘It’s so old-fashioned,’ she said, discontentedly; ‘but it doesn’t
+matter much if you won’t go out of doors in it. Men have no notion of
+things.’
+
+‘What was the text, Ann?’ he inquired, simply to turn away her
+attention from the old waistcoat.
+
+‘Oh! it hadn’t anything to do with us,’ she replied, more cheerfully;
+‘it was, ‘The love of money is the root of all evil.’ Nothing for us in
+that, you know, though the preacher did say we might love it as much
+from craving after it as having it. Well, I neither have it, nor crave
+it.’
+
+Sam felt uncomfortable, and did not make any further remark. He told
+his wife he should always put on his old waistcoat when he came in
+from his work; and he continued to do so regularly for some time, then
+occasionally, until after awhile the waistcoat simply hung on a nail
+behind the bedroom door, only being taken down once a week by Ann, to
+have the dust brushed from it. Every now and then he had another note
+to add to those he had already secured; and he became so skilled in
+opening and sewing the seam, that there was no fear of Ann noticing
+any difference. Even yet he would wear it upon a rainy Sunday, feeling
+a deep satisfaction in his admirable scheme for concealing and taking
+care of his savings.
+
+Month after month, and year after year, the old waistcoat kept his
+secret faithfully. His eyes rested upon it first thing in the morning
+and last thing at night, hanging behind the door, as if it would hang
+there for ever. He grew more stingy then ever, grudging his wife
+her bits of blue and pink ribbon, with which she made herself smart,
+and altogether refused to send Johnny to a school where the fee was
+sixpence a week, instead of the threepence he had paid hitherto at a
+dame’s-school. He was longing to make up fifty pounds; he had already
+forty-five in his waistcoat, and how much more fifty pounds sounded
+than forty-five!
+
+He had between three and four pounds towards this very desirable end,
+when one night, upon his return from work, he went as usual into the
+back room to wash his hands and face, and glanced at once towards the
+familiar object behind the door. But it was not there! The place was
+bare, and the nail empty. The mere sight of an empty nail in that place
+filled him with terror; but no doubt Ann had laid it away in some
+drawer. His voice, as he called to her, was broken and tremulous.
+
+‘Where have you put my old waistcoat?’ he asked. He could hear her
+pouring the boiling water over the tea in the next room, and she did
+not answer before clicking down the lid of the teapot.
+
+‘Oh, it was only harbouring the dust,’ she answered, in a cheerful
+voice, ‘so I made a right good bargain, and sold it for ninepence to an
+old-clothesman.’
+
+The shock was so sudden that Sam staggered as if he had received a
+heavy blow, and fell on the floor. He did not quite lose his senses,
+for he felt Ann trying to lift him up, and heard her asking what ailed
+him. In a minute or two he managed to get up and sit down on the foot
+of the bed, but still he found himself giddy and stunned.
+
+‘Where is it?’ he cried, bursting into tears and sobs, like a child;
+‘where is it?’
+
+‘The old waistcoat?’ she asked, thinking he was gone out of his mind.
+
+‘Yes!’ he said. ‘There was nine five-pound notes in it; forty-five
+pounds in Bank of England notes!’
+
+At first Ann thought his head had been hurt by his fall, and he was
+rambling; but as he kept on moaning over his loss, and confessing how
+he had concealed the notes from her, she began to believe him, and all
+the sooner when he pulled out the three sovereigns he had saved towards
+the tenth note and flung them on the floor in angry despair.
+
+‘And I don’t know the man from Adam!’ cried Ann. ‘I never saw him
+before; and he’ll take very good care I never see him again. Oh, Sam!
+how could you? how could you keep it a secret all these years, when
+I never bought as much as a yard of ribbon or a collar on the sly? I
+can’t forgive it, or forget it either.’
+
+She felt it very hard that Sam should not have trusted her. The loss
+of the money was hard, and she could not help thinking what a large sum
+it was, and what it might have done for Johnny. But the loss of faith
+in her husband was ten times worse. How could she ever believe in him
+again? or how could she ever be sure again that he really loved and
+trusted her?
+
+It was a very miserable evening. Sam bewailed his money so bitterly
+that Ann began to fancy he would rather have lost her or his child. She
+sat silent and indignant, whilst he, unlike himself, was almost raving
+with angry sorrow. She did not speak to him the next morning before
+he set off to the yard, though she knew he had lain awake all night
+like herself, and had not swallowed a morsel of breakfast. It was a
+cold, wintry day, with a drizzling mist filling the air. Sam was wet
+through before he reached his work, and there was no chance of drying
+his clothes. He was wet through when he came home, but there were no
+dry, warm things laid out for him. He might wait upon himself, thought
+Ann; it would be well for him to see the difference between a good wife
+and a bad one. He would not condescend to find a change of clothing for
+himself, and he sat shivering on the hearth all night, in spite of the
+warm, cheerful blaze of the bright fire.
+
+By the time the week was ended, Sam Franklin was compelled to knock
+off work. Severe rheumatic fever had set in, and the doctor said he
+must not expect to get back to the yard for three months or more.
+Perhaps it was the best thing that could have befallen him, for it
+brought back all the old warm love for him to his wife’s heart, which
+had been grieved and estranged by his closeness and want of trust in
+her. She nursed him tenderly, never saying a word to blame him now he
+could not get out of her way, as many wives would have done. Before
+his illness was half over she was forced to pawn all her own best
+clothing, as well as his, to buy the mere necessaries of life. Never
+had Sam Franklin thought his wife would have to go day after day to the
+pawn-shop; but she did it so cheerfully that half of the sting of it
+was taken away.
+
+‘Nancy,’ he said, one morning, ‘all night long I’ve had a text ringing
+in my head, ‘You cannot serve God and mammon,’ ‘You cannot serve God
+and mammon!’ Why, I used to think I was doing God a service when I put
+on my Sunday clothes and went to church of a Sunday morning with you.
+As if He’d think that were serving Him! And then all the week I was
+worshipping that old waistcoat of mine hanging behind the door, as much
+as any poor heathen worships blocks of wood and stone. I begin to think
+it was God who put it in your heart to sell it to the old-clothesman.
+But how can I serve Him now, Nancy, my girl? I can’t do anything save
+lie in this bed and be a burden to you.’
+
+Ann Franklin stooped down and kissed her husband, whispering, ‘I don’t
+mind a bit about you being a burden, as you call it;’ and after that
+she opened a Bible and read these words: ‘Then said they unto him, What
+shall we do, that we may work the works of God? Jesus answered and said
+unto them, This is the work of God, that ye believe on Him whom he hath
+sent.’
+
+‘Ay! I see it,’ he said, after a long pause, ‘that’s a work I can begin
+better here, perhaps, than in the yard at my work. I can work for God
+that way, lying here on my back as helpless as a baby. And now I come
+to think of it, Jesus Christ never served mammon anyway, and if I
+believe in Him I shall try to be like Him. It’s no use praying to God
+on Sundays and doing contrary all the week, wailing after money and
+such like.’
+
+‘Sam,’ answered his wife, ‘I’ve not been believing in him as I ought,
+for I’ve been fretting after that old waistcoat ever so, thinking how
+useful the money would be now; but if you’ll help me I’ll help you, and
+we’ll try to believe in Him just the same as if we could see him coming
+into the room and talking to us.’
+
+‘But that would be seeing, not believing.’
+
+‘So it would,’ she answered, ‘and he said himself, “Blessed are they
+that have not seen, and yet have believed.” We must trust in Him
+without seeing Him.’
+
+But it was a hard trial to trust in God whilst all their possessions
+were disappearing one after another. Sam was a long while in fully
+recovering his strength; and when he was fit to go back to the yard
+they were pretty deeply in debt. Yet never had they been so happy
+in former days. Their simple faith in the Saviour gave them a peace
+different from anything they had ever felt before; and Sam, who had
+now no secret care or pleasure to brood over in his own mind, grew
+frank and open with his wife. They pinched and denied themselves to
+get out of debt; and when the next winter came they were again in the
+comfortable circumstances which had been theirs when Ann sold the
+valuable old waistcoat.
+
+‘Sam,’ said Ann, a day or two before Christmas-day, ‘Johnny’s been
+putting threepence a week into the school club. He’s got as much as
+nine shillings in, and he’s to have twopence a shilling added to it if
+we buy him clothes with it, but we can have the nine shillings out if
+we like. Come home in time to go with us to the school to-night.’
+
+‘Ay, ay!’ said Sam, heartily, ‘I’ll go with Johnny to get his little
+fortune.’
+
+It was quite dark in the evening when the three started off for the
+school where the weekly pence were paid in. But as they locked their
+parlour-door and turned into the street, they saw a girl about Johnny’s
+age, with bare feet and no bonnet on her head, standing on the outer
+door-sill, shivering and crying, as she looked at the dismal night,
+with flakes of snow drifting lazily in the air. They all knew her well;
+she was the little girl belonging to the tenant of the attic two floors
+above them. Ann had often given fragments of bread and meat to Johnny
+to take to her, but she had always shrunk from inviting her into their
+parlour, because she was too dirty and ragged. Now, as the child stood
+crying and shivering on the door-step, her heart smote her for her want
+of kindness, and she stopped to speak to her gently.
+
+‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
+
+‘Father says I must go and beg,’ she answered, crying more bitterly,
+‘and I’m frightened, and it’s so bitter cold. But we must pay our rent,
+he says, or be turned out, and he doesn’t know where to go to, and is
+very ill, coughin’ ever so. We owe for three weeks now, that’s nine
+shillings, and I don’t know where I’m to beg for nine shillings.’
+
+‘There’s all the coppers I’ve got,’ said Sam putting three or four
+pence in her hand, and hurrying on with Ann and Johnny, whilst the
+girl pattered after them, with her bare feet tingling in the snow. Ann
+did not speak again till they reached the school, but once or twice
+she looked back and saw the little ragged figure following them. There
+was no one in the school room except themselves and the gentleman who
+was ready to receive their payment and give them the ticket for buying
+clothes to the value of ten shillings and sixpence. But before he could
+write out the ticket Ann glanced round, and saw a thin, care-worn
+little face peering in through the window.
+
+‘Oh, Sam,’ she cried, ‘we don’t want it so badly after all, and I think
+if it belonged to Him, Jesus Christ, he would give it to the poor man
+up in the attic to pay his rent with. Don’t you think he would?’
+
+‘But it’s Johnny’s little fortune,’ said Sam, ‘and we should lose one
+and sixpence if we took it out for that.’
+
+‘Johnny ’ud be glad to give it to poor little Bell?’ asked Ann, with
+her hand on the boy’s shoulder.
+
+‘Yes, mother, for little Bell,’ he said readily.
+
+‘Johnny’s clothes are warm, if they’re shabby,’ pursued Ann, ‘and
+there’s that poor little creature in rags, and barefoot. My heart aches
+for her, Sam. If it were our boy, and they’d nine shillings they didn’t
+want badly, what should we like them to do?’
+
+‘Well, Ann, I give up,’ he said; ‘after all, it’s your savings, not
+mine.’
+
+Still he was not quite satisfied about it. That man in the attic was
+very probably a drunken vagabond, and deserved to be turned out for not
+paying his rent. To be sure he had been a tenant nearly a year, and had
+been quiet enough, meddling with nobody, and not putting himself in
+anybody’s way. Sam had not seen him above two or three times, and then
+he had only just caught sight of a thin, stooping figure, with a shabby
+old coat buttoned up to the throat, as if the man had no shirt to wear.
+Anyhow it was Ann’s business, and if any wife deserved to have her own
+way in a thing like this, it was his wife.
+
+Ann picked up the money, which was counted out to her, with a pleasant
+smile upon her face. It was snowing very fast when they opened the
+school-room door; but there was little Bell still, with her face
+pressed against the window and one foot drawn up out of the snow to
+keep it warmer. Ann called to her, and she ran quickly towards them.
+
+‘I prayed to God for the money this morning,’ she said, looking
+wistfully up into Ann’s smiling face, ‘but He couldn’t have heard me,
+for He never sent it.’
+
+‘He’s going to send it now,’ answered Ann.
+
+‘Will an angel come with it?’ she asked.
+
+‘Ay!’ answered Sam, stooping down and lifting the child in his arms,
+for he was quite strong again, and she was too thin and puny to be much
+weight. He did not like to see her bare feet on the snow, and if Ann
+was going to do them a good turn, why should he not do another?
+
+‘An angel with shining, white clothes on, and wings?’ said little Bell.
+
+‘No; she’s wearing an old bonnet and a faded shawl,’ answered Sam, ‘and
+her wings aren’t grown yet, I’m glad to say.’
+
+‘For shame, Sam!’ cried his wife; but she was glad to hear from his
+voice that he was agreeing heartily with her self-denial. It was not
+far back to their home, but instead of turning into their own pleasant
+room they all marched up two flights of stairs to the attic.
+
+It was a low room with a shelving roof, and lighted by a skylight, of
+which two or three of the panes were broken, and a few stray snowflakes
+were floating in, and hardly melting in the chilly air. There was an
+old rusty stove instead of a fireplace, but no fire in it; and in one
+corner lay a hard mattress, on which they could see in the dim light
+the figure of a man, barely covered with a few clothes. As he lifted
+up his head to speak to them a racking cough choked him, and it was a
+minute or two before he could utter a word.
+
+‘We’ve been your neighbours a long while,’ said Ann, gently, ‘and I’m
+ashamed I never came to see you before. We’ve brought little Bell home,
+for it’s a dreadful night out of doors, not fit for a grown-up person,
+scarcely.’
+
+‘But the landlord says he’ll turn us out to-morrow,’ gasped the sick
+man.
+
+‘No! no!’ answered Ann; ‘that’s all right. We’ve got the money ready
+for him, and now we’ll make you as comfortable as we can. Sam run down
+and bring me a light, that’s a good fellow.’
+
+‘I’m not going to live long,’ said the stranger, ‘and I’m afraid of
+being turned out, but I can never pay you back again. There’s no more
+work in me, and my money’s done; I can’t pay you.’
+
+‘Never mind,’ she answered, ‘we’re only doing as we’d be done by, so
+don’t you worry about it. Here’s Sam coming with a candle; and now I’ll
+put your bed straight.’
+
+But when the light was brought in, and Ann looked down at the poor
+covering on the mattress, she uttered a little scream of amazement, and
+sank down on a box beside the bed of the sick man. Sam himself stood as
+still as a stone, staring, as she did, at the clothes which lay across
+the bed. There was his old wedding waistcoat; he knew it by a patch
+which Ann had put into it very carefully. Was it possible that the
+nine five-pound notes were still safely hidden in the lining?
+
+‘That’s an old waistcoat of mine,’ he said, as soon as he could speak;
+‘I never thought to see it again.’
+
+‘I bought it soon after I came here,’ answered the attic tenant;
+‘an old-clothesman offered it for a shilling. It’s been a good warm
+waistcoat; but I’ve worn it for the last time.’
+
+‘I’ll give you a couple of blankets for it,’ said Sam, eagerly. ‘My
+wife sold it without asking me, and it was my wedding waistcoat, you
+see. I didn’t want to part with it.’
+
+‘Take it, and welcome, without any blankets,’ he answered; ‘you’ve done
+enough for me already.’
+
+‘No,’ said Ann, ‘I’ll bring the blankets.’
+
+She was trembling with excitement, but she would not leave the poor man
+until she had stopped up the broken panes, made the bed comfortable,
+and wrapped him well up in some warm blankets. Then she went down to
+their own room, and found Sam waiting for her before opening the seam
+in the lining of the waistcoat. Even his hand shook, but he managed
+to unpick a few stitches, and draw out a crumpled bit of paper. Yes;
+they were all there, the nine five-pound notes he had never expected to
+touch again.
+
+‘Oh, Sam!’ she cried, with tears in her eyes, ‘do you think you will
+love them again?’
+
+For a few minutes he sat still, looking earnestly at the notes, with
+a strange expression of fear upon his face. He compared the peace and
+happiness of the last few months with the heavy burden his secret had
+been to him. He thought of how he had begun to learn to think of God
+when he awoke in the morning, and when he was falling asleep at night.
+If he kept the money, would it be the same? Yet would it be right to
+throw away what God might intend them to keep as a provision against
+some time of need? Perhaps God saw the time was come when he might be
+trusted with money again.
+
+‘Ann,’ he said, ‘If I thought these notes would tempt me to serve
+mammon again, I’d throw them all on to the fire yonder. You take charge
+of them, my lass, and put them into the Post-Office Savings-bank, that
+was opened a few months ago. Thank God I lost them, and thank God I’ve
+found them again.’
+
+For the next few weeks Sam Franklin and his wife nursed and tended the
+dying man in the attic as tenderly as if he had been their brother,
+teaching him what Sam had learned himself, that even on a sick bed he
+might work the works of God, by believing on Jesus Christ, whom he hath
+sent. When he died, blessing them for their brotherly love to him, they
+took charge of little Bell, and no doubt spent as much upon her as the
+money laid by in the savings-bank. But she grew up like a daughter to
+them; and not long ago she became their daughter by marrying Johnny
+Franklin. The wedding took place a day or two before Christmas, the
+anniversary of the day when Johnny readily gave up his small fortune
+for little Bell.
+
+‘Oh, Sam!’ said his wife, as she thought of it, ‘how would it have been
+if we’d kept the nine shillings to buy clothes for Johnny?’
+
+‘We should have kept the nine shillings and lost the forty-five
+pounds,’ answered Sam. ‘It’s true, “He that hath pity upon the poor
+lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he hath given will he pay him
+again.”’
+
+‘Yes, but it’s more than that,’ said Ann; ‘we’d a chance of doing
+something like Jesus Christ would have done in our place, and we did
+it. That was the best of all.’
+
+
+[Illustration: She saw the stranger produce a pistol.
+
+                                                       _See page 46._]
+
+
+
+
+A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR.
+
+
+If you had asked any of the poor people of Ilverton who was the
+prettiest and best girl in the town, they would, one and all, have
+answered promptly, ‘Dr. Layard’s daughter.’ There was scarcely a
+poor man or woman, who did not know the way to Dr. Layard’s surgery,
+where he gave advice gratis to all who could not really afford to pay
+for it. And there was scarcely one who did not know the look of Dr.
+Layard’s bright, comfortable, old-fashioned kitchen, and the pleasant,
+tender smile on Kate Layard’s face, as she listened pityingly to their
+sad stories, and sent them away home with happier hearts and lighter
+spirits.
+
+If it had not been for her poor people, as she called them, Kate
+Layard’s life would have been utterly dull and idle. She had no
+household duties to see after; her aunt, who had taken the management
+of all such matters whilst she was still a little girl, would not brook
+any interference with her rule; and preferred to have Kate sitting in
+the drawing-room, idly busy over fancy work, or practising music to
+which no one listened, and painting water-colour sketches, at which
+no one looked. There were three boys younger than herself, but they
+were all away, either at school or college; and the long days passed
+by listlessly, for want of something to do that was really worth the
+doing. But for her father’s poor patients, and he had a good many of
+them, she would have felt her life to be quite lost.
+
+It was on a dull, dark day, near the end of November, with a thick
+yellow fog pressing close against the windows, which prevented her from
+going out, that she felt particularly disconsolate and weary. Aunt
+Brooks was busy about the house, making arrangements for a thorough
+cleaning down before Christmas; but she steadily refused Kate’s offers
+of help. Secretly Aunt Brooks was fearful of Dr. Layard finding out
+that Kate would make quite as good a housekeeper as herself; and she
+shrank from the idea of going into some little lonely house of her own,
+where she could have no more than one little maid to order about, and
+no scope at all for her own powers. She did not think of Kate having
+no scope for hers. If she had, it is quite possible that she would
+have laid down her command, and heroically withdrawn to leave Kate her
+proper post.
+
+‘I wish, something would happen to me!’ sighed Kate, on that dull
+November morning. At the very moment a servant brought in a letter,
+just delivered by the postman. Kate was not quite sure of the
+handwriting; not quite sure. But all at once a vision of her father’s
+surgery flashed across her mind, with a frank, noble, pleasant-looking
+young man in her father’s place, giving advice and prescription, and
+good-tempered, cheery words to her poor people. It was Philip Carey,
+her father’s assistant, who had left them some months ago. It seemed to
+Kate that she had never been dull while he was there. Yes! the letter
+was from Philip Carey; it bore his name. A bright colour flushed up
+in Kate’s face. If there had been any one in the room, she would have
+carried it away to read it in solitude, although she did not yet know
+a single word in it. But she was quite alone, and no one could see the
+colour in her cheeks, or the ready tears that sprang into her eyes, and
+made the lines look dim.
+
+‘I used to fancy sometimes,’ said Philip Carey, ‘that I might win your
+love; but I never dared to be sure of it. I was too poor then, and my
+future was too uncertain, for me to say how dearly I loved you. But
+now I am appointed the assistant physician at Lentford Hospital, I
+think your father would be satisfied with my prospects. I do not write
+to him but to you. If there is any hope for me, if you can trust your
+whole happiness to me, write but the one word “Come,” and I will come
+over immediately after my official appointment on the 30th, and speak
+to Dr. Layard. If you do not write, I shall understand your silence.’
+
+Kate sat, with the letter crushed between her hands, gazing blissfully
+into the fire. All the world was changed, quite suddenly. The day was
+no longer dull and dreary. It seemed almost too good to be true. Philip
+Carey was the very man to be a physician in the Lentford Hospital; he
+was so gentle and considerate with the poor, and so skilful as well.
+She recollected how all her poor people had bewailed and mourned after
+him when he went away; and what a pang it had often been to her, a pang
+yet a pleasure, to hear his name so often on their lips. Oh! how good
+she must be to make herself good enough for him! She must be the best
+doctor’s wife in all Lentford.
+
+With very unsteady fingers she wrote the one word ‘Come’ as Philip had
+suggested; and then it occurred to her that she might catch the morning
+post, and he would receive her answer before night. She directed the
+envelope in haste, and ran out herself with it across the square;
+dropping it into the letter-box with her own hands, and looking after
+it, as one does sometimes when the letter is a very important one.
+
+Kate kept her precious secret to herself. Aunt Brooks was in a rather
+testy temper, and it was not easy to begin such a confidential
+disclosure to her. Dr. Layard was out all day, and only came in late at
+night, worn out and exhausted. Kate rather rejoiced in the secret being
+a secret. Everybody would know quite soon enough; for her letter had
+reached her on the 28th, and Philip was sure to come over on the 30th,
+for Lentford was only ten miles away, and he could ride to Ilverton as
+soon as his official appointment was confirmed.
+
+Yet it seemed a long time before the 30th came. Towards the close of
+the day Kate grew more agitated in her secret gladness. Philip might
+come in at any hour; he knew they dined at six, and Kate was fully
+prepared to see him arrive then. But he did not appear; and the dinner
+passed very nearly in silence, for Kate was unable to talk, and Dr.
+Layard was tired with his day’s work.
+
+‘Do you know, Kate,’ he said suddenly, ‘young Carey is appointed
+assistant physician at Lentford Hospital? It’s a splendid opening for
+so young a man. But he’s a fine fellow is Carey; I shall be more than
+content if one of my boys turns out like him. Ah! Katie, Katie, you
+should have set your cap at him when he was here; you’ll never have
+such a chance again.’
+
+The colour mounted to her forehead, and a smile played about her lips,
+ready to break into a happy laugh. If Philip would but come in now!
+
+‘Don’t put such notions into Kate’s head,’ said Aunt Brooks, precisely;
+‘no well behaved young lady would think of setting her cap at any one.’
+
+It was a restless evening for Kate. One hour after another passed
+by, and still he did not come. She went to the window, and opened it
+impatiently. She began to wonder if he meant to come in by the last
+train, and stay all night. But what would Aunt Brooks say? And what
+a strange hour it would be to begin to talk to her father about such
+a subject! She fancied it would take a very long time to introduce
+it, and afterwards to discuss it. But at half-past eleven Kate was
+compelled to give up expecting him and go to bed, when the fever of her
+new happiness having calmed a little, she slept profoundly, and dreamed
+of no trouble.
+
+But again there followed a morning and evening of expectation, dogged
+hour after hour by a strengthening disappointment. Kate sat moping over
+the fire, as Aunt Brooks said, trying to find reasons for Philip’s
+absence and silence. The crumpled letter had been carefully smoothed
+out again, and she read it till she knew every word by heart. But the
+pride and gladness died as her heart grew sick with the sickness of
+hope deferred. The brief sunshine at last faded quite out of her life,
+and left her in deeper darkness than before. She waited and trusted
+till she could wait and trust no longer; and then she gave herself up
+to the full sense of her bitter mortification and sorrow.
+
+There was no one to notice the change except her father, who was too
+busy to bestow more than a passing thought or two to her melancholy
+face and fading colour. Her happiness, like Jonah’s gourd, had sprung
+up in a night and perished in a night; and like him she was ready to
+exclaim, ‘It is better for me to die than to live.’
+
+Christmas was near at hand before Kate recovered at all from her
+overwhelming sense of wretchedness and mortification. She was a pitiful
+and tender-hearted girl, fond of giving pleasure to others; and she
+began to feel as if it was necessary for her own relief to make this
+miserable Christmas a time of pleasure and festivity to some of her
+poorer neighbours. If she could not see happiness with her own eyes,
+she would like to look at it through other people’s. It was impossible
+to remove the heaviness of her heart, but she might try to lighten
+others’. So one evening when she and her father were alone together,
+she approached the subject cautiously.
+
+‘Father,’ she said, ‘I want to make somebody in the world happier.’
+
+Her voice was unconsciously very sorrowful. The burden that was
+oppressing her had made her feel that other people had heavy burdens
+to bear. She was learning that, in order to bear her own well, it was
+necessary to share that of another. Dr. Layard was distressed by the
+mournfulness of his daughter’s tone.
+
+‘Make somebody happier!’ he repeated; ‘well, it is easy enough to do
+that.’
+
+‘How?’ asked Kate.
+
+‘Help them,’ answered Dr. Layard; ‘a little help is worth a deal of
+pity. Helping people is a good step towards making them and yourself
+happy.’
+
+‘That is what I want to do,’ said Kate, eagerly. ‘I want you to manage
+so that I can have some of your poor patients to tea here, in the large
+kitchen, on Christmas Day; it would make them a little bit happier, I
+think. I don’t know that it would do much good, but they would enjoy
+it, wouldn’t they, father?’
+
+‘It would do them good, Kate,’ said Dr. Layard; ‘making people happy
+sometimes goes before making them good. In the hospital at times we
+make our patients as happy as they can be before the sharp operation;
+sometimes the sharp operation has to come first. We’ll try the merry
+Christmas for them this year, and then you must do what you can for
+them afterwards.’
+
+Aunt Brooks, somewhat unexpectedly, gave a very gracious assent to
+Dr. Layard’s proposal, on condition that Kate took all the trouble of
+preparing for the guests, and entertaining them when they came. It made
+her busy enough for two or three days, and she tried to throw all her
+sad heart into it.
+
+‘Kate,’ said Dr. Layard, on Christmas Eve, ‘we have forgotten one of
+our old favourites, who has not been here for months. You recollect old
+Mrs. Duffy, who used to go about with a basket of bobbins and tapes? Of
+all my poor patients, she ought to be present at your _soirée_.’
+
+Dr. Layard persisted in calling the intended tea-party Kate’s _soirée_,
+and had taken an unusual interest in it. She was feeling more sorrowful
+than ever, this Christmas Eve, when everybody seemed so absurdly gay.
+She was wearing her dowdiest dress; and she found it difficult to get
+up a smile when her father spoke of the _soirée_. How different it
+would have been if Philip Carey had been true to her!
+
+‘Can I find Mrs. Duffy this evening?’ she asked, willing to escape
+from her sad thoughts for a little time.
+
+‘Easily,’ said Dr. Layard; ‘she lives in Wright’s Court, out of New
+Street, the last house but two on your left hand, I think. Anybody
+would tell you where it is. If you are frightened, take Bob with you.’
+
+It was a dark night when Kate started out, without Bob, for she was not
+frightened; she was too miserable to be frightened. The passing relief
+she had felt in making her arrangements for her Christmas tea-party
+was spent, and the universal merriment only served to deepen her own
+loneliness and disappointment. The streets were full and noisy, but
+not disorderly. The church bells were ringing in anticipation of
+the coming day, and a general holiday tone was diffused through the
+crowd, though business was going on briskly. Groups of little children
+were gathering round the brilliant shop-windows, choosing impossible
+Christmas presents for themselves and each other from the magnificent
+display within, and laughing with pathetic mirth at their own daring
+dreams. Kate caught herself wondering if she should ever laugh at her
+own vanished dream.
+
+Wright’s Court was not a good specimen of street architecture and
+paving. The houses were as low as they could be to boast of two
+stories, and the pavement was eccentric, making it necessary to take
+each step with great caution. An open gutter ran down the middle, and
+through the passage which formed the entrance; a passage four feet
+wide and twenty feet long, dimly lighted by one lamp in the street,
+which shone behind Kate as she walked up it, and threw her shadow
+bewilderingly before her. The court itself had no light but that which
+came through the uncurtained windows of the dwellings on each side,
+through which she caught glimpses of startling phases of English life,
+before she reached Mrs. Duffy’s door, where she stood a minute or two
+in the dark, looking through the small panes of the casement close
+beside it.
+
+It was a very little kitchen, but quite large enough for the furniture
+it contained. There was an old box under the window, and one shelf
+against the wall, holding all Mrs. Duffy’s china and plate. The only
+chair, and a tiny table standing on three thick legs, were drawn up
+to the fireplace, in which a few coals were burning. Two old tin
+candlesticks and a flat-iron adorned the chimneypiece, and Kate saw,
+with a slight prick of her conscience, for she had not cared to
+decorate the house at home, that a bit of holly had been stuck into
+each candlestick, as well as into every other pane of the little
+window. Mrs. Duffy herself was seated in the chair, apparently amusing
+herself with a pantomime of taking tea, for there was a black teapot
+and a cracked cup and saucer on the table, but there was no food upon
+it, and when she held the teapot almost perpendicularly only a few
+drops fell from the spout. She put it down, and looked placidly into
+the embers, shaking her head a little from time to time, but gently,
+as if more in remembrance of the past than in reproach of the present.
+She was a clean, fresh-looking old woman, with no teeth, and her cheeks
+formed a little ball, like a withered rosy apple, between her hollow
+eyes and sunken mouth.
+
+‘The Lord love you, my dear,’ said Mrs. Duffy, when Kate went in, and
+delivered her message, ‘and the good doctor, too. It isn’t everybody as
+has such friends as me--on a Christmas Eve, too, when a body feels so
+lonesome wi’out friends. I don’t mind so much on working days, my dear,
+but one wants friends of a holiday like-Christmas. One can work wi’out
+friends; but one can’t love wi’out friends.’
+
+‘No, indeed!’ said Kate, with a profound sigh.
+
+‘And I’ve got such good friends!’ continued Mrs. Duffy, triumphantly;
+‘there’s one as gave me sixpence, and another threepence, and another
+twopence, only this morning. That came up to elevenpence; so I’ve
+bought my Christmas joint, just like other folks, you know. You’d maybe
+like to see my Christmas joint like other folks, shouldn’t you, my
+dear?’
+
+‘I should very much,’ answered Kate.
+
+The Christmas joint was evidently a very precious possession, for it
+had been laid carefully between a plate and a basin, and these were
+well tied up in a ragged cloth, and put out of the way of any marauding
+cat. Kate’s eyebrows went up a good deal, and her eyelids smarted a
+little as if with coming tears, when she saw it. It was a morsel of
+coarse beef, which would not have covered the old woman’s hand, but
+which she regarded with unconcealed satisfaction and delight.
+
+‘That cost sevenpence,’ she said, ‘and I bought two pennyworth of
+greens, and a twopenny loaf to eat with it--me and a friend of mine,
+as is coming to dine with me. It’s a very poor lame girl as lives down
+the court; very poor, indeed, so I asked her to come and help to eat
+my Christmas joint, which is exceedingly pleasant to me. The neighbour
+next door has promised to lend me a chair; we’re all so friendly one
+with another.’
+
+‘Then if you have a visitor you must bring her with you to tea,’
+said Kate, ‘and any children you have. Haven’t you got any sons or
+daughters? You’d enjoy yourself more with them there.’
+
+‘Bless your kind heart all the same,’ answered Mrs. Duffy, her cheerful
+face overcast for a moment; ‘I never had more than one bonny boy, and
+he went off to Australy nigh upon thirty years ago. My Johnny he was.
+Sometimes I think as I shall never see him again. I was thinking of him
+when your knock came to the door. He was going on for twenty; and I
+was a strong woman of forty then. I doubt whether Johnny ’ud know his
+poor old mother again if he did come back.’
+
+‘How long is it since you heard from him?’ enquired Kate.
+
+‘I never heard from him at all,’ said Mrs. Duffy, in a matter-of-course
+tone; ‘he couldn’t write, and I couldn’t write. But he went to
+Australy, and he is in Australy now, if he hasn’t tumbled off. I can’t
+help thinking at times he must ha’ tumbled off, though the flies
+never do tumble off the ceiling. I’ve watched ’em for hours and hours
+together, thinking of my Johnny, and no fly never tumbled off yet. They
+have to walk with their heads downwards in Australy, like them flies;
+but my Johnny wasn’t brought up to it, and I’m afeard for him at times.’
+
+‘Oh, no, he couldn’t tumble off,’ said Kate, laughing a little; ‘but
+are you sure you would know him yourself, Mrs. Duffy, after thirty
+years?’
+
+‘Can a mother forget her own boy?’ asked the old woman; ‘ay, ay; I
+should know my Johnny among a thousand, or tens of thousands. I’ll be
+glad to bring my friend with me to-morrow, and many thanks to you for
+asking her. I’ve got to go out into the country to sing a carril or two
+at a farm-house, where they’re always very good to me; but that’ll be
+afore dinner; and we’ll come punctual to your house at five o’clock,
+me and my friend; and a merry Christmas and a happy New Year to every
+one of us, and you above all, my dear.’
+
+‘A miserable Christmas, and an unhappy New Year it will be for me,’
+thought Kate; but she did not say it. Mrs. Duffy insisted upon lighting
+her down the court with her only candle, which guttered and wasted
+terribly in the night wind; and the last glance she had of the kindly,
+withered old face was lit up by its flickering flame at the entrance of
+the dark passage.
+
+Very early in the morning, long before the Christmas sun was ready
+to show itself, Mrs. Duffy roused up to the fact that if she was to
+sing a ‘carril’ a mile and a half away in the country, it was time to
+set out. Even her hard heap of rags and straw, with the thin, scanty
+blanket she had been shivering under all night, were more attractive to
+her at seventy years of age than the long, lonely walk, through lanes
+deep down between high hedgerows, with cartruts filled with mingled
+mud and ice. But she was of a brave and grateful heart, and after a
+short prayer for herself and everybody, uttered before quitting the
+feeble warmth of her bed, she sallied out into the chill frostiness of
+the coming dawn. Up and down the street she heard the shrill voices of
+children chanting some Christmas ditty; and she thought of Johnny when
+he was a boy, with his yellow hair, and round, red face, turning out
+all eagerness and hope on a Christmas morning, and singing in a voice
+which could not fail to rouse the most determined sleeper.
+
+‘He came home once with three shillings and twopence halfpenny, all
+in ha’pence,’ thought Mrs. Duffy, wiping away a tear from the sunken
+corner of her eye.
+
+It was a wearisome walk to the farm-house; but as soon as she had
+reached the porch, and lifting up her quavering voice, began, ‘God rest
+you, merry gentlefolk, Let nothing you dismay,’ the door was flung open
+quickly, and she was called in, and set before such a breakfast as she
+had not seen for years. Poor old Mrs. Duffy’s heart was very full, and
+before she could swallow a morsel, she said in a slow and tremulous
+voice: ‘I can’t think what’s come to folks this year. It’s like them
+blessed Christmases we shall have when everybody’s friends, when the
+lion is friends with the lamb, and the cockatrices with the babies.
+Here’s Dr. Layard’s daughter asked me to tea, and I’ve got a Christmas
+joint, and now there’s such a breakfast as I never see before, and me
+done nothing for it. I can’t think what’s come to folks; but it’s a
+blessed Christmas, it is.’
+
+‘You’ll sing your carol for us better after breakfast,’ said the
+farmer’s wife, ‘and my husband’s father has given me a shilling for
+you.’
+
+Mrs. Duffy shed a few very blissful tears, and after breakfast sang two
+or three carols, with as much zeal and energy as though they were sure
+to bring down many blessings on the hospitable roof. It was a little
+after nine o’clock when she left the house; but there was the Christmas
+dinner to cook, and it was necessary to go home early for that. She
+bade them good-by, and took her way joyously across the fields lying in
+winter-fallow, through which there was a nearer way back to the town.
+
+Mrs. Duffy was just turning out of the fields into the high road, when
+a man suddenly started up from behind the hedge, and laid his hand
+roughly on her shoulder. He was a big, heavy-looking fellow, in the
+ordinary dress of a labourer; and he seemed, even at that early hour,
+to be half stupefied with drink. She looked into his coarse face, with
+a feeling of terror which was new to her.
+
+‘I want a shilling off you,’ he said, fiercely.
+
+‘A shilling!’ she cried, ‘where should a poor woman like me have a
+shilling from?’
+
+‘Haven’t you got a shilling?’ he demanded.
+
+Poor Mrs. Duffy had prided herself all her life on never having told
+a lie. She looked up and down the road, but there was not a creature
+in sight; and she glanced again hopelessly into the man’s savage and
+stupid face. What should she do? To part with the shilling just given
+to her would be a very great loss; and she knew it would only be spent
+in the nearest public-house. Should she be doing very wrong to deny
+having one? It was the first time for years that she had had a whole
+silver shilling about her; and any moment during that time she could
+have replied ‘No’ boldly and truthfully. Might she not say ‘No’ just
+this once?
+
+‘Haven’t you got a shilling?’ he repeated, shaking her shoulder roughly.
+
+‘Well,’ she said, feebly, ‘I haven’t had a shilling ever so long; but I
+have got one now. I’m a very poor old woman, my good young man. If I’d
+got a penny, I’d give it you, and welcome.’
+
+‘I must have your shilling,’ he said, doggedly.
+
+‘I can’t give it you, indeed,’ she answered; ‘there’s my rent, and
+coals, and other things; and I’m very poor. You’d only drink it.’
+
+She had scarcely finished speaking, when she saw the stranger produce a
+pistol from under his jacket, and point it at her. There was a sudden
+flash before her eyes, and she felt a keen pain; then she fell down
+without feeling or consciousness under the hedge-bank on the high road.
+A few minutes later, Dr. Layard’s brougham was stopping at a toll-gate
+just outside the town, when a labouring man, who was striding swiftly
+past, spoke a few words to the driver. Dr. Layard was inside, with
+Kate, who was going out with him to see her godfather, a clergyman in
+the next parish. The doctor, having finished what he had to say to the
+gatekeeper, inquired what the labourer had said in passing.
+
+‘He says there’s a woman up the road, who’s been shot, sir,’ answered
+the servant, ‘and he says to me, “Look sharp after her, she’s an old
+woman, and very poor.”’
+
+‘Shot!’ exclaimed Dr. Layard; ‘drive on then, quickly. Katie, don’t be
+frightened. Gate, look after that fellow who has just gone through.’
+
+The last order was shouted through the window, as the carriage rolled
+rapidly away. In a few minutes they gained the spot where the old
+woman was lying as one dead, under the leafless hedge, with the blood
+staining the thin shawl which was wrapped about her. Her old wrinkled
+face had lost all its apple-red, and her grey hair, scanty and short,
+had fallen down from under her white cap. Both Dr. Layard and Katie
+exclaimed in one breath, ‘Mrs. Duffy!’
+
+Kate was not wanting in nerve, though she felt a little shaken, and
+exceedingly troubled. She left the carriage, and sat down on the bank,
+supporting Mrs. Duffy in her arms, while Dr. Layard made a brief
+examination of the wounds in the poor old neck and shoulder. His
+expression was very grave, and he stood for a few moments deliberating
+silently, with his eyes fastened upon the deathlike face of Mrs. Duffy,
+and the pretty, anxious face of his daughter.
+
+‘Is it dangerous?’ asked Kate, falteringly.
+
+‘Almost fatal,’ he answered; ‘within a touch of death. There’s one
+chance. I’m thinking of driving straight to Lentford Hospital. It’s a
+good level road all the way, and the hospital is at this end of the
+town. If you get into the brougham first, I can lift the old woman, and
+place her in an easy posture against you. Could you hold her pretty
+much as you are now for an hour or more? I’d do it myself; but you
+could not lift her in as I shall do. Are you strong enough?’
+
+‘I will be strong enough; I will do it,’ said Kate, lifting up her head
+with determination and endurance in every line of her face.
+
+It did not occur to Dr. Layard that his carriage was a new one,
+handsomely lined and fitted up; but the servant’s soul ran more upon
+such subjects, and he began to protest against lifting the wounded
+and bleeding woman into it. Such a very miserable old creature, too,
+thought Bob, not a bit of a lady.
+
+‘Dolt! idiot! brute!’ ejaculated Dr. Layard, in high wrath; and Bob,
+who had only uttered half his protest, shut his mouth, and was silent.
+
+It seemed a very long time to Kate, though the carriage bowled rapidly
+along the smooth, straight old Roman road. Poor Mrs. Duffy gave no
+sign of life, but lay against her heavily, with her grey head resting
+upon Kate’s shoulder. She held her as tenderly as she could, now and
+then clasping her warm fingers about her wrist, which was knotted and
+brown with age and hard work, but which gave no throb back to Kate’s
+touch. Dr. Layard, who rode outside with Bob, looked round from time
+to time, nodding to her, but with so grave a face that she felt the
+case was very serious. She thanked God fervently when the spires of
+Lentford came in sight, and the last notes of the morning chimes fell
+upon her ear. There were streams of people going to church, exchanging
+cheery salutations with one another; but many a person caught a glimpse
+of Kate’s pale and agitated face, and the grey head lying against her
+neck, and felt a shadow pass over their own Christmas gladness.
+
+Dr. Layard’s carriage drove into the courtyard of the hospital,
+and then Kate was quickly relieved of her burden. Mrs. Duffy was
+carried away, and Dr. Layard followed her. Kate sat there, anxious
+and troubled, while the clock in the nearest church tower struck one
+quarter after another, and Bob drove up and down at a snail’s pace
+in dreary and monotonous turns. At length some one beckoned to him
+from the hospital portico, and Bob responded with an alacrity which
+betrayed his impatience. Kate only saw at the last moment that it
+was Dr. Carey, not her father, who had summoned him; and she shrank
+back, breathless and tremulous, into the corner of the carriage which
+concealed her best from him.
+
+‘Bob, your master says you must drive home,’ said Dr. Carey; ‘he will
+return by train in the afternoon.’
+
+‘And the old woman, sir?’ said Bob, ‘how’s she going on?’
+
+‘Very little hope,’ answered Philip Carey, whose face Kate could not
+see, but whose voice made every nerve thrill.
+
+‘Is it murder?’ asked Bob, who had known Dr. Carey as his master’s
+assistant, and stood on very little ceremony with him.
+
+‘I’m afraid so,’ he said; ‘how are they all at home, Bob? Miss Brooks
+and Miss Kate?’
+
+‘She’s in there,’ said Bob, pointing with his thumb to the carriage.
+Kate roused herself to lift up her head with dignity, sit erect upon
+her seat, and meet Dr. Carey’s salutation calmly. It was nearly four
+weeks since he had written to her, and she had replied, ‘Come.’ He
+looked at her with an amazed and confused expression, and took off his
+hat, but did not attempt to speak. Both of them coloured, and both
+bowed stiffly and in silence. Then Philip Carey, still bareheaded, and
+as if lost in thought, walked slowly back up the broad steps of the
+portico, and Kate cried most of the way home.
+
+‘I never saw anything like that,’ thought Bob; ‘and they used to be
+like brother and sister, almost.’
+
+It was late in the afternoon when Dr. Layard returned, and then he
+had to see the superintendent of police. The stranger who had passed
+through the toll-gate had not yet been found; but he could not be
+far off, and Bob was ready to swear to him when he was taken. Kate’s
+Christmas party passed off more successfully because one of the invited
+guests had been almost murdered on the highway. The news ran like
+wildfire through the town and neighbourhood, and the farmer’s wife came
+to tell of Mrs. Duffy’s morning visit, and her cheerful carols just
+before the villain met her. She and Kate mingled their tears together
+over the recital, and Kate ended her miserable Christmas by going to
+bed with a very heavy heart.
+
+The next day the stranger was found and sworn to by Bob, though he
+flatly denied having been anywhere in the direction of the toll-bar.
+Neither Dr. Layard nor the toll-man could swear to him, as he had
+passed on the farther side of the carriage while they were talking
+at the other window. He was an utter stranger in the neighbourhood,
+without friends, and he stated that he was on the tramp. A very old
+pistol was found in a ditch near the spot where Mrs. Duffy had been
+shot. The man was sent in safe custody to Lentford, to be brought face
+to face with the old woman, if she should recover consciousness enough
+to identify him and give her evidence against him.
+
+For twenty-four hours or more it continued very doubtful whether the
+poor old creature would ever rally. She had not spoken since she had
+been found, but she lay perfectly tranquil and patient on her hospital
+bed. Now and then a gleam of a smile, like the momentary glimmer of the
+sun on a cloudy day crossed her face, and her lips moved slightly, as
+if she were whispering. She knew when they were doing anything for her,
+for she tried to help herself, to raise her thin hand, or turn her grey
+head upon the pillow for them to see her neck. Dr. Carey, who had known
+her in former days, spent as much time as he could beside her bed; and
+towards the close of the day, just before the night nurse was coming to
+take her turn, he heard her voice speaking articulately but very slowly
+and faintly, and he stooped over her to listen to what she said.
+
+‘Dr. Layard’s daughter! Dr. Layard’s daughter!’ she murmured.
+
+‘Would you like to see Dr. Layard’s daughter?’ asked Philip Carey, in
+his clearest and most pleasant tone.
+
+‘Ay, ay,’ whispered the old woman.
+
+‘To-morrow you shall,’ he said; ‘it is too late now. To-morrow.’
+
+‘Ay, ay,’ she assented, cheerfully.
+
+‘You will be better to-morrow,’ he suggested.
+
+‘No, no,’ murmured the old woman. ‘He shot me dead because I wouldn’t
+give him my shilling. He robbed me.’
+
+‘There’s a shilling wrapped up in a bit of blue sugar-paper in your
+pocket,’ said Dr. Carey. A sparkle of satisfaction shone upon the poor
+drawn face, and then Mrs. Duffy fell quietly asleep.
+
+She was certainly somewhat better in the morning, and watching the
+people who were about her; her mind was clear, and she evidently knew
+her circumstances, where she was, and what had happened to her. Before
+noon Dr. Layard and Kate arrived; and Mrs. Duffy’s sunken blue eyes
+brightened, yet filled with tears, as she looked up into their faces
+bending pityingly above her.
+
+‘Well, old friend,’ said Dr. Layard, heartily, ‘you are better already.
+We are going to pull you through, you’ll see, Carey and me. We know
+what a tough old lady you are. Carey used to play you some tricks in
+the old times, and now he’ll make it up to you by pulling you through.
+Won’t you, Carey?’
+
+Kate had not seen him enter the ward, and now she sat down, feeling
+weak and tremulous, on a chair at Mrs. Duffy’s head, keeping her eyes
+fixed upon the old woman’s face. Dr. Carey’s voice sounded oddly in her
+ears, as if he was speaking in very loud and constrained tones.
+
+‘I am going to do my best,’ he said, ‘but you must keep yourself quite
+still now, Mrs. Duffy, and get up your strength to tell the magistrate
+your story. You are a brave old woman, and won’t be afraid; and I’ll
+tell them you never told a lie in your life.’
+
+Mrs. Duffy smiled, but did not speak. She had not spoken yet, but she
+stretched out her hand, and tried to turn towards Kate. Dr. Carey
+seemed to understand her meaning perfectly.
+
+‘You want Dr. Layard’s daughter to sit where you can see her?’ he said.
+‘You want her to stay with you?’
+
+‘Ay, ay,’ she answered. ‘God bless her!’
+
+It was Philip Carey who moved Kate’s chair, and placed it in a
+convenient position for old Mrs. Duffy to see her. She glanced at him
+once, but his eyes were downcast, and his aspect very solemn. He bade
+one of the nurses bring her a footstool, and then he and her father
+went away, and old Mrs. Duffy, smiling now and then, closed her eyes
+and seemed to fall into a doze.
+
+It was a very quiet hour for Kate. The ward was a small one, containing
+only four beds, and no other patient in it. The nurses were busy, and
+had all gone away, leaving her alone. A wintry sunshine was falling
+through the farthest window upon the bare white walls. Her mind was
+strangely divided between Mrs. Duffy and Philip Carey, whose life
+was spent mostly within these walls. He had spoken so kindly, even
+affectionately, to this poor, friendless old woman, but he had not
+spoken a word to her. How was it that he could be so fickle, so cruel
+towards her? What reason or motive could possibly have made him change
+his mind so suddenly and so dishonourably, and plunge her into so much
+wretchedness and perplexity? She could not bear to meet him, yet she
+would have to bear it, for her father was so fond of him. How proud and
+happy her father would have been in him as his son in-law! It was too
+hard even to think of. Perhaps she would even have the misery some day
+of seeing his wife, the girl who had supplanted her, and made her life
+a blank. For Kate felt sure that it would be impossible for her ever
+to love another man. No one else could be to her what Philip Carey had
+been.
+
+The hour passed away, and there were several quiet signs of excitement.
+Dr. Layard and Dr. Carey came in, felt the old woman’s pulse, and gave
+her a cordial. Kate was told that if she could be calm she had better
+remain where she was, as Mrs. Duffy held her hand closely, and wished
+her to stay. Three or four strange gentlemen came in, and stood about
+the bed, while Mrs. Duffy, in very feeble tones, told her story, which
+was written down, word for word, from her lips. She had not much to
+say, and it was soon over.
+
+‘Could you identify the individual?’ inquired the magistrate’s clerk.
+
+‘Should you know the man again?’ asked Dr. Carey, who was standing
+close to Kate, and near old Mrs. Duffy.
+
+‘Ay, to be sure,’ she answered, with more energy than she had displayed
+before.
+
+‘He has been taken;’ said Dr. Layard; ‘that is, a man has been taken
+up, and we think he is the man. You must see him yourself.’
+
+The old woman shuddered, and grasped Kate’s hand tightly. It might have
+been Dr. Carey’s hand, for he seemed conscious of the close grasp, and
+answered to it.
+
+‘Come, come,’ he said, encouragingly, ‘you never used to be a coward;
+and you have only to open your eyes, and look at him. You have plenty
+of friends about you, you know.’
+
+‘He’s a dreadful man,’ she said, in a whisper, ‘but let him come.’
+
+Kate herself felt a strong thrill of excitement, as she listened to
+the regular tramp of the policeman, and the shambling tread of the
+murderer, coming down the bare boards of the ward. The old woman had
+closed her eyes, as if to gather strength for the dreadful detective
+gaze. Dr. Carey laid his hand on the back of Kate’s chair, so close
+to her it almost touched her shoulder, and one of her brown curls
+fell upon it. The footsteps came on to the side of the bed, and
+stopped there. Kate turned her head and took one frightened glance.
+The murderer was a middle-aged man, with a full, heavy, red face, and
+light hair just turning grey, not a vicious-looking man on the whole;
+he might have been a decent, honest, creditable fellow, but for the
+drinking habits which had brutalised him. He was looking down at the
+wounded old woman with an air half sorrowful and half ashamed; but
+a little sullen also, as a boy looks when caught in some fault. The
+policeman at his right hand was the only sign to mark him out as a
+criminal; and he seemed as much on the alert as if he expected him
+to make a second murderous attack on the old woman in her bed. For a
+minute or two all were silent in the room. Mrs. Duffy’s eyelids were
+closed, and her lips moved as if in prayer. She looked up at last; and
+her dim blue eyes, which were full of terror, like those of a child who
+wakes frightened, changed like those of a child, when it sees that the
+face bending over it is a familiar face.
+
+‘Why,’ she cried, in a voice at once firm and glad, ‘it’s my boy! It’s
+my Johnny!’
+
+Her wrinkled features began to work with emotion, and she was about
+to raise herself up to stretch out her arms to him, but Dr. Carey was
+quick enough to prevent her. He threw himself on his knees at Kate’s
+feet, and laid his strong arm gently across the old woman. Every one
+else stood motionless and thunderstruck. The man himself did not stir
+hand or foot.
+
+‘That’s my son as went to Australy,’ continued Mrs. Duffy; ‘please
+let him come and kiss me. Don’t you know your poor old mother again,
+Johnny?’
+
+‘Oh, mother! mother!’ exclaimed the man, striking his hard hands
+together, ‘that’s my mother sir, as I came back to, and was looking
+for. I hadn’t seen her these thirty years, and she’s nothing like the
+woman she was. You’ll let me go and kiss her, maybe?’
+
+He had spoken to the policeman next to him, and his official eye was
+softened; but the magistrates were there, and the indulgence was not
+his to grant.
+
+‘Is this the person who attempted first to rob and then to murder you?’
+asked the magistrate’s clerk.
+
+‘Oh, dear no! it’s my boy,’ said the old woman; ‘he’d never shoot
+at his mother, bless you! It was quite a different man, not him; a
+dreadful man. That’s the boy I nursed, and taught him his prayers. He’d
+never lift up his hand agen me; please let him go.’
+
+There was no question in Mrs. Duffy’s mind as to whether she was
+telling the truth or not. Her gladness was so great that her mind
+utterly refused the incredible and impossible idea that her own son
+could have thought of robbing and murdering her. If he had been brought
+before her red-handed with her blood, she would still have believed
+herself mistaken. It was some ruffian and monster who had shot her, not
+her son. As for him, his heavy, bloodshot eyes were filled with tears,
+and his voice, as he began to speak, was choked and husky.
+
+‘Sir,’ he said, addressing no one in particular, ‘she’s not like the
+same woman, but she’s my mother. She had brown hair, and was very
+strong. I never thought of her being like that. I wish I’d kept free
+from drink. Nobody knows what drink’ll bring him to. She’s my mother;
+and I came back to work for her, if she were still alive. I’ll never
+taste a drop again as long’s I live.’
+
+‘Hush, hush!’ said Dr. Layard, coming behind him, and tapping him on
+the shoulder; ‘hold your tongue, my good fellow. You’ll make your
+mother worse again if you talk. There’s a good chance for her if she’s
+kept quiet.’
+
+The magistrates and their clerk walked away to the end of the ward, and
+held a short consultation there. There was not much doubt that this man
+was the right man; but there was no one to bring home the crime to him,
+except his mother. Bob, Dr. Layard’s servant, swore positively that he
+was the man who told him a woman was lying in the road murdered; but
+the woman herself denied that it was he who had attacked her. To be
+sure there was more than sufficient reason for her to do so, but if she
+persisted in it, what was to be done?
+
+‘You must remember you are upon your oath,’ said the elder magistrate,
+‘and probably upon your deathbed. Now look at this man carefully, and
+tell me if he is not the man who shot at you.’
+
+Mrs. Duffy gazed earnestly at her son, smiling more and more, until her
+pale, shrunken face grew radiant with happiness.
+
+‘Why, it couldn’t be him,’ she said, ‘how could it? Ay, ay; I could
+swear it were never him; my Johnny. Please let him stay aside of me for
+a bit. The police may stop for him if you like; but he’d never do it.’
+
+‘Carey and I will be bail for him, if it’s necessary,’ said Dr.
+Layard, ‘only let the poor fellow shake hands with his mother. There,
+let him go.’
+
+The man seemed to slip suddenly from the policeman’s grasp, and
+sunk down on his knees at his mother’s feet, hiding his face in the
+bed-clothes, and sobbing till the bed shook under him. All the time his
+mother’s eyes were shining upon him, and her arms, still kept firmly
+down by Dr. Carey, were trembling to touch him.
+
+The magistrates and their retinue went their way, leaving Mrs. Duffy
+with her son, while Kate and Philip Carey stood by, a little aloof
+from them, and from each other. The man crept closer and closer to his
+mother, till his hot and heavy face rested upon her hand. There was a
+deep silence in the ward. Outside in the corridor, through the half
+open door, could be seen the policeman, still waiting for final orders.
+
+‘Mother,’ sobbed out Duffy, in a smothered and faltering voice, ‘can
+you forgive me?’
+
+‘Why! there’s nothing to forgive, Johnny,’ she said, ‘and I’m so happy,
+I’d forgive everybody. I’d forgive the raskill as shot me. I have
+forgive him already, Johnny.’
+
+‘I want you to get well, mother,’ he said, with desperate earnestness,
+‘and I’ll make it all up to you. I’m come back to work for you, and
+indeed, I’ll work. Will you forgive me, mother?’
+
+‘Forgive you, Johnny!’ she murmured, ‘it’s a easy thing to forgive a
+body when you love a body.’
+
+The last words dropped faintly, syllable by syllable, from the old
+woman’s white lips, and Kate’s heart sank like lead. The withered face
+had grown paler, and the wrinkled eyelids closed slowly over the filmy
+blue eyes. Kate uttered a low cry of trouble, and Philip Carey turned
+quickly towards her.
+
+‘Is she going to die, Philip?’ asked Kate.
+
+‘She is very faint,’ he replied, ‘She has been too much excited, but
+she may rally yet. Go and send me a nurse, and do not return yourself.’
+
+Kate walked softly down the ward, the tears falling fast from her eyes.
+She was no longer grieving over her own troubles, but for the hopeful,
+cheery, brave old woman, who had met her long-lost son again in such
+a manner, and at such a moment as this. She waited in the matron’s
+parlour until a message was brought to her that Mrs. Duffy was sleeping
+again, with her son watching and waiting beside her. Then she returned
+home with her father.
+
+‘I’ve not the shadow of a doubt Duffy’s the man,’ shouted Dr. Layard
+to her, above the noise of the train; ‘but the thing cannot be brought
+home to him. The old woman is as true as truth itself, but she is
+labouring under a delusion. She no more believes that her son was the
+man who shot at her than I believe that you did it. I question whether
+she would believe Duffy himself if he owned it to her, which he must
+not do. I’ve told him so. I said, “Duffy, I feel pretty sure you are
+the villain that did it, and if she dies I’ll do my best to prove it.
+But never you tell your mother it was yourself; it would go far to
+break her heart.” And he said, “I’ll never speak a word about it, one
+way or the other, sir.” Oh! Duffy did it!’
+
+‘Do you think she will die?’ asked Kate.
+
+‘Carey will do his best for her,’ said Dr. Layard; ‘I never saw such
+a change in a young fellow as there is in Carey. He is as dull as a
+beetle; just when he has got all he has been striving for, too! I don’t
+understand it.’
+
+Kate believed she understood it, but she kept silence. It was not
+likely he could feel happy and at ease in her presence or her father’s
+if he had a spark of feeling; and he certainly possessed a good deal of
+feeling. She had caught his eye once during the strange interview round
+Mrs. Duffy’s bed, and they had looked at one another with a sympathy
+which had seemed at the moment the most natural thing in the world.
+She had called him Philip, too! How her cheeks burned at the very
+recollection. She wished she had preserved to the end an icy dignity
+of manner towards him; but she had altogether forgotten herself, and
+it had been a happier moment than she had felt for these four weeks
+past. Perhaps utter forgetfulness of self is the only real happiness.
+
+The next morning Kate was once more sitting alone before the fire in
+the breakfast-room, with nothing particular to do, until it was time
+to start for Lentford once more, when the servant brought in a large
+official-looking cover, with the words ‘Dead Letter Office’ printed
+upon it, and addressed ‘Miss Kate Layard, Ilverton.’ It was the first
+time in her life that Kate had ever received such an ominous-looking
+packet. She opened it with some trepidation, and drew from it her own
+brief note to Philip Carey, written four weeks before. The envelope
+bore several postmarks upon it, with directions to try one town
+after another--Liverpool, then Manchester, then London--but it was
+several minutes before she discovered how it had all happened. Her own
+handwriting lay before her eyes, or she could never have believed it:
+she had directed her letter to ‘Dr. Carey, Everton Square, Liverpool.’
+
+How Kate had come to write Liverpool instead of Lentford she could
+never understand. It was true Philip had gone to Liverpool after
+leaving Ilverton, but how stupid of her to make such a dreadful
+mistake! Then he, too, had been passing through as miserable a time as
+herself. He must have come to the conclusion that she did not care for
+him, and that she had not even the grace to thank him for the love he
+had bestowed upon her in vain. What could he have thought of her? It
+must have been a pain to him. She would make it up to him in some way.
+
+Kate’s brain was in a whirl all the way to Lentford. She walked up
+the broad steps of the hospital portico like one in a dream. The fat
+porter, in his handsome livery, nodded pleasantly at her; and the
+students, hurrying along the broad corridors, took off their hats to
+Dr. Layard’s pretty daughter. She had to pass by a recess as large as
+a good-sized room, with benches round and across it, upon which were
+seated rows of poor patients, waiting humbly for their turn to go in
+and see the doctor. The doorkeeper had just opened the door an inch or
+two, and Kate saw Philip Carey’s face, grave and care-worn, listening
+to a poor woman who was just going away by another entrance. She laid
+her hand upon the arm of the patient who was going in, and passed on
+into the room instead. ‘Philip,’ she said, her face flushing at his
+look of amazement, ‘I am only going to stay one moment. I have been so
+miserable. I wrote this four weeks ago.’
+
+‘Wrote what?’ he asked, clasping the hand with which she offered him
+the misdirected letter, and holding both closely.
+
+‘I only wrote “Come,”’ stammered Kate, the tears starting into her
+eyes, ‘and I thought--oh, I don’t know what I thought! I directed it
+to Liverpool instead of Lentford, and it’s been wandering about ever
+since. Do you understand?’
+
+‘Do you mean you will be my wife?’ he asked.
+
+‘Yes,’ she answered.
+
+They had only three minutes to themselves. Three minutes was the time
+allotted for each case, and as it expired the door was opened again
+an inch or two to see if the doctor was ready for the next patient.
+Dr. Carey led Kate to the other door, and dismissed her with a glance
+which set her heart beating fast with happiness. She mounted the long
+flight of stairs and entered the ward where Mrs. Duffy was lying as if
+she trod on air. The old woman was resting very comfortably in bed, her
+eyes calm and bright, and a faint streak of the old apple-red beginning
+to show itself upon her cheek. The good chance for her recovery was a
+still better one this morning.
+
+‘He’s coming back again this morning,’ she whispered in Kate’s ear;
+‘they let him stay beside me all yesterday, and he’s coming back again
+to-day. It’s a beautiful Christmas this is; I never knew one like
+it. I hope they’ll never catch that poor raskill as shot me, I do. It
+’ud spoil my Christmas and Johnny’s if they did. Has it been a happy
+Christmas for you, my dear?’
+
+‘Very happy,’ answered Kate, with a bright smile, as the present joy
+blotted out the remembrance of the past sorrow.
+
+‘That’s right, my dear!’ murmured Mrs. Duffy, ‘I don’t know as ever I
+knew such a Christmas.’
+
+There is little more to be told. Dr. Carey made his appearance at Dr.
+Layard’s that evening, and delighted him beyond measure by asking him
+for Kate. Mrs. Duffy recovered and lived two or three years longer in
+undisturbed happiness, and in a degree of comfort to which she had been
+unaccustomed throughout her life. For her son, who had not prospered
+much in Australia, worked industriously and steadily to maintain her at
+home, and devoted himself to her with real tenderness. It was not till
+after her death, when Kate Carey was standing beside her coffin looking
+down at the placid face and closed eyes of the old woman, that he told
+the story of his return home.
+
+‘I’d worked my passage across, ma’am,’ he said, the tears rolling down
+his cheeks, ‘and I’d landed in Liverpool a week afore Christmas, with
+as much as five pound in my pocket, all I’d saved in Australy; and
+there were a lot set on me, and took me to a public, and I suppose
+I drank all my wits away. I reached Ilverton by the last train on
+Christmas Eve, but I didn’t know as mother were gone to live in the
+town. It were a bitter night, and I slept on a bench at the railway
+station. I hadn’t a penny left, when I set out to seek mother; and I
+were wandering about very miserable, when I saw a decent old woman
+coming along all alone. I only thought I’d frighten a shilling out of
+her. I never meant no harm. The pistol were an old pistol I’d had in
+the bush; and I didn’t recollect it was loaded, and it went bursting
+off, all in an instant of time. That quite brought me to, and I were
+running away to find somebody, when I see you and the doctor coming. I
+seemed to know it were a doctor. But when I found out it were my own
+poor old mother, which I did face to face with her in the hospital, I
+felt as I should die. She never knew as it were me, never. She used to
+talk about him, and say, “I forgave him, Johnny, and I hope God has
+forgave him too, whoever he is.” I shall never see another woman like
+my poor old mother.’
+
+
+  LONDON: PRINTED BY
+  SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
+  AND PARLIAMENT STREET
+
+
+
+
+WORKS BY HESBA STRETTON,
+
+AUTHOR OF ‘JESSICA’S FIRST PRAYER.’
+
+
+  =I. CASSY.= Twenty-fourth Thousand. With Six Illustrations. Square
+  crown 8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._
+
+    ‘The close of the little tale is of the most exquisitely touching
+    kind, and the narrative, while free and graceful, is really of the
+    most compressed and masterly character.’--_Nonconformist._
+
+    ‘It is very fresh and simple. We thank Miss Stretton for another
+    treat, as real to grown-up people as to children.’--_Church Herald._
+
+
+  =II. THE KING’S SERVANTS.= With Eight Illustrations. Thirtieth
+  Thousand. Square crown 8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._
+
+  Part I. Faithful in Little.
+  Part II. Unfaithful.
+  Part III. Faithful in Much.
+
+    ‘The language is beautifully simple, the stories are touchingly
+    told, and the religious purpose constantly kept in view.’
+    --_Watchman._
+
+    ‘An interesting story.’--_Church News._
+
+    ‘The story, in all its beautiful simplicity and pathos, possesses a
+    living power likely to carry it home to the hearts of all who read
+    it.’--_Freeman._
+
+
+  =III. LOST GIP.= Forty-third Thousand. With Six Illustrations. Square
+  crown 8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._
+
+    ‘Prettily told.... Will be a favourite with young people.’--_Echo._
+
+    ‘One of the most simply touching tales we ever read.’--_Brighton
+    Gazette._
+
+
+  =IV. THE WONDERFUL LIFE.= Eighth Thousand. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._
+
+  This little book is intended to present the result of close
+  investigations made by many learned men, in a plain, continuous
+  narrative, suitable for unlearned readers. It has been written for
+  those who have not the leisure or the books needed for threading
+  together the fragmentary and scattered incidents recorded in the four
+  Gospels.
+
+    ‘A well-written and concise narrative, which describes the
+    wonderful story with a forcible simplicity that will appeal to all
+    readers.’--_Hour._
+
+    ‘Will be very useful in the more advanced classes of the
+    Sunday-school, and is also suitable for a Sunday-school
+    prize.’--_Church Review._
+
+    ‘The story is presented in a plain and attractive manner.’--_Rock._
+
+    ‘It is invaluable.’--_Sunday-School Quarterly Journal._
+
+
+HENRY S. KING & CO., London.
+
+
+
+
+A LIST OF
+
+HENRY S. KING & CO.’S
+
+BOOKS SUITABLE FOR
+
+CHILDREN’S PRESENTS AND PRIZES.
+
+
+_HENRY S. KING & CO.’S GENERAL CATALOGUE,
+comprising works on Theology, Science, Biography, History, Education,
+Travel, Commerce, and Fiction, will be sent gratis on application._
+
+
+  =SUNBEAM WILLIE, AND OTHER STORIES=, for Home Reading and Cottage
+  Meetings. By Mrs. G. S. REANEY.
+
+  CONTAINING:--
+
+  ‘Little Meggie’s Home,’
+  ‘Aggie’s Christmas,’
+  ‘Sermon in Baby’s Shoes,’
+  ‘Lina.’
+
+  Small square, uniform with ‘Lost Gip,’ &c. Three Illustrations. Price
+  1_s_. 6_d._
+
+
+  =DADDIE’S PET.= By Mrs. ELLEN ROSS (‘Nelsie Brook’). A Sketch from
+  Humble Life. Square crown 8vo. uniform with ‘Lost Gip.’ With Six
+  Illustrations. 1_s._
+
+    ‘We have been more than pleased with this simple bit of
+    writing.’--_Christian World._
+
+    ‘Full of deep feeling and true and noble sentiment.’--_Brighton
+    Gazette._
+
+    ‘A very pretty tale.’--_John Bull._
+
+    ‘A pretty little story for children.’--_Scotsman._
+
+    ‘An exceedingly pretty little story.’--_Literary Churchman._
+
+
+  =LOCKED OUT=: A Tale of the Strike. By ELLEN BARLEE. With a
+  Frontispiece. 1_s._ 6_d._
+
+    ‘Beautifully written ... should be bought by all means for parochial
+    libraries, whether in country or in town.’--_Literary Churchman._
+
+    ‘Well written.’--_Edinburgh Courant._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_HENRY S. KING & CO.’S THREE-AND-SIXPENNY SERIES of BOOKS for
+JUVENILES._
+
+
+Works by the Author of ‘St. Olave’s,’ ‘When I was a Little Girl,’ &c.
+
+
+  =I. AUNT MARY’S BRAN PIE.= Illustrated.
+
+    ‘A bright story for children.’--_Globe._
+
+    ‘The stories are exceedingly good.’--_Nonconformist._
+
+    ‘Capital stories.’--_Hour._
+
+    ‘This is a very amusing book for children; one of the best books of
+    the season.’--_Literary World._
+
+
+  =II. SUNNYLAND STORIES.= Fcp. 8vo. Illustrated.
+
+
+  =BRAVE MEN’S FOOTSTEPS.= A Book of Example and Anecdote for
+  Young People. By the Editor of ‘Men who have Risen.’ With Four
+  Illustrations by C. DOYLE. Third Edition. Crown 8vo.
+
+  The lives have been chosen to represent marked varieties of
+  character, and their operation under different forms of effort.
+  Success is here viewed in no narrow or merely commercial sense.
+
+    ‘The little volume is precisely of the stamp to win the favour of
+    those who, in choosing a gift for a boy, would consult his moral
+    development as well as his temporary pleasure.’--_Daily Telegraph._
+
+    ‘A readable and instructive volume.’--_Examiner._
+
+    ‘A good book which will, we hope, meet well-deserved
+    success.’--_Spectator._
+
+
+Works by CHARLES CAMDEN.
+
+
+  =I. HOITY, TOITY, THE GOOD LITTLE FELLOW.= With Eleven Illustrations.
+  Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘Relates very pleasantly the history of a charming little fellow who
+    meddles always with a kindly disposition with other people’s
+    affairs, and helps them to do right. There are many shrewd lessons
+    to be picked up in this clever little story.’--_Public Opinion._
+
+    ‘Another of those charming books which Mr. Charles Camden knows so
+    well how to produce.’--_Leeds Mercury._
+
+    ‘Original, faithful, and humorous story.’--_Manchester Examiner._
+
+
+  =II. THE TRAVELLING MENAGERIE.= With Ten Illustrations by J. MAHONEY.
+  Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘A capital little book ... deserves a wide circulation among our
+    boys and girls.’--_Hour._
+
+    ‘A very attractive story.’--_Public Opinion._
+
+    ‘A series of admirable tales in which boys will take the deepest
+    interest.’--_Leeds Mercury._
+
+    ‘Will be sure to delight young readers; they will get from it much
+    useful knowledge of natural history. The story is told in a
+    pleasant, chatty style.’--_Standard._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  =PRETTY LESSONS IN VERSE FOR GOOD CHILDREN=; with some Lessons in
+  Latin, in Easy Rhyme. By SARA COLERIDGE. A New Edition. Illustrated.
+
+    ‘Both in English and Latin they will pleasantly help little
+    folk through what has been called “the bitterness of
+    learning.”’--_Saturday Review._
+
+    ‘This is a most delightful, and, let us add, a most sensible book
+    for children. It teaches us many a good moral, many a good
+    common-sense lesson, in its rhymes, which are, for the most part,
+    very musical to the ear.’--_Standard._
+
+
+  =THE DESERT PASTOR, JEAN JAROUSSEAU.= By Colonel E. P. DE L’HOSTE.
+  Translated from the French of Eugène Pelletan. In fcp. 8vo. with an
+  Engraved Frontispiece. New Edition.
+
+    ‘There is a poetical simplicity and picturesqueness; the noblest
+    heroism; unpretentious religion; pure love, and the spectacle of a
+    household brought up in the fear of the Lord.’--_Illustrated London
+    News._
+
+    ‘It is a touching record of the struggles in the cause of religious
+    liberty of a real man.’--_Graphic._
+
+    ‘It is difficult to imagine any class of persons to whom this little
+    book will not prove attractive.’--_London Quarterly._
+
+
+Works by MARTHA FARQUHARSON.
+
+    =I. ELSIE DINSMORE.= Crown 8vo.
+   =II. ELSIE’S GIRLHOOD.= Crown 8vo.
+  =III. ELSIE’S HOLIDAYS AT ROSELANDS.= Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘We do not pretend to have read the history of Elsie as she is
+    portrayed in three different volumes. By the help, however, of the
+    illustrations, and by dips here and there, we can safely give a
+    favourable account.’--_Westminster Review._
+
+    ‘Elsie Dinsmore is a familiar name to a world of young readers.
+    In the above three pretty volumes her story is complete, and
+    it is one full of youthful experiences, winning a general
+    interest.’--_Athenæum._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  =THE DESERTED SHIP.= A Real Story of the Atlantic. By CUPPLES HOWE,
+  Master Mariner. Illustrated by TOWNLEY GREEN. Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘Curious adventures with bears, seals, and other Arctic animals, and
+    with scarcely more human Esquimaux, form the mass of material with
+    which the story deals, and will much interest boys who have a spice
+    of romance in their composition.’--_Edinburgh Courant._
+
+    ‘It is full of that continual succession of easily apprehended,
+    yet stirring events, which please a boy, more than any other
+    quality.’--_Edinburgh Daily Review._
+
+
+  =THE LITTLE WONDER-HORN.= By JEAN INGELOW. A Second Series of
+  ‘Stories told to a Child.’ With Fifteen Illustrations. Square 24mo.
+
+    ‘We like all the contents of the “Little Wonder-Horn” very
+    much.’--_Athenæum._
+
+    ‘We recommend it with confidence.’--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+    ‘Full of fresh and vigorous fancy; it is worthy of the author of
+    some of the best of our modern verse.’--_Standard._
+
+
+  =GUTTA-PERCHA WILLIE, the WORKING GENIUS.= By GEORGE MACDONALD. With
+  Nine Illustrations by ARTHUR HUGHES. Second Edition. Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘The cleverest child we know assures us she has read this story
+    through five times. Mr. MacDonald will, we are convinced, accept
+    that verdict upon his little work as final.’--_Spectator._
+
+
+  =PLUCKY FELLOWS.= A Book for Boys. By STEPHEN J. MACKENNA. With Nine
+  Illustrations. Second Edition. Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘This is one of the very best “Books for Boys” which have been
+    issued this year.’--_Morning Advertiser._
+
+    ‘A thorough book for boys ... written throughout in a manly,
+    straightforward manner, that is sure to win the hearts of the
+    children.’--_London Society._
+
+
+  =LITTLE MINNIE’S TROUBLES=: an Every-day Chronicle. By N. R.
+  D’ANVERS. Illustrated by W. H. HUGHES. Fcp. 8vo.
+
+
+  =THE AFRICAN CRUISER.= A Midshipman’s Adventures on the West Coast.
+  By S. W. SADLER, R.N., Author of ‘Marshall Vavasour.’ A Book for
+  Boys. With Nine Illustrations. Second Edition. Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘A capital story of youthful adventure.... Sea-loving boys will
+    find few pleasanter gift-books this season than “The African
+    Cruiser.”’--_Hour._
+
+    ‘Sea yarns have always been in favour with boys, but this,
+    written in a brisk style by a thorough sailor, is crammed full of
+    adventures.’--_Times._
+
+
+  =SEEKING HIS FORTUNE, and other Stories.= Crown 8vo. With Four
+  Illustrations.
+
+  CONTENTS:--Seeking his Fortune--Oluf and Stephanoff--What’s in a
+  Name?--Contrast--Onesta.
+
+    ‘These are plain, straightforward stories, told in the precise
+    detailed manner which we are sure young people like.’--_Spectator._
+
+    ‘They are romantic, entertaining, and decidedly inculcate a sound
+    and generous moral.... We can answer for it that this volume will
+    find favour with those for whom it is written, and that the sisters
+    will like it quite as well as the brothers.’--_Athenæum._
+
+
+  =SEVEN AUTUMN LEAVES FROM FAIRYLAND.= Illustrated with Nine Etchings.
+
+  CONTENTS:--
+
+  Mermaid.
+  Little Hans.
+  Dimple.
+  The Two Princes.
+  Specklesides.
+  Black Sneid.
+  Little Curly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_HENRY S. KING & CO.’S SERIES OF FIVE-SHILLING BOOKS FOR JUVENILES._
+
+
+  =MIKE HOWE, THE BUSHRANGER OF VAN DIEMEN’S LAND.= By JAMES BONWICK.
+  Crown 8vo. With a Frontispiece.
+
+  This story, although a work of fiction, is a narrative of facts as
+  to the leading incidents of the Bushranger’s career. The tale may
+  therefore be regarded as a contribution to Colonial Literature.
+
+    ‘He illustrates the career of a bushranger half a century ago; and
+    this he does in a highly creditable manner. His delineations of life
+    in the bush are, to say the least, exquisite, and his
+    representations of character are very marked.’--_Edinburgh Courant._
+
+
+  =THE TASMANIAN LILY.= By JAMES BONWICK. Crown 8vo. With Frontispiece.
+
+    ‘An interesting and useful work.’--_Hour._
+
+    ‘The characters of the stories are capitally conceived, and are full
+    of those touches which give them a natural appearance.’--_Public
+    Opinion._
+
+
+Two Works by DAVID KER.
+
+
+  =I. THE BOY SLAVE IN BOKHARA.= A Tale of Central Asia. Crown 8vo.
+  With Illustrations.
+
+  In this work real scenes are grouped round an imaginary hero; genuine
+  information is conveyed in a more attractive form than that of a mere
+  dry statistical report.
+
+    ‘Ostap Danilevitch Kostarenko, the Russian who is supposed to relate
+    the story, has a great number of adventures, and passes, by dint of
+    courage and ability, from a state of slavery to one of independence.
+    Will prove attractive to boys.’--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+    ‘Exciting boy’s story, well told and abounding in incidents.’
+    --_Hour._
+
+    ‘Full of strange adventures ... well worked out to the
+    end.’--_Standard._
+
+    ‘An attractive boy’s book. He claims to have grouped real scenes
+    round an imaginary hero.’--_Spectator._
+
+
+  =II. THE WILD HORSEMAN OF THE PAMPAS.= Crown 8vo. Illustrated.
+
+                                                            [_Just out._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  =RAMBLES AND ADVENTURES OF OUR SCHOOL FIELD CLUB.= A Book for Boys.
+  By G. C. DAVIES.
+
+
+  =FANTASTIC STORIES.= By RICHARD LEANDER. Translated from the German
+  by PAULINA B. GRANVILLE. With Eight full-page Illustrations by M. E.
+  FRASER-TYTLER. Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘Short, quaint, and, as they are fitly called, fantastic, they deal
+    with all manner of subjects.’--_Guardian._
+
+    ‘“Fantastic” is certainly the right epithet to apply to some of
+    these strange tales.’--_Examiner._
+
+    ‘Amusing tales by one who took part in the general siege of
+    Paris.’--_Standard._
+
+    ‘“The Knight who grew Rusty” is a delightful story, but “The
+    Queen who could not make gingerbread nuts, and the King who could
+    not play on the Jew’s harp,” will probably be the children’s
+    favourite.’--_Daily News._
+
+
+  =THE GREAT DUTCH ADMIRALS.= By JACOB DE LIEFDE. Crown 8vo. With
+  Eleven Illustrations by TOWNLEY GREEN and others.
+
+    ‘A wholesome present for boys.’--_Athenæum._
+
+    ‘A really good book.’--_Standard._
+
+    ‘A really excellent book.’--_Spectator._
+
+
+  =HER TITLE OF HONOUR=: a Book for Girls. By HOLME LEE. New Edition.
+  Crown 8vo. With a Frontispiece.
+
+    ‘It is unnecessary to recommend tales of Holme Lee’s, for they are
+    well known, and all more or less liked. But this book far exceeds
+    even our favourites, not perhaps as a story, for this is of the
+    simplest kind, but because with the interest of a pathetic story
+    is united the value of a definite and high purpose; and because,
+    also, it is a careful and beautiful piece of writing, and is full of
+    studies of refined and charming character.’--_Spectator._
+
+    ‘It contains a vast amount of admirable and happy teaching, as
+    valuable as it is rare.’--_Standard._
+
+
+  =AT SCHOOL WITH AN OLD DRAGOON.= By STEPHEN J. MACKENNA. Crown 8vo.
+  With Six Illustrations.
+
+    ‘Consisting almost entirely of startling stories of military
+    adventure.... Boys will find them sufficiently exciting
+    reading.’--_Times._
+
+    ‘These yarns give some very spirited and interesting descriptions of
+    soldiering in various parts of the world.’--_Spectator._
+
+    ‘Mr. MacKenna’s former work, “Plucky Fellows,” is already a
+    general favourite, and those who read the stories of the Old
+    Dragoon will find that he has still plenty of materials at hand
+    for pleasant tales, and has lost none of his power in telling them
+    well.’--_Standard._
+
+
+  =WAKING AND WORKING; OR, FROM GIRLHOOD TO WOMANHOOD.= By Mrs. G. S.
+  REANEY. With a Frontispiece. Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘A good tale--good in composition, good in style, good in
+    purpose.’--_Nonconformist._
+
+    ‘The story is of a very attractive character. Its purpose is a good
+    and important one.’--_Rock._
+
+
+  =SLAVONIC FAIRY TALES.= From Russian, Servian, Polish, and Bohemian
+  Sources. By JOHN T. NAAKE, of the British Museum. With Four
+  Illustrations. Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘A most choice and charming selection.... The tales have an original
+    national ring in them, and will be pleasant reading to thousands
+    besides children. Yet children will eagerly open the pages, and not
+    willingly close them, of the pretty volume.’--_Standard._
+
+    ‘English readers now have an opportunity of becoming acquainted with
+    eleven Polish and eight Bohemian stories, as well as with eight
+    Russian and thirteen Servian, in Mr. Naake’s modest but serviceable
+    collection of Slavonic Fairy Tales. Its contents are, as a general
+    rule, well chosen, and they are translated with a fidelity which
+    deserves cordial praise.... Before taking leave of his prettily got
+    up volume, we ought to mention that its contents fully come up to
+    the promise held out in its preface.’--_Academy._
+
+
+  =STORIES IN PRECIOUS STONES.= By HELEN ZIMMERN. With Six
+  Illustrations. Third Edition. Crown 8vo.
+
+    ‘A series of pretty tales which are half fantastic, half natural,
+    and pleasantly quaint, as befits stories intended for the young.’
+    --_Daily Telegraph._
+
+    ‘A pretty little book which fanciful young persons will appreciate,
+    and which will remind its readers of many a legend, and many
+    an imaginary virtue attached to the gems they are so fond of
+    wearing.’--_Post._
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  =THE BETTER SELF.= By J. HAIN FRISWELL. Essays for Home Life. Crown
+  8vo. 6_s._
+
+  CONTENTS:--
+
+  Beginning at Home
+  The Girls at Home
+  The Wife’s Mother
+  Pride in the Family
+  Discontent and Grumbling
+  Domestic Economy
+  Likes and Dislikes
+  On Keeping People Down
+  On Falling Out Peace
+
+    ‘A high conception, but never severe nor morose; the spirit is as
+    sound and wholesome as it is noble and elevated.’--_Standard._
+
+    ‘A really charming volume of Essays, which gives good advice without
+    becoming a bore.’--_City Press._
+
+
+  =BY STILL WATERS.= By EDWARD GARRETT. A Story for Quiet Hours. Crown
+  8vo. With Seven Illustrations. 6_s._
+
+    ‘We have read many books by Edward Garrett, but none that has
+    pleased us so well as this. It has more than pleased; it has charmed
+    us.’--_Nonconformist._
+
+    ‘Mr. Garrett is a novelist whose books it is always a pleasure to
+    meet. His stories are full of quiet, penetrating observations, and
+    there is about them a rare atmosphere of not unpleasing meditative
+    melancholy.’--_Echo._
+
+
+  =BEATRICE AYLMER, AND OTHER TALES.= By MARY M. HOWARD, Author of
+  ‘Brampton Rectory.’ Crown 8vo. 6_s._
+
+    ‘These tales possess considerable merit.’--_Court Journal._
+
+    ‘A neat and chatty little volume.’--_Hour._
+
+
+  =OUR PLACE AMONG INFINITIES.= By RICHARD A. PROCTOR, B.A., Author of
+  ‘Saturn and its Systems,’ ‘The Universe,’ ‘The Expanse of Heaven,’
+  &c. To which are added, ‘Essays on Astrology’ and ‘The Jewish
+  Sabbath.’ Crown 8vo. 6_s._
+
+
+  =THE EXPANSE OF HEAVEN.= A Series of Essays on the Wonders of the
+  Firmament. By RICHARD A. PROCTOR, B.A. With a Frontispiece. Second
+  Edition. Crown 8vo. 6_s._
+
+    ‘A very charming work; cannot fail to lift the reader’s mind up
+    “through nature’s work to nature’s God.”’--_Standard._
+
+    ‘Full of thought, readable, and popular.’--_Brighton Gazette._
+
+
+  =PHANTASMION.= A Fairy Romance. By SARA COLERIDGE. With an
+  Introductory Preface by the Right Hon. Lord COLERIDGE, of Ottery S.
+  Mary. A new Edition. In 1 vol. Crown 8vo. 7_s._ 6_d._
+
+  This book, of which the first edition was limited to 250 copies, was
+  long out of print, and as now revived appeals to a larger audience
+  and a new generation. They will find in this delicate imagination,
+  melody of verse, clear and picturesque language, and virginal purity
+  of conception.
+
+    ‘The readers of this fairy tale will find themselves dwelling for a
+    time in a veritable region of romance, breathing an atmosphere of
+    unreality, and surrounded by supernatural beings.’--_Morning Post._
+
+    ‘This delightful work.... We would gladly have read it were it twice
+    the length, closing the book with a feeling of regret that the
+    repast was at an end.’--_Vanity Fair._
+
+    ‘A beautiful conception of a rarely gifted mind.’--_Examiner._
+
+
+  =ECHOES OF A FAMOUS YEAR.= By HARRIETT PARR. Crown 8vo. 8_s._ 6_d._
+
+  The story of the Franco-Prussian War, 1870-71, told mainly for the
+  young, but, it is hoped, possessing permanent interest as a record of
+  the great struggle.
+
+    ‘Miss Parr has the great gift of charming simplicity of style; and
+    if children are not interested in her book, many of their seniors
+    will be.’--_British Quarterly Review._
+
+
+HENRY S. KING & CO., London.
+
+
+
+
+POETICAL GIFT BOOKS.
+
+
+  =LYRICS OF LOVE=, from Shakespeare to Tennyson. Selected and arranged
+  by W. DAVENPORT ADAMS, Jun. Fcap. 8vo. cloth extra, gilt edges, 3_s._
+  6_d._
+
+  The present work differs from previous collections of the kind in
+  these particulars: (1) That it consists entirely of short lyric poems.
+  (2) That each poem exhibits some phase of the tender passion, and
+  (3) That it includes specimens of the genius of the latest as well as
+  of the earliest writers.
+
+
+  =HOME SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS.= By the Rev. Canon R. H. BAYNES, Editor
+  of ‘Lyra Anglicana,’ &c. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth extra,
+  3_s._ 6_d._
+
+  A Collection of Hymns and Sacred Songs for the help and solace of the
+  various members of Christ’s Church Militant here on earth.
+
+    ‘A tasteful collection of devotional poetry of a very high
+    standard of excellence. The pieces are short, mostly original,
+    and instinct, for the most part, with the most ardent spirit of
+    devotion.’--_Standard._
+
+
+  =POEMS.= By WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. Red-line Edition. Handsomely
+  bound. With 24 Illustrations and Portrait of the Author. 7_s._ 6_d._
+
+  A Cheaper Edition, with Frontispiece. 3_s._ 6_d._
+
+  These are the only complete English Editions sanctioned by the Author,
+  and they contain several of the Author’s Poems which have not appeared
+  in any previous Collection.
+
+    ‘Of all the poets of the United States there is no one who obtained
+    the fame and position of a classic earlier, or has kept them longer
+    than William Cullen Bryant.’--_Academy._
+
+
+  =ENGLISH SONNETS.= Collected and Arranged by JOHN DENNIS. Fcap. 8vo.
+  Elegantly bound. 3_s._ 6_d._
+
+  This Collection of Sonnets, arranged chronologically from the
+  Elizabethan to the Victorian era, is designed for the students of
+  poetry, and not only for the reader who takes up a volume of verse in
+  order to pass away an idle hour. The Sonnet contains, to use the words
+  of Marlowe, ‘infinite riches in a little room.’
+
+    ‘An exquisite selection, a selection which every lover of poetry
+    will consult again and again with delight. The notes are very
+    useful.... The volume is one for which English literature owes Mr.
+    Dennis the heartiest thanks.’--_Spectator._
+
+
+HENRY S. KING & CO., London.
+
+
+
+
+_W. C. BENNETT’S POEMS. NEW EDITIONS._
+
+
+A LIBRARY EDITION. Crown 8vo. Illustrated, cloth 6_s._
+
+  =BABY MAY=--HOME POEMS and BALLADS. People’s Edition, in Two Parts,
+  paper covers, 1_s._ each.
+
+    ‘One of the most popular of our poets. Let us say that every
+    mother ought to learn “Baby May” and “Baby’s Shoes” off by
+    heart.’--_Westminster Review._
+
+    ‘The love of children few poets of our day have expressed with so
+    much naïve fidelity as Dr. Bennett.’--_Examiner._
+
+    ‘Those readers who do not as yet know “Baby May” should make her
+    acquaintance forthwith; those who have that pleasure already will
+    find her in good company.’--_Guardian._
+
+    ‘Many a tender thought and charming fancy find graceful utterance in
+    his pages.’--_Athenæum._
+
+    ‘“Baby’s Shoes” is worthy to rank with “Baby May,” which, from its
+    completeness and finished charm as a picture of infancy, is one
+    of the most exquisite among Dr. Bennett’s productions.’--_Daily
+    Telegraph._
+
+    ‘Some of his poems on children are among the most charming in the
+    language, and are familiar in a thousand homes.’--_Weekly Dispatch._
+
+
+  =SONGS FOR SAILORS.= Cloth gilt, Illustrated, 3_s._ 6_d._; paper
+  covers, 1_s._
+
+    ‘Spirited, melodious, and vigorously graphic’--_Morning Post._
+
+    ‘Very spirited.’--_Daily News._
+
+    ‘Really admirable.’--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+    ‘Right well done.’--_Illustrated London News._
+
+    ‘Sure of a wide popularity.’--_Morning Advertiser._
+
+    ‘Songs that sailors most enjoy.’--_Echo._
+
+    ‘Full of incident and strongly expressed sentiment.’--_Examiner._
+
+    ‘We may fairly say that Dr. Bennett has taken up the mantle of
+    Dibdin.’--_Graphic._
+
+
+HENRY S. KING & CO., London.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
+
+
+  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
+
+  Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.
+
+  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
+
+  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO CHRISTMAS STORIES: SAM
+FRANKLIN'S SAVINGS-BANK; A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR ***
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+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Two Christmas Stories: Sam Franklin's Savings-Bank; A Miserable Christmas and a Happy New Year, by Hesba Stretton</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+
+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Two Christmas Stories: Sam Franklin's Savings-Bank; A Miserable Christmas and a Happy New Year</p>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Hesba Stretton</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 12, 2021 [eBook #65830]</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charlene Taylor, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div>
+
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO CHRISTMAS STORIES: SAM FRANKLIN'S SAVINGS-BANK; A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/cover.jpg" width="50%" alt="" /></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<h1>TWO CHRISTMAS STORIES</h1>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<div class="bbox">
+<p class="center"><b>By the Author of &#8216;Jessica&#8217;s First Prayer.&#8217;</b></p>
+
+
+<p class="center"><i>Uniform with this Volume, gilt, cloth limp, each with<br />
+Frontispiece.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><b>Price Sixpence each</b></p>
+
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+
+<div class="verse">FRIENDS TILL DEATH.</div>
+<div class="verse">THE WORTH OF A BABY and HOW APPLE-TREE COURT WAS WON. &nbsp; &nbsp;  1 vol.</div>
+<div class="verse">MICHEL LORIO&#8217;S CROSS.</div>
+<div class="verse">OLD TRANSOME.</div>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p class="center"><img src="images/asterism.jpg" alt="" /> For a list of other Works by the same Author, see the<br />
+Catalogue at the end of this work.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p class="center">HENRY S. KING &amp; CO., LONDON.</p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="caption">&#8216;That&#8217;s an old waistcoat of mine.&#8217;</p>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="floatright"><i>See page 24.</i></span></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+<div class="titlepage">
+
+<p><span class="xxlarge">TWO CHRISTMAS STORIES</span><br />
+<br />
+<i>SAM FRANKLIN&#8217;S SAVINGS-BANK</i><br />
+<br />
+<i>A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS AND<br />
+A HAPPY NEW YEAR</i></p>
+
+
+<p>BY<br />
+<br />
+<span class="xlarge">HESBA STRETTON</span><br />
+<br />
+AUTHOR OF<br />
+&#8216;LOST GIP&#8217; &#8216;CASSY&#8217; &#8216;JESSICA&#8217;S FIRST PRAYER&#8217; ETC.</p>
+
+<p>WITH TWO ILLUSTRATIONS</p>
+
+<p><i>HENRY S. KING &amp; CO., LONDON</i><br />
+1876</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center">(<i>All rights reserved</i>)</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">SAM FRANKLIN&#8217;S SAVINGS-BANK.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/image007.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">IF any one had told Sam Franklin before he
+married that he would ever save money out of his
+wages, he would have laughed the idea to scorn; they
+had never been more than enough when he had only
+himself to keep, and when there was a wife into the
+bargain, what chance would there be for him to have
+a penny to put by? Yet, before he had been a husband
+many weeks, he had made the discovery that
+the wages which had only been enough for one were
+rather more than enough for two. There were no
+dinners at the cookshops to be paid for, no long
+evenings spent in the public-houses, no laundresses&#8217;
+bills to meet. He had a great deal more comfort
+with a somewhat smaller outlay.</p>
+
+<p>When Sam found half-a-crown in his pocket over
+and above the sum he allowed his wife for housekeeping
+and rent, he hardly knew what to do with it.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>
+His own fireside was very comfortable, and he did
+not care to leave it for the tavern. He and his wife
+were living on the first-floor of a house in a decent,
+quiet street, mostly occupied by artisans like himself,
+though the houses were from three to four stories high,
+and had been built for richer people. They had a
+sitting-room, with a bedroom behind it, and the use
+of a back kitchen for cooking and washing; so the
+place was quite large enough for comfort. Ann
+Franklin had notions of cleanliness and smartness,
+which made her take great pride in herself and all her
+belongings. The parlour, as she liked it to be called,
+was kept bright and cheerful, and that man must have
+had a strange idea of comfort who preferred the noise
+and smoke of a public-house taproom.</p>
+
+<p>What, then, was Sam to do with his spare half-crown?
+It doubled itself into five shillings, and by-and-by
+a golden half-sovereign lay among the silver
+and copper he carried loose in his pocket. He was
+a man of few words&mdash;a close man, his comrades
+called him&mdash;and silent as the grave concerning his
+own affairs. Had he told one of them when he was
+about to be married? Not his best friend amongst
+them! Had he mentioned it as a piece of news
+interesting to himself that he had a son born? Never!
+He despised men who could not keep a still tongue in
+their heads, but must prate about all they did or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>
+thought. Even with his wife he was sparing of words,
+though he liked her to tell him everything she did,
+and keep no secret from him. But then Ann was
+only a woman; a man should have more control over
+his tongue.</p>
+
+<p>So Sam Franklin did not say a word about his
+savings, though they seemed to grow like seed sown
+in good ground. Every week he gave his wife the
+sum they had first agreed upon, and she made the
+best of it cheerfully, letting him know how every
+penny was spent, and sometimes wondering to him
+how his comrades&#8217; wives managed to be so much
+smarter than she was. At first he had thoughts of
+buying her a new bonnet or shawl, but he scarcely
+liked to own that he had been keeping back the
+money from her. This difficulty became greater as
+the sum grew larger; and, besides that, the possession
+of it began to get a hold upon him. It gave to him
+a secret consciousness of wealth among his fellow-workmen,
+which was very pleasant for a time; but
+by-and-by this feeling passed away, and a strange,
+unaccountable dread of being poor took possession of
+him. He began to talk about bad times, and the
+high prices of provisions and clothing, and the expenses
+of a family, though his own consisted of his
+cheery, managing wife, and one boy only. But this
+change in Sam Franklin was so gradual, that neither<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>
+himself nor his wife had any idea what was going on.
+He spent his evenings at home, and went nearly every
+Sunday to the place of worship which Ann and
+Johnny constantly attended. Ann was very proud
+of her tall, fine-looking husband, whose clothes she
+kept in such good order that he looked, in her eyes
+at least, quite a gentleman. No one had a word to
+say against him, though if it had been otherwise, Ann
+was too true a wife to let it be said in her presence.
+He was industrious and steady, and kind to her and
+the boy; and if she had to work hard to keep them
+both tidy and respectable, why, it was the fault of the
+bad times, not her husband&#8217;s.</p>
+
+<p>When Sam Franklin had saved ten pounds, and
+had two Bank of England notes to take care of, his
+difficulty and perplexity had very much increased.
+There was no Post-office Savings-bank, and he had
+no faith in the old savings-banks, for he could remember
+how his poor old mother had lost every penny of
+her painful savings by the breaking of the one she
+had put her money into. He dare not tell Ann about
+it, after keeping such a secret so long. The money became
+a trouble to him, though perhaps it was his
+most cherished possession. Certainly he thought of it
+oftener than of Ann or Johnny, for wherever he hid it,
+it could not but be a source of anxiety to him. If he
+took it to the work-yard with him he was fearful of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>
+losing it, whilst if he left it at home he was quite as
+much alarmed lest Ann should find it. How it would
+alter the face of things if she discovered that he was
+the owner of all that money, and had never told her!</p>
+
+<p>At length, when his savings mounted up to twenty
+pounds, a bright idea struck him one day. He stayed
+at home the next Sunday evening, and having found
+his old wedding waistcoat, which was lined with a
+good strong linen lining, he carefully unpicked a part
+of one of the seams large enough to take in a folded
+bank-note, and spread them as high as he could reach
+with his finger up and down the breast of it. He
+could not stitch it up again as neatly as it had been
+sewn before, but he was obliged to trust to Ann not
+noticing it, for it was a worn-out waistcoat and past
+her regard altogether: yet when she came home the
+first thing she saw was that he had it on with his coat
+buttoned across it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Good gracious, Sam!&#8217; she cried, &#8216;whatever made
+you put on that old thing?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;It&#8217;s warmer than any I&#8217;ve got,&#8217; he answered,
+putting his hand up against the breast of it where the
+bank-notes lay safe and hidden.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;It&#8217;s so old-fashioned,&#8217; she said, discontentedly;
+&#8216;but it doesn&#8217;t matter much if you won&#8217;t go out of
+doors in it. Men have no notion of things.&#8217;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>&#8216;What was the text, Ann?&#8217; he inquired, simply
+to turn away her attention from the old waistcoat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Oh! it hadn&#8217;t anything to do with us,&#8217; she replied,
+more cheerfully; &#8216;it was, &#8216;The love of money is the
+root of all evil.&#8217; Nothing for us in that, you know,
+though the preacher did say we might love it as much
+from craving after it as having it. Well, I neither have
+it, nor crave it.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Sam felt uncomfortable, and did not make any
+further remark. He told his wife he should always
+put on his old waistcoat when he came in from his
+work; and he continued to do so regularly for some
+time, then occasionally, until after awhile the waistcoat
+simply hung on a nail behind the bedroom door,
+only being taken down once a week by Ann, to have the
+dust brushed from it. Every now and then he had
+another note to add to those he had already secured;
+and he became so skilled in opening and sewing the
+seam, that there was no fear of Ann noticing any
+difference. Even yet he would wear it upon a rainy
+Sunday, feeling a deep satisfaction in his admirable
+scheme for concealing and taking care of his savings.</p>
+
+<p>Month after month, and year after year, the old
+waistcoat kept his secret faithfully. His eyes rested
+upon it first thing in the morning and last thing at
+night, hanging behind the door, as if it would hang
+there for ever. He grew more stingy then ever,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>
+grudging his wife her bits of blue and pink ribbon,
+with which she made herself smart, and altogether
+refused to send Johnny to a school where the fee was
+sixpence a week, instead of the threepence he had
+paid hitherto at a dame&#8217;s-school. He was longing to
+make up fifty pounds; he had already forty-five in
+his waistcoat, and how much more fifty pounds
+sounded than forty-five!</p>
+
+<p>He had between three and four pounds towards
+this very desirable end, when one night, upon his return
+from work, he went as usual into the back room
+to wash his hands and face, and glanced at once towards
+the familiar object behind the door. But it was
+not there! The place was bare, and the nail empty.
+The mere sight of an empty nail in that place filled
+him with terror; but no doubt Ann had laid it away
+in some drawer. His voice, as he called to her, was
+broken and tremulous.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Where have you put my old waistcoat?&#8217; he asked.
+He could hear her pouring the boiling water over the
+tea in the next room, and she did not answer before
+clicking down the lid of the teapot.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Oh, it was only harbouring the dust,&#8217; she answered,
+in a cheerful voice, &#8216;so I made a right good
+bargain, and sold it for ninepence to an old-clothesman.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>The shock was so sudden that Sam staggered as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>
+if he had received a heavy blow, and fell on the floor.
+He did not quite lose his senses, for he felt Ann
+trying to lift him up, and heard her asking what ailed
+him. In a minute or two he managed to get up and
+sit down on the foot of the bed, but still he found
+himself giddy and stunned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Where is it?&#8217; he cried, bursting into tears and
+sobs, like a child; &#8216;where is it?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;The old waistcoat?&#8217; she asked, thinking he was
+gone out of his mind.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Yes!&#8217; he said. &#8216;There was nine five-pound notes
+in it; forty-five pounds in Bank of England notes!&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>At first Ann thought his head had been hurt by
+his fall, and he was rambling; but as he kept on
+moaning over his loss, and confessing how he had
+concealed the notes from her, she began to believe
+him, and all the sooner when he pulled out the three
+sovereigns he had saved towards the tenth note and
+flung them on the floor in angry despair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;And I don&#8217;t know the man from Adam!&#8217; cried
+Ann. &#8216;I never saw him before; and he&#8217;ll take very
+good care I never see him again. Oh, Sam! how
+could you? how could you keep it a secret all these
+years, when I never bought as much as a yard of
+ribbon or a collar on the sly? I can&#8217;t forgive it, or
+forget it either.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>She felt it very hard that Sam should not have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>
+trusted her. The loss of the money was hard, and
+she could not help thinking what a large sum it was,
+and what it might have done for Johnny. But the
+loss of faith in her husband was ten times worse.
+How could she ever believe in him again? or how
+could she ever be sure again that he really loved and
+trusted her?</p>
+
+<p>It was a very miserable evening. Sam bewailed
+his money so bitterly that Ann began to fancy he
+would rather have lost her or his child. She sat silent
+and indignant, whilst he, unlike himself, was almost
+raving with angry sorrow. She did not speak to him
+the next morning before he set off to the yard,
+though she knew he had lain awake all night like
+herself, and had not swallowed a morsel of breakfast.
+It was a cold, wintry day, with a drizzling mist filling
+the air. Sam was wet through before he reached his
+work, and there was no chance of drying his clothes.
+He was wet through when he came home, but there
+were no dry, warm things laid out for him. He
+might wait upon himself, thought Ann; it would be
+well for him to see the difference between a good wife
+and a bad one. He would not condescend to find a
+change of clothing for himself, and he sat shivering
+on the hearth all night, in spite of the warm, cheerful
+blaze of the bright fire.</p>
+
+<p>By the time the week was ended, Sam Franklin<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>
+was compelled to knock off work. Severe rheumatic
+fever had set in, and the doctor said he must not
+expect to get back to the yard for three months or
+more. Perhaps it was the best thing that could have
+befallen him, for it brought back all the old warm
+love for him to his wife&#8217;s heart, which had been
+grieved and estranged by his closeness and want of
+trust in her. She nursed him tenderly, never saying
+a word to blame him now he could not get out of her
+way, as many wives would have done. Before his
+illness was half over she was forced to pawn all her
+own best clothing, as well as his, to buy the mere
+necessaries of life. Never had Sam Franklin thought
+his wife would have to go day after day to the pawn-shop;
+but she did it so cheerfully that half of the
+sting of it was taken away.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Nancy,&#8217; he said, one morning, &#8216;all night long
+I&#8217;ve had a text ringing in my head, &#8216;You cannot
+serve God and mammon,&#8217; &#8216;You cannot serve God and
+mammon!&#8217; Why, I used to think I was doing God
+a service when I put on my Sunday clothes and went
+to church of a Sunday morning with you. As if
+He&#8217;d think that were serving Him! And then all the
+week I was worshipping that old waistcoat of mine
+hanging behind the door, as much as any poor
+heathen worships blocks of wood and stone. I
+begin to think it was God who put it in your heart<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>
+to sell it to the old-clothesman. But how can I
+serve Him now, Nancy, my girl? I can&#8217;t do anything
+save lie in this bed and be a burden to you.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Ann Franklin stooped down and kissed her husband,
+whispering, &#8216;I don&#8217;t mind a bit about you
+being a burden, as you call it;&#8217; and after that she
+opened a Bible and read these words: &#8216;Then said
+they unto him, What shall we do, that we may work
+the works of God? Jesus answered and said unto
+them, This is the work of God, that ye believe on Him
+whom he hath sent.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Ay! I see it,&#8217; he said, after a long pause, &#8216;that&#8217;s
+a work I can begin better here, perhaps, than in the
+yard at my work. I can work for God that way,
+lying here on my back as helpless as a baby. And
+now I come to think of it, Jesus Christ never served
+mammon anyway, and if I believe in Him I shall try
+to be like Him. It&#8217;s no use praying to God on Sundays
+and doing contrary all the week, wailing after
+money and such like.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Sam,&#8217; answered his wife, &#8216;I&#8217;ve not been believing
+in him as I ought, for I&#8217;ve been fretting after that old
+waistcoat ever so, thinking how useful the money
+would be now; but if you&#8217;ll help me I&#8217;ll help you,
+and we&#8217;ll try to believe in Him just the same as if we
+could see him coming into the room and talking
+to us.&#8217;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>&#8216;But that would be seeing, not believing.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;So it would,&#8217; she answered, &#8216;and he said himself,
+&#8220;Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.&#8221;
+We must trust in Him without seeing Him.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>But it was a hard trial to trust in God whilst all
+their possessions were disappearing one after another.
+Sam was a long while in fully recovering his strength;
+and when he was fit to go back to the yard they were
+pretty deeply in debt. Yet never had they been so
+happy in former days. Their simple faith in the
+Saviour gave them a peace different from anything
+they had ever felt before; and Sam, who had now no
+secret care or pleasure to brood over in his own mind,
+grew frank and open with his wife. They pinched
+and denied themselves to get out of debt; and when
+the next winter came they were again in the comfortable
+circumstances which had been theirs when Ann
+sold the valuable old waistcoat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Sam,&#8217; said Ann, a day or two before Christmas-day,
+&#8216;Johnny&#8217;s been putting threepence a week into
+the school club. He&#8217;s got as much as nine shillings
+in, and he&#8217;s to have twopence a shilling added to it
+if we buy him clothes with it, but we can have the
+nine shillings out if we like. Come home in time to
+go with us to the school to-night.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Ay, ay!&#8217; said Sam, heartily, &#8216;I&#8217;ll go with Johnny
+to get his little fortune.&#8217;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>It was quite dark in the evening when the three
+started off for the school where the weekly pence
+were paid in. But as they locked their parlour-door
+and turned into the street, they saw a girl about
+Johnny&#8217;s age, with bare feet and no bonnet on her
+head, standing on the outer door-sill, shivering and
+crying, as she looked at the dismal night, with flakes
+of snow drifting lazily in the air. They all knew her
+well; she was the little girl belonging to the tenant
+of the attic two floors above them. Ann had often
+given fragments of bread and meat to Johnny to take
+to her, but she had always shrunk from inviting her
+into their parlour, because she was too dirty and
+ragged. Now, as the child stood crying and shivering
+on the door-step, her heart smote her for her
+want of kindness, and she stopped to speak to her
+gently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8217; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Father says I must go and beg,&#8217; she answered,
+crying more bitterly, &#8216;and I&#8217;m frightened, and it&#8217;s so
+bitter cold. But we must pay our rent, he says, or
+be turned out, and he doesn&#8217;t know where to go to,
+and is very ill, coughin&#8217; ever so. We owe for three
+weeks now, that&#8217;s nine shillings, and I don&#8217;t know
+where I&#8217;m to beg for nine shillings.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;There&#8217;s all the coppers I&#8217;ve got,&#8217; said Sam
+putting three or four pence in her hand, and hurrying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>
+on with Ann and Johnny, whilst the girl pattered after
+them, with her bare feet tingling in the snow. Ann
+did not speak again till they reached the school, but
+once or twice she looked back and saw the little
+ragged figure following them. There was no one in
+the school room except themselves and the gentleman
+who was ready to receive their payment and give
+them the ticket for buying clothes to the value of
+ten shillings and sixpence. But before he could write
+out the ticket Ann glanced round, and saw a thin,
+care-worn little face peering in through the window.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Oh, Sam,&#8217; she cried, &#8216;we don&#8217;t want it so badly
+after all, and I think if it belonged to Him, Jesus
+Christ, he would give it to the poor man up in the
+attic to pay his rent with. Don&#8217;t you think he
+would?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;But it&#8217;s Johnny&#8217;s little fortune,&#8217; said Sam, &#8216;and we
+should lose one and sixpence if we took it out for that.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Johnny &#8217;ud be glad to give it to poor little
+Bell?&#8217; asked Ann, with her hand on the boy&#8217;s
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Yes, mother, for little Bell,&#8217; he said readily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Johnny&#8217;s clothes are warm, if they&#8217;re shabby,&#8217;
+pursued Ann, &#8216;and there&#8217;s that poor little creature in
+rags, and barefoot. My heart aches for her, Sam.
+If it were our boy, and they&#8217;d nine shillings they
+didn&#8217;t want badly, what should we like them to do?&#8217;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>&#8216;Well, Ann, I give up,&#8217; he said; &#8216;after all, it&#8217;s your
+savings, not mine.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Still he was not quite satisfied about it. That
+man in the attic was very probably a drunken vagabond,
+and deserved to be turned out for not paying
+his rent. To be sure he had been a tenant nearly a
+year, and had been quiet enough, meddling with nobody,
+and not putting himself in anybody&#8217;s way.
+Sam had not seen him above two or three times, and
+then he had only just caught sight of a thin, stooping
+figure, with a shabby old coat buttoned up to the throat,
+as if the man had no shirt to wear. Anyhow it was
+Ann&#8217;s business, and if any wife deserved to have her
+own way in a thing like this, it was his wife.</p>
+
+<p>Ann picked up the money, which was counted out
+to her, with a pleasant smile upon her face. It was
+snowing very fast when they opened the school-room
+door; but there was little Bell still, with her face
+pressed against the window and one foot drawn up
+out of the snow to keep it warmer. Ann called to her,
+and she ran quickly towards them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I prayed to God for the money this morning,&#8217; she
+said, looking wistfully up into Ann&#8217;s smiling face, &#8216;but
+He couldn&#8217;t have heard me, for He never sent it.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;He&#8217;s going to send it now,&#8217; answered Ann.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Will an angel come with it?&#8217; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Ay!&#8217; answered Sam, stooping down and lifting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>
+the child in his arms, for he was quite strong again,
+and she was too thin and puny to be much weight.
+He did not like to see her bare feet on the snow, and
+if Ann was going to do them a good turn, why should
+he not do another?</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;An angel with shining, white clothes on, and
+wings?&#8217; said little Bell.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;No; she&#8217;s wearing an old bonnet and a faded
+shawl,&#8217; answered Sam, &#8216;and her wings aren&#8217;t grown
+yet, I&#8217;m glad to say.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;For shame, Sam!&#8217; cried his wife; but she was
+glad to hear from his voice that he was agreeing
+heartily with her self-denial. It was not far back to
+their home, but instead of turning into their own
+pleasant room they all marched up two flights of
+stairs to the attic.</p>
+
+<p>It was a low room with a shelving roof, and lighted
+by a skylight, of which two or three of the panes were
+broken, and a few stray snowflakes were floating in,
+and hardly melting in the chilly air. There was an
+old rusty stove instead of a fireplace, but no fire in
+it; and in one corner lay a hard mattress, on which
+they could see in the dim light the figure of a man,
+barely covered with a few clothes. As he lifted up
+his head to speak to them a racking cough choked
+him, and it was a minute or two before he could utter
+a word.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>&#8216;We&#8217;ve been your neighbours a long while,&#8217; said
+Ann, gently, &#8216;and I&#8217;m ashamed I never came to see
+you before. We&#8217;ve brought little Bell home, for it&#8217;s
+a dreadful night out of doors, not fit for a grown-up
+person, scarcely.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;But the landlord says he&#8217;ll turn us out to-morrow,&#8217;
+gasped the sick man.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;No! no!&#8217; answered Ann; &#8216;that&#8217;s all right.
+We&#8217;ve got the money ready for him, and now we&#8217;ll
+make you as comfortable as we can. Sam run down
+and bring me a light, that&#8217;s a good fellow.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I&#8217;m not going to live long,&#8217; said the stranger, &#8216;and
+I&#8217;m afraid of being turned out, but I can never pay
+you back again. There&#8217;s no more work in me, and
+my money&#8217;s done; I can&#8217;t pay you.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Never mind,&#8217; she answered, &#8216;we&#8217;re only doing as
+we&#8217;d be done by, so don&#8217;t you worry about it. Here&#8217;s
+Sam coming with a candle; and now I&#8217;ll put your
+bed straight.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>But when the light was brought in, and Ann
+looked down at the poor covering on the mattress,
+she uttered a little scream of amazement, and sank
+down on a box beside the bed of the sick man. Sam
+himself stood as still as a stone, staring, as she did,
+at the clothes which lay across the bed. There was
+his old wedding waistcoat; he knew it by a patch
+which Ann had put into it very carefully. Was it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>
+possible that the nine five-pound notes were still safely
+hidden in the lining?</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;That&#8217;s an old waistcoat of mine,&#8217; he said, as soon
+as he could speak; &#8216;I never thought to see it again.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I bought it soon after I came here,&#8217; answered the
+attic tenant; &#8216;an old-clothesman offered it for a
+shilling. It&#8217;s been a good warm waistcoat; but I&#8217;ve
+worn it for the last time.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I&#8217;ll give you a couple of blankets for it,&#8217; said Sam,
+eagerly. &#8216;My wife sold it without asking me, and it
+was my wedding waistcoat, you see. I didn&#8217;t want to
+part with it.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Take it, and welcome, without any blankets,&#8217; he
+answered; &#8216;you&#8217;ve done enough for me already.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;No,&#8217; said Ann, &#8216;I&#8217;ll bring the blankets.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>She was trembling with excitement, but she would
+not leave the poor man until she had stopped up the
+broken panes, made the bed comfortable, and wrapped
+him well up in some warm blankets. Then she went
+down to their own room, and found Sam waiting for
+her before opening the seam in the lining of the
+waistcoat. Even his hand shook, but he managed to
+unpick a few stitches, and draw out a crumpled bit of
+paper. Yes; they were all there, the nine five-pound
+notes he had never expected to touch again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Oh, Sam!&#8217; she cried, with tears in her eyes, &#8216;do
+you think you will love them again?&#8217;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>For a few minutes he sat still, looking earnestly at
+the notes, with a strange expression of fear upon his
+face. He compared the peace and happiness of the
+last few months with the heavy burden his secret had
+been to him. He thought of how he had begun to
+learn to think of God when he awoke in the morning,
+and when he was falling asleep at night. If he kept
+the money, would it be the same? Yet would it be
+right to throw away what God might intend them to
+keep as a provision against some time of need? Perhaps
+God saw the time was come when he might be
+trusted with money again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Ann,&#8217; he said, &#8216;If I thought these notes would
+tempt me to serve mammon again, I&#8217;d throw them all
+on to the fire yonder. You take charge of them, my
+lass, and put them into the Post-Office Savings-bank,
+that was opened a few months ago. Thank God I
+lost them, and thank God I&#8217;ve found them again.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>For the next few weeks Sam Franklin and his
+wife nursed and tended the dying man in the attic as
+tenderly as if he had been their brother, teaching him
+what Sam had learned himself, that even on a sick
+bed he might work the works of God, by believing on
+Jesus Christ, whom he hath sent. When he died,
+blessing them for their brotherly love to him, they
+took charge of little Bell, and no doubt spent as much
+upon her as the money laid by in the savings-bank.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>
+But she grew up like a daughter to them; and not
+long ago she became their daughter by marrying
+Johnny Franklin. The wedding took place a day or
+two before Christmas, the anniversary of the day
+when Johnny readily gave up his small fortune for
+little Bell.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Oh, Sam!&#8217; said his wife, as she thought of it,
+&#8216;how would it have been if we&#8217;d kept the nine shillings
+to buy clothes for Johnny?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;We should have kept the nine shillings and lost
+the forty-five pounds,&#8217; answered Sam. &#8216;It&#8217;s true, &#8220;He
+that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord;
+and that which he hath given will he pay him
+again.&#8221;&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Yes, but it&#8217;s more than that,&#8217; said Ann; &#8216;we&#8217;d a
+chance of doing something like Jesus Christ would
+have done in our place, and we did it. That was the
+best of all.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span></p>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/image028.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+<p class="caption">She saw the stranger produce a pistol.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="floatright"><i>See page 46.</i></span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS AND<br />
+A HAPPY NEW YEAR.</h2>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/image029.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+<p class="drop-cap">IF you had asked any of the poor people of Ilverton
+who was the prettiest and best girl in the town,
+they would, one and all, have answered promptly, &#8216;Dr.
+Layard&#8217;s daughter.&#8217; There was scarcely a poor man
+or woman, who did not know the way to Dr. Layard&#8217;s
+surgery, where he gave advice gratis to all who could
+not really afford to pay for it. And there was scarcely
+one who did not know the look of Dr. Layard&#8217;s bright,
+comfortable, old-fashioned kitchen, and the pleasant,
+tender smile on Kate Layard&#8217;s face, as she listened
+pityingly to their sad stories, and sent them away
+home with happier hearts and lighter spirits.</p>
+
+<p>If it had not been for her poor people, as she
+called them, Kate Layard&#8217;s life would have been
+utterly dull and idle. She had no household duties<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>
+to see after; her aunt, who had taken the management
+of all such matters whilst she was still a little
+girl, would not brook any interference with her rule;
+and preferred to have Kate sitting in the drawing-room,
+idly busy over fancy work, or practising music
+to which no one listened, and painting water-colour
+sketches, at which no one looked. There were three
+boys younger than herself, but they were all away,
+either at school or college; and the long days passed
+by listlessly, for want of something to do that was really
+worth the doing. But for her father&#8217;s poor patients,
+and he had a good many of them, she would have felt
+her life to be quite lost.</p>
+
+<p>It was on a dull, dark day, near the end of November,
+with a thick yellow fog pressing close against the
+windows, which prevented her from going out, that
+she felt particularly disconsolate and weary. Aunt
+Brooks was busy about the house, making arrangements
+for a thorough cleaning down before Christmas;
+but she steadily refused Kate&#8217;s offers of help. Secretly
+Aunt Brooks was fearful of Dr. Layard finding
+out that Kate would make quite as good a housekeeper
+as herself; and she shrank from the idea of
+going into some little lonely house of her own, where
+she could have no more than one little maid to order
+about, and no scope at all for her own powers. She
+did not think of Kate having no scope for hers. If<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>
+she had, it is quite possible that she would have laid
+down her command, and heroically withdrawn to leave
+Kate her proper post.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I wish, something would happen to me!&#8217; sighed
+Kate, on that dull November morning. At the very
+moment a servant brought in a letter, just delivered
+by the postman. Kate was not quite sure of the
+handwriting; not quite sure. But all at once a
+vision of her father&#8217;s surgery flashed across her mind,
+with a frank, noble, pleasant-looking young man in
+her father&#8217;s place, giving advice and prescription, and
+good-tempered, cheery words to her poor people. It
+was Philip Carey, her father&#8217;s assistant, who had left
+them some months ago. It seemed to Kate that she
+had never been dull while he was there. Yes! the
+letter was from Philip Carey; it bore his name. A
+bright colour flushed up in Kate&#8217;s face. If there had
+been any one in the room, she would have carried it
+away to read it in solitude, although she did not yet
+know a single word in it. But she was quite alone,
+and no one could see the colour in her cheeks, or the
+ready tears that sprang into her eyes, and made the
+lines look dim.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I used to fancy sometimes,&#8217; said Philip Carey,
+&#8216;that I might win your love; but I never dared to be
+sure of it. I was too poor then, and my future was
+too uncertain, for me to say how dearly I loved you.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>
+But now I am appointed the assistant physician at
+Lentford Hospital, I think your father would be
+satisfied with my prospects. I do not write to him
+but to you. If there is any hope for me, if you can
+trust your whole happiness to me, write but the one
+word &#8220;Come,&#8221; and I will come over immediately after
+my official appointment on the 30th, and speak to Dr.
+Layard. If you do not write, I shall understand
+your silence.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Kate sat, with the letter crushed between her hands,
+gazing blissfully into the fire. All the world was
+changed, quite suddenly. The day was no longer dull
+and dreary. It seemed almost too good to be true.
+Philip Carey was the very man to be a physician in the
+Lentford Hospital; he was so gentle and considerate
+with the poor, and so skilful as well. She recollected
+how all her poor people had bewailed and mourned
+after him when he went away; and what a pang it
+had often been to her, a pang yet a pleasure, to hear
+his name so often on their lips. Oh! how good she
+must be to make herself good enough for him! She
+must be the best doctor&#8217;s wife in all Lentford.</p>
+
+<p>With very unsteady fingers she wrote the one word
+&#8216;Come&#8217; as Philip had suggested; and then it occurred
+to her that she might catch the morning post, and he
+would receive her answer before night. She directed
+the envelope in haste, and ran out herself with it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>
+across the square; dropping it into the letter-box
+with her own hands, and looking after it, as one does
+sometimes when the letter is a very important one.</p>
+
+<p>Kate kept her precious secret to herself. Aunt
+Brooks was in a rather testy temper, and it was not
+easy to begin such a confidential disclosure to her. Dr.
+Layard was out all day, and only came in late at night,
+worn out and exhausted. Kate rather rejoiced in the
+secret being a secret. Everybody would know quite
+soon enough; for her letter had reached her on the
+28th, and Philip was sure to come over on the 30th, for
+Lentford was only ten miles away, and he could ride
+to Ilverton as soon as his official appointment was
+confirmed.</p>
+
+<p>Yet it seemed a long time before the 30th came.
+Towards the close of the day Kate grew more
+agitated in her secret gladness. Philip might come in
+at any hour; he knew they dined at six, and Kate
+was fully prepared to see him arrive then. But he
+did not appear; and the dinner passed very nearly in
+silence, for Kate was unable to talk, and Dr. Layard
+was tired with his day&#8217;s work.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Do you know, Kate,&#8217; he said suddenly, &#8216;young
+Carey is appointed assistant physician at Lentford
+Hospital? It&#8217;s a splendid opening for so young a man.
+But he&#8217;s a fine fellow is Carey; I shall be more than
+content if one of my boys turns out like him. Ah!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>
+Katie, Katie, you should have set your cap at him
+when he was here; you&#8217;ll never have such a chance
+again.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>The colour mounted to her forehead, and a smile
+played about her lips, ready to break into a happy
+laugh. If Philip would but come in now!</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Don&#8217;t put such notions into Kate&#8217;s head,&#8217; said
+Aunt Brooks, precisely; &#8216;no well behaved young lady
+would think of setting her cap at any one.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>It was a restless evening for Kate. One hour
+after another passed by, and still he did not come.
+She went to the window, and opened it impatiently.
+She began to wonder if he meant to come in by
+the last train, and stay all night. But what would
+Aunt Brooks say? And what a strange hour
+it would be to begin to talk to her father about
+such a subject! She fancied it would take a very
+long time to introduce it, and afterwards to discuss
+it. But at half-past eleven Kate was compelled
+to give up expecting him and go to bed, when the
+fever of her new happiness having calmed a little,
+she slept profoundly, and dreamed of no trouble.</p>
+
+<p>But again there followed a morning and evening
+of expectation, dogged hour after hour by a strengthening
+disappointment. Kate sat moping over the fire, as
+Aunt Brooks said, trying to find reasons for Philip&#8217;s
+absence and silence. The crumpled letter had been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>
+carefully smoothed out again, and she read it till she
+knew every word by heart. But the pride and gladness
+died as her heart grew sick with the sickness of hope
+deferred. The brief sunshine at last faded quite out
+of her life, and left her in deeper darkness than before.
+She waited and trusted till she could wait and trust
+no longer; and then she gave herself up to the full
+sense of her bitter mortification and sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>There was no one to notice the change except
+her father, who was too busy to bestow more than
+a passing thought or two to her melancholy face and
+fading colour. Her happiness, like Jonah&#8217;s gourd,
+had sprung up in a night and perished in a night; and
+like him she was ready to exclaim, &#8216;It is better for me
+to die than to live.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Christmas was near at hand before Kate recovered
+at all from her overwhelming sense of wretchedness
+and mortification. She was a pitiful and tender-hearted
+girl, fond of giving pleasure to others; and
+she began to feel as if it was necessary for her own
+relief to make this miserable Christmas a time of
+pleasure and festivity to some of her poorer neighbours.
+If she could not see happiness with her own
+eyes, she would like to look at it through other
+people&#8217;s. It was impossible to remove the heaviness
+of her heart, but she might try to lighten others&#8217;. So<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>
+one evening when she and her father were alone together,
+she approached the subject cautiously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Father,&#8217; she said, &#8216;I want to make somebody in
+the world happier.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Her voice was unconsciously very sorrowful.
+The burden that was oppressing her had made her
+feel that other people had heavy burdens to bear.
+She was learning that, in order to bear her own well,
+it was necessary to share that of another. Dr. Layard
+was distressed by the mournfulness of his daughter&#8217;s
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Make somebody happier!&#8217; he repeated; &#8216;well, it
+is easy enough to do that.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;How?&#8217; asked Kate.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Help them,&#8217; answered Dr. Layard; &#8216;a little
+help is worth a deal of pity. Helping people is
+a good step towards making them and yourself
+happy.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;That is what I want to do,&#8217; said Kate, eagerly.
+&#8216;I want you to manage so that I can have some of
+your poor patients to tea here, in the large kitchen,
+on Christmas Day; it would make them a little bit
+happier, I think. I don&#8217;t know that it would do
+much good, but they would enjoy it, wouldn&#8217;t they,
+father?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;It would do them good, Kate,&#8217; said Dr. Layard;
+&#8216;making people happy sometimes goes before making<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>
+them good. In the hospital at times we make
+our patients as happy as they can be before the
+sharp operation; sometimes the sharp operation has
+to come first. We&#8217;ll try the merry Christmas for
+them this year, and then you must do what you can
+for them afterwards.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Brooks, somewhat unexpectedly, gave a very
+gracious assent to Dr. Layard&#8217;s proposal, on condition
+that Kate took all the trouble of preparing for the
+guests, and entertaining them when they came. It
+made her busy enough for two or three days, and she
+tried to throw all her sad heart into it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Kate,&#8217; said Dr. Layard, on Christmas Eve, &#8216;we
+have forgotten one of our old favourites, who has
+not been here for months. You recollect old Mrs.
+Duffy, who used to go about with a basket of bobbins
+and tapes? Of all my poor patients, she ought to be
+present at your <i>soir&eacute;e</i>.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Layard persisted in calling the intended tea-party
+Kate&#8217;s <i>soir&eacute;e</i>, and had taken an unusual interest
+in it. She was feeling more sorrowful than ever, this
+Christmas Eve, when everybody seemed so absurdly
+gay. She was wearing her dowdiest dress; and she
+found it difficult to get up a smile when her father
+spoke of the <i>soir&eacute;e</i>. How different it would have been
+if Philip Carey had been true to her!</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Can I find Mrs. Duffy this evening?&#8217; she asked,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>
+willing to escape from her sad thoughts for a little
+time.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Easily,&#8217; said Dr. Layard; &#8216;she lives in Wright&#8217;s
+Court, out of New Street, the last house but two on
+your left hand, I think. Anybody would tell you
+where it is. If you are frightened, take Bob with you.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>It was a dark night when Kate started out, without
+Bob, for she was not frightened; she was too miserable
+to be frightened. The passing relief she had
+felt in making her arrangements for her Christmas
+tea-party was spent, and the universal merriment only
+served to deepen her own loneliness and disappointment.
+The streets were full and noisy, but not disorderly.
+The church bells were ringing in anticipation
+of the coming day, and a general holiday tone was
+diffused through the crowd, though business was going
+on briskly. Groups of little children were gathering
+round the brilliant shop-windows, choosing impossible
+Christmas presents for themselves and each other from
+the magnificent display within, and laughing with
+pathetic mirth at their own daring dreams. Kate
+caught herself wondering if she should ever laugh at
+her own vanished dream.</p>
+
+<p>Wright&#8217;s Court was not a good specimen of street
+architecture and paving. The houses were as low as
+they could be to boast of two stories, and the pavement
+was eccentric, making it necessary to take each
+step with great caution. An open gutter ran down<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>
+the middle, and through the passage which formed the
+entrance; a passage four feet wide and twenty feet
+long, dimly lighted by one lamp in the street, which
+shone behind Kate as she walked up it, and threw her
+shadow bewilderingly before her. The court itself had
+no light but that which came through the uncurtained
+windows of the dwellings on each side, through which
+she caught glimpses of startling phases of English life,
+before she reached Mrs. Duffy&#8217;s door, where she stood
+a minute or two in the dark, looking through the small
+panes of the casement close beside it.</p>
+
+<p>It was a very little kitchen, but quite large enough
+for the furniture it contained. There was an old box
+under the window, and one shelf against the wall,
+holding all Mrs. Duffy&#8217;s china and plate. The only
+chair, and a tiny table standing on three thick legs,
+were drawn up to the fireplace, in which a few coals
+were burning. Two old tin candlesticks and a flat-iron
+adorned the chimneypiece, and Kate saw, with
+a slight prick of her conscience, for she had not cared
+to decorate the house at home, that a bit of holly had
+been stuck into each candlestick, as well as into every
+other pane of the little window. Mrs. Duffy herself
+was seated in the chair, apparently amusing herself
+with a pantomime of taking tea, for there was
+a black teapot and a cracked cup and saucer on the
+table, but there was no food upon it, and when she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>
+held the teapot almost perpendicularly only a few
+drops fell from the spout. She put it down, and
+looked placidly into the embers, shaking her head a
+little from time to time, but gently, as if more in remembrance
+of the past than in reproach of the present.
+She was a clean, fresh-looking old woman, with no
+teeth, and her cheeks formed a little ball, like a withered
+rosy apple, between her hollow eyes and sunken
+mouth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;The Lord love you, my dear,&#8217; said Mrs. Duffy,
+when Kate went in, and delivered her message, &#8216;and
+the good doctor, too. It isn&#8217;t everybody as has such
+friends as me&mdash;on a Christmas Eve, too, when a body
+feels so lonesome wi&#8217;out friends. I don&#8217;t mind so
+much on working days, my dear, but one wants friends
+of a holiday like-Christmas. One can work wi&#8217;out
+friends; but one can&#8217;t love wi&#8217;out friends.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;No, indeed!&#8217; said Kate, with a profound sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;And I&#8217;ve got such good friends!&#8217; continued Mrs.
+Duffy, triumphantly; &#8216;there&#8217;s one as gave me sixpence,
+and another threepence, and another twopence, only
+this morning. That came up to elevenpence; so I&#8217;ve
+bought my Christmas joint, just like other folks, you
+know. You&#8217;d maybe like to see my Christmas joint
+like other folks, shouldn&#8217;t you, my dear?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I should very much,&#8217; answered Kate.</p>
+
+<p>The Christmas joint was evidently a very precious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>
+possession, for it had been laid carefully between a
+plate and a basin, and these were well tied up in a
+ragged cloth, and put out of the way of any marauding
+cat. Kate&#8217;s eyebrows went up a good deal, and her
+eyelids smarted a little as if with coming tears, when
+she saw it. It was a morsel of coarse beef, which would
+not have covered the old woman&#8217;s hand, but which she
+regarded with unconcealed satisfaction and delight.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;That cost sevenpence,&#8217; she said, &#8216;and I bought two
+pennyworth of greens, and a twopenny loaf to eat with
+it&mdash;me and a friend of mine, as is coming to dine with
+me. It&#8217;s a very poor lame girl as lives down the court;
+very poor, indeed, so I asked her to come and help to
+eat my Christmas joint, which is exceedingly pleasant
+to me. The neighbour next door has promised to
+lend me a chair; we&#8217;re all so friendly one with another.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Then if you have a visitor you must bring her
+with you to tea,&#8217; said Kate, &#8216;and any children you
+have. Haven&#8217;t you got any sons or daughters?
+You&#8217;d enjoy yourself more with them there.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Bless your kind heart all the same,&#8217; answered
+Mrs. Duffy, her cheerful face overcast for a moment;
+&#8216;I never had more than one bonny boy, and he went
+off to Australy nigh upon thirty years ago. My
+Johnny he was. Sometimes I think as I shall never
+see him again. I was thinking of him when your
+knock came to the door. He was going on for twenty;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>
+and I was a strong woman of forty then. I doubt
+whether Johnny &#8217;ud know his poor old mother again if
+he did come back.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;How long is it since you heard from him?&#8217;
+enquired Kate.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I never heard from him at all,&#8217; said Mrs. Duffy,
+in a matter-of-course tone; &#8216;he couldn&#8217;t write, and I
+couldn&#8217;t write. But he went to Australy, and he is in
+Australy now, if he hasn&#8217;t tumbled off. I can&#8217;t help
+thinking at times he must ha&#8217; tumbled off, though the
+flies never do tumble off the ceiling. I&#8217;ve watched
+&#8217;em for hours and hours together, thinking of my
+Johnny, and no fly never tumbled off yet. They have
+to walk with their heads downwards in Australy, like
+them flies; but my Johnny wasn&#8217;t brought up to it,
+and I&#8217;m afeard for him at times.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Oh, no, he couldn&#8217;t tumble off,&#8217; said Kate, laughing
+a little; &#8216;but are you sure you would know him yourself,
+Mrs. Duffy, after thirty years?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Can a mother forget her own boy?&#8217; asked the
+old woman; &#8216;ay, ay; I should know my Johnny
+among a thousand, or tens of thousands. I&#8217;ll be glad
+to bring my friend with me to-morrow, and many
+thanks to you for asking her. I&#8217;ve got to go out into the
+country to sing a carril or two at a farm-house, where
+they&#8217;re always very good to me; but that&#8217;ll be afore
+dinner; and we&#8217;ll come punctual to your house at five<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>
+o&#8217;clock, me and my friend; and a merry Christmas
+and a happy New Year to every one of us, and you
+above all, my dear.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A miserable Christmas, and an unhappy New
+Year it will be for me,&#8217; thought Kate; but she did
+not say it. Mrs. Duffy insisted upon lighting her
+down the court with her only candle, which guttered
+and wasted terribly in the night wind; and the last
+glance she had of the kindly, withered old face was
+lit up by its flickering flame at the entrance of the
+dark passage.</p>
+
+<p>Very early in the morning, long before the Christmas
+sun was ready to show itself, Mrs. Duffy roused
+up to the fact that if she was to sing a &#8216;carril&#8217; a mile
+and a half away in the country, it was time to set out.
+Even her hard heap of rags and straw, with the thin,
+scanty blanket she had been shivering under all night,
+were more attractive to her at seventy years of age
+than the long, lonely walk, through lanes deep down
+between high hedgerows, with cartruts filled with
+mingled mud and ice. But she was of a brave and
+grateful heart, and after a short prayer for herself and
+everybody, uttered before quitting the feeble warmth
+of her bed, she sallied out into the chill frostiness of
+the coming dawn. Up and down the street she heard
+the shrill voices of children chanting some Christmas
+ditty; and she thought of Johnny when he was a boy,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>
+with his yellow hair, and round, red face, turning out
+all eagerness and hope on a Christmas morning, and
+singing in a voice which could not fail to rouse the
+most determined sleeper.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;He came home once with three shillings and twopence
+halfpenny, all in ha&#8217;pence,&#8217; thought Mrs. Duffy,
+wiping away a tear from the sunken corner of her eye.</p>
+
+<p>It was a wearisome walk to the farm-house; but
+as soon as she had reached the porch, and lifting up
+her quavering voice, began, &#8216;God rest you, merry
+gentlefolk, Let nothing you dismay,&#8217; the door was
+flung open quickly, and she was called in, and set before
+such a breakfast as she had not seen for years.
+Poor old Mrs. Duffy&#8217;s heart was very full, and before
+she could swallow a morsel, she said in a slow and
+tremulous voice: &#8216;I can&#8217;t think what&#8217;s come to folks
+this year. It&#8217;s like them blessed Christmases we shall
+have when everybody&#8217;s friends, when the lion is friends
+with the lamb, and the cockatrices with the babies.
+Here&#8217;s Dr. Layard&#8217;s daughter asked me to tea, and
+I&#8217;ve got a Christmas joint, and now there&#8217;s such a
+breakfast as I never see before, and me done nothing
+for it. I can&#8217;t think what&#8217;s come to folks; but it&#8217;s a
+blessed Christmas, it is.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;You&#8217;ll sing your carol for us better after breakfast,&#8217;
+said the farmer&#8217;s wife, &#8216;and my husband&#8217;s father
+has given me a shilling for you.&#8217;</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>Mrs. Duffy shed a few very blissful tears, and after
+breakfast sang two or three carols, with as much zeal
+and energy as though they were sure to bring down
+many blessings on the hospitable roof. It was a little
+after nine o&#8217;clock when she left the house; but there
+was the Christmas dinner to cook, and it was necessary
+to go home early for that. She bade them good-by,
+and took her way joyously across the fields lying in
+winter-fallow, through which there was a nearer way
+back to the town.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Duffy was just turning out of the fields into
+the high road, when a man suddenly started up from
+behind the hedge, and laid his hand roughly on her
+shoulder. He was a big, heavy-looking fellow, in the
+ordinary dress of a labourer; and he seemed, even at
+that early hour, to be half stupefied with drink. She
+looked into his coarse face, with a feeling of terror
+which was new to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I want a shilling off you,&#8217; he said, fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A shilling!&#8217; she cried, &#8216;where should a poor
+woman like me have a shilling from?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Haven&#8217;t you got a shilling?&#8217; he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Mrs. Duffy had prided herself all her life on
+never having told a lie. She looked up and down the
+road, but there was not a creature in sight; and she
+glanced again hopelessly into the man&#8217;s savage and
+stupid face. What should she do? To part with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>
+the shilling just given to her would be a very great
+loss; and she knew it would only be spent in the
+nearest public-house. Should she be doing very
+wrong to deny having one? It was the first time for
+years that she had had a whole silver shilling about
+her; and any moment during that time she could have
+replied &#8216;No&#8217; boldly and truthfully. Might she not say
+&#8216;No&#8217; just this once?</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Haven&#8217;t you got a shilling?&#8217; he repeated, shaking
+her shoulder roughly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Well,&#8217; she said, feebly, &#8216;I haven&#8217;t had a shilling
+ever so long; but I have got one now. I&#8217;m a very
+poor old woman, my good young man. If I&#8217;d got a
+penny, I&#8217;d give it you, and welcome.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I must have your shilling,&#8217; he said, doggedly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I can&#8217;t give it you, indeed,&#8217; she answered; &#8216;there&#8217;s
+my rent, and coals, and other things; and I&#8217;m very
+poor. You&#8217;d only drink it.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>She had scarcely finished speaking, when she saw
+the stranger produce a pistol from under his jacket,
+and point it at her. There was a sudden flash before
+her eyes, and she felt a keen pain; then she fell down
+without feeling or consciousness under the hedge-bank
+on the high road. A few minutes later, Dr. Layard&#8217;s
+brougham was stopping at a toll-gate just outside the
+town, when a labouring man, who was striding swiftly
+past, spoke a few words to the driver. Dr. Layard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>
+was inside, with Kate, who was going out with him to
+see her godfather, a clergyman in the next parish.
+The doctor, having finished what he had to say to
+the gatekeeper, inquired what the labourer had said
+in passing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;He says there&#8217;s a woman up the road, who&#8217;s been
+shot, sir,&#8217; answered the servant, &#8216;and he says to me,
+&#8220;Look sharp after her, she&#8217;s an old woman, and very
+poor.&#8221;&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Shot!&#8217; exclaimed Dr. Layard; &#8216;drive on then,
+quickly. Katie, don&#8217;t be frightened. Gate, look after
+that fellow who has just gone through.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>The last order was shouted through the window,
+as the carriage rolled rapidly away. In a few minutes
+they gained the spot where the old woman was lying
+as one dead, under the leafless hedge, with the blood
+staining the thin shawl which was wrapped about her.
+Her old wrinkled face had lost all its apple-red, and
+her grey hair, scanty and short, had fallen down from
+under her white cap. Both Dr. Layard and Katie
+exclaimed in one breath, &#8216;Mrs. Duffy!&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Kate was not wanting in nerve, though she felt a
+little shaken, and exceedingly troubled. She left the
+carriage, and sat down on the bank, supporting Mrs.
+Duffy in her arms, while Dr. Layard made a brief
+examination of the wounds in the poor old neck and
+shoulder. His expression was very grave, and he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>
+stood for a few moments deliberating silently, with his
+eyes fastened upon the deathlike face of Mrs. Duffy,
+and the pretty, anxious face of his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Is it dangerous?&#8217; asked Kate, falteringly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Almost fatal,&#8217; he answered; &#8216;within a touch of
+death. There&#8217;s one chance. I&#8217;m thinking of driving
+straight to Lentford Hospital. It&#8217;s a good level road
+all the way, and the hospital is at this end of the
+town. If you get into the brougham first, I can lift
+the old woman, and place her in an easy posture
+against you. Could you hold her pretty much as you
+are now for an hour or more? I&#8217;d do it myself; but
+you could not lift her in as I shall do. Are you strong
+enough?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I will be strong enough; I will do it,&#8217; said Kate,
+lifting up her head with determination and endurance
+in every line of her face.</p>
+
+<p>It did not occur to Dr. Layard that his carriage
+was a new one, handsomely lined and fitted up; but
+the servant&#8217;s soul ran more upon such subjects, and
+he began to protest against lifting the wounded and
+bleeding woman into it. Such a very miserable old
+creature, too, thought Bob, not a bit of a lady.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Dolt! idiot! brute!&#8217; ejaculated Dr. Layard, in
+high wrath; and Bob, who had only uttered half his
+protest, shut his mouth, and was silent.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed a very long time to Kate, though the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>
+carriage bowled rapidly along the smooth, straight old
+Roman road. Poor Mrs. Duffy gave no sign of life,
+but lay against her heavily, with her grey head resting
+upon Kate&#8217;s shoulder. She held her as tenderly as
+she could, now and then clasping her warm fingers
+about her wrist, which was knotted and brown with
+age and hard work, but which gave no throb back to
+Kate&#8217;s touch. Dr. Layard, who rode outside with
+Bob, looked round from time to time, nodding to her,
+but with so grave a face that she felt the case was
+very serious. She thanked God fervently when the
+spires of Lentford came in sight, and the last notes of
+the morning chimes fell upon her ear. There were
+streams of people going to church, exchanging cheery
+salutations with one another; but many a person
+caught a glimpse of Kate&#8217;s pale and agitated face, and
+the grey head lying against her neck, and felt a shadow
+pass over their own Christmas gladness.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Layard&#8217;s carriage drove into the courtyard of
+the hospital, and then Kate was quickly relieved of
+her burden. Mrs. Duffy was carried away, and Dr.
+Layard followed her. Kate sat there, anxious and
+troubled, while the clock in the nearest church tower
+struck one quarter after another, and Bob drove up
+and down at a snail&#8217;s pace in dreary and monotonous
+turns. At length some one beckoned to him from the
+hospital portico, and Bob responded with an alacrity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>
+which betrayed his impatience. Kate only saw at the
+last moment that it was Dr. Carey, not her father,
+who had summoned him; and she shrank back,
+breathless and tremulous, into the corner of the carriage
+which concealed her best from him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Bob, your master says you must drive home,&#8217; said
+Dr. Carey; &#8216;he will return by train in the afternoon.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;And the old woman, sir?&#8217; said Bob, &#8216;how&#8217;s she
+going on?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Very little hope,&#8217; answered Philip Carey, whose
+face Kate could not see, but whose voice made every
+nerve thrill.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Is it murder?&#8217; asked Bob, who had known Dr.
+Carey as his master&#8217;s assistant, and stood on very
+little ceremony with him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I&#8217;m afraid so,&#8217; he said; &#8216;how are they all at home,
+Bob? Miss Brooks and Miss Kate?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;She&#8217;s in there,&#8217; said Bob, pointing with his thumb
+to the carriage. Kate roused herself to lift up her
+head with dignity, sit erect upon her seat, and meet
+Dr. Carey&#8217;s salutation calmly. It was nearly four weeks
+since he had written to her, and she had replied,
+&#8216;Come.&#8217; He looked at her with an amazed and confused
+expression, and took off his hat, but did not
+attempt to speak. Both of them coloured, and both
+bowed stiffly and in silence. Then Philip Carey, still
+bareheaded, and as if lost in thought, walked slowly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>
+back up the broad steps of the portico, and Kate cried
+most of the way home.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I never saw anything like that,&#8217; thought Bob;
+&#8216;and they used to be like brother and sister, almost.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>It was late in the afternoon when Dr. Layard returned,
+and then he had to see the superintendent
+of police. The stranger who had passed through the
+toll-gate had not yet been found; but he could not be
+far off, and Bob was ready to swear to him when he
+was taken. Kate&#8217;s Christmas party passed off more
+successfully because one of the invited guests had been
+almost murdered on the highway. The news ran like
+wildfire through the town and neighbourhood, and the
+farmer&#8217;s wife came to tell of Mrs. Duffy&#8217;s morning
+visit, and her cheerful carols just before the villain
+met her. She and Kate mingled their tears together
+over the recital, and Kate ended her miserable Christmas
+by going to bed with a very heavy heart.</p>
+
+<p>The next day the stranger was found and sworn
+to by Bob, though he flatly denied having been anywhere
+in the direction of the toll-bar. Neither Dr.
+Layard nor the toll-man could swear to him, as he had
+passed on the farther side of the carriage while they
+were talking at the other window. He was an utter
+stranger in the neighbourhood, without friends, and he
+stated that he was on the tramp. A very old pistol
+was found in a ditch near the spot where Mrs. Duffy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>
+had been shot. The man was sent in safe custody to
+Lentford, to be brought face to face with the old
+woman, if she should recover consciousness enough
+to identify him and give her evidence against him.</p>
+
+<p>For twenty-four hours or more it continued very
+doubtful whether the poor old creature would ever
+rally. She had not spoken since she had been found,
+but she lay perfectly tranquil and patient on her
+hospital bed. Now and then a gleam of a smile, like
+the momentary glimmer of the sun on a cloudy day
+crossed her face, and her lips moved slightly, as if she
+were whispering. She knew when they were doing
+anything for her, for she tried to help herself, to raise
+her thin hand, or turn her grey head upon the pillow
+for them to see her neck. Dr. Carey, who had
+known her in former days, spent as much time as he
+could beside her bed; and towards the close of the
+day, just before the night nurse was coming to take
+her turn, he heard her voice speaking articulately but
+very slowly and faintly, and he stooped over her to
+listen to what she said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Dr. Layard&#8217;s daughter! Dr. Layard&#8217;s daughter!&#8217;
+she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Would you like to see Dr. Layard&#8217;s daughter?&#8217;
+asked Philip Carey, in his clearest and most pleasant
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Ay, ay,&#8217; whispered the old woman.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>&#8216;To-morrow you shall,&#8217; he said; &#8216;it is too late
+now. To-morrow.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Ay, ay,&#8217; she assented, cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;You will be better to-morrow,&#8217; he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;No, no,&#8217; murmured the old woman. &#8216;He shot
+me dead because I wouldn&#8217;t give him my shilling.
+He robbed me.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;There&#8217;s a shilling wrapped up in a bit of blue
+sugar-paper in your pocket,&#8217; said Dr. Carey. A
+sparkle of satisfaction shone upon the poor drawn
+face, and then Mrs. Duffy fell quietly asleep.</p>
+
+<p>She was certainly somewhat better in the morning,
+and watching the people who were about her; her mind
+was clear, and she evidently knew her circumstances,
+where she was, and what had happened to her. Before
+noon Dr. Layard and Kate arrived; and Mrs. Duffy&#8217;s
+sunken blue eyes brightened, yet filled with tears, as
+she looked up into their faces bending pityingly above
+her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Well, old friend,&#8217; said Dr. Layard, heartily, &#8216;you
+are better already. We are going to pull you through,
+you&#8217;ll see, Carey and me. We know what a tough
+old lady you are. Carey used to play you some
+tricks in the old times, and now he&#8217;ll make it up
+to you by pulling you through. Won&#8217;t you, Carey?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Kate had not seen him enter the ward, and now
+she sat down, feeling weak and tremulous, on a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>
+chair at Mrs. Duffy&#8217;s head, keeping her eyes fixed
+upon the old woman&#8217;s face. Dr. Carey&#8217;s voice sounded
+oddly in her ears, as if he was speaking in very loud
+and constrained tones.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I am going to do my best,&#8217; he said, &#8216;but you
+must keep yourself quite still now, Mrs. Duffy, and
+get up your strength to tell the magistrate your story.
+You are a brave old woman, and won&#8217;t be afraid;
+and I&#8217;ll tell them you never told a lie in your life.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Duffy smiled, but did not speak. She had
+not spoken yet, but she stretched out her hand, and
+tried to turn towards Kate. Dr. Carey seemed to
+understand her meaning perfectly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;You want Dr. Layard&#8217;s daughter to sit where you
+can see her?&#8217; he said. &#8216;You want her to stay with
+you?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Ay, ay,&#8217; she answered. &#8216;God bless her!&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>It was Philip Carey who moved Kate&#8217;s chair, and
+placed it in a convenient position for old Mrs. Duffy
+to see her. She glanced at him once, but his eyes
+were downcast, and his aspect very solemn. He bade
+one of the nurses bring her a footstool, and then he
+and her father went away, and old Mrs. Duffy, smiling
+now and then, closed her eyes and seemed to fall into
+a doze.</p>
+
+<p>It was a very quiet hour for Kate. The ward
+was a small one, containing only four beds, and no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>
+other patient in it. The nurses were busy, and had
+all gone away, leaving her alone. A wintry sunshine
+was falling through the farthest window upon
+the bare white walls. Her mind was strangely divided
+between Mrs. Duffy and Philip Carey, whose life
+was spent mostly within these walls. He had spoken
+so kindly, even affectionately, to this poor, friendless
+old woman, but he had not spoken a word to her.
+How was it that he could be so fickle, so cruel towards
+her? What reason or motive could possibly have
+made him change his mind so suddenly and so dishonourably,
+and plunge her into so much wretchedness
+and perplexity? She could not bear to meet
+him, yet she would have to bear it, for her father was
+so fond of him. How proud and happy her father
+would have been in him as his son in-law! It was
+too hard even to think of. Perhaps she would even
+have the misery some day of seeing his wife, the girl
+who had supplanted her, and made her life a blank.
+For Kate felt sure that it would be impossible for her
+ever to love another man. No one else could be to
+her what Philip Carey had been.</p>
+
+<p>The hour passed away, and there were several
+quiet signs of excitement. Dr. Layard and Dr. Carey
+came in, felt the old woman&#8217;s pulse, and gave her a
+cordial. Kate was told that if she could be calm she
+had better remain where she was, as Mrs. Duffy held<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>
+her hand closely, and wished her to stay. Three or
+four strange gentlemen came in, and stood about the
+bed, while Mrs. Duffy, in very feeble tones, told her
+story, which was written down, word for word, from
+her lips. She had not much to say, and it was soon
+over.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Could you identify the individual?&#8217; inquired the
+magistrate&#8217;s clerk.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Should you know the man again?&#8217; asked Dr.
+Carey, who was standing close to Kate, and near old
+Mrs. Duffy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Ay, to be sure,&#8217; she answered, with more energy
+than she had displayed before.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;He has been taken;&#8217; said Dr. Layard; &#8216;that is,
+a man has been taken up, and we think he is the man.
+You must see him yourself.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>The old woman shuddered, and grasped Kate&#8217;s
+hand tightly. It might have been Dr. Carey&#8217;s hand,
+for he seemed conscious of the close grasp, and
+answered to it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Come, come,&#8217; he said, encouragingly, &#8216;you never
+used to be a coward; and you have only to open your
+eyes, and look at him. You have plenty of friends
+about you, you know.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;He&#8217;s a dreadful man,&#8217; she said, in a whisper, &#8216;but
+let him come.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Kate herself felt a strong thrill of excitement, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>
+she listened to the regular tramp of the policeman,
+and the shambling tread of the murderer, coming
+down the bare boards of the ward. The old woman had
+closed her eyes, as if to gather strength for the dreadful
+detective gaze. Dr. Carey laid his hand on the back
+of Kate&#8217;s chair, so close to her it almost touched her
+shoulder, and one of her brown curls fell upon it. The
+footsteps came on to the side of the bed, and stopped
+there. Kate turned her head and took one frightened
+glance. The murderer was a middle-aged man,
+with a full, heavy, red face, and light hair just turning
+grey, not a vicious-looking man on the whole; he might
+have been a decent, honest, creditable fellow, but for
+the drinking habits which had brutalised him. He was
+looking down at the wounded old woman with an air
+half sorrowful and half ashamed; but a little sullen
+also, as a boy looks when caught in some fault. The
+policeman at his right hand was the only sign to
+mark him out as a criminal; and he seemed as much
+on the alert as if he expected him to make a second
+murderous attack on the old woman in her bed. For
+a minute or two all were silent in the room. Mrs.
+Duffy&#8217;s eyelids were closed, and her lips moved as if
+in prayer. She looked up at last; and her dim blue
+eyes, which were full of terror, like those of a child
+who wakes frightened, changed like those of a child,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>
+when it sees that the face bending over it is a familiar
+face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Why,&#8217; she cried, in a voice at once firm and glad,
+&#8216;it&#8217;s my boy! It&#8217;s my Johnny!&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Her wrinkled features began to work with emotion,
+and she was about to raise herself up to stretch
+out her arms to him, but Dr. Carey was quick enough
+to prevent her. He threw himself on his knees at
+Kate&#8217;s feet, and laid his strong arm gently across the
+old woman. Every one else stood motionless and
+thunderstruck. The man himself did not stir hand
+or foot.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;That&#8217;s my son as went to Australy,&#8217; continued
+Mrs. Duffy; &#8216;please let him come and kiss me.
+Don&#8217;t you know your poor old mother again, Johnny?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Oh, mother! mother!&#8217; exclaimed the man,
+striking his hard hands together, &#8216;that&#8217;s my mother
+sir, as I came back to, and was looking for. I hadn&#8217;t
+seen her these thirty years, and she&#8217;s nothing like the
+woman she was. You&#8217;ll let me go and kiss her,
+maybe?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>He had spoken to the policeman next to him,
+and his official eye was softened; but the magistrates
+were there, and the indulgence was not his to
+grant.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Is this the person who attempted first to rob
+and then to murder you?&#8217; asked the magistrate&#8217;s
+clerk.</p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>&#8216;Oh, dear no! it&#8217;s my boy,&#8217; said the old woman;
+&#8216;he&#8217;d never shoot at his mother, bless you! It was
+quite a different man, not him; a dreadful man.
+That&#8217;s the boy I nursed, and taught him his prayers.
+He&#8217;d never lift up his hand agen me; please let him
+go.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>There was no question in Mrs. Duffy&#8217;s mind as
+to whether she was telling the truth or not. Her
+gladness was so great that her mind utterly refused
+the incredible and impossible idea that her own son
+could have thought of robbing and murdering her.
+If he had been brought before her red-handed with
+her blood, she would still have believed herself mistaken.
+It was some ruffian and monster who had shot
+her, not her son. As for him, his heavy, bloodshot
+eyes were filled with tears, and his voice, as he began
+to speak, was choked and husky.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Sir,&#8217; he said, addressing no one in particular,
+&#8216;she&#8217;s not like the same woman, but she&#8217;s my mother.
+She had brown hair, and was very strong. I never
+thought of her being like that. I wish I&#8217;d kept free
+from drink. Nobody knows what drink&#8217;ll bring him
+to. She&#8217;s my mother; and I came back to work
+for her, if she were still alive. I&#8217;ll never taste a drop
+again as long&#8217;s I live.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Hush, hush!&#8217; said Dr. Layard, coming behind
+him, and tapping him on the shoulder; &#8216;hold your<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>
+tongue, my good fellow. You&#8217;ll make your mother
+worse again if you talk. There&#8217;s a good chance for
+her if she&#8217;s kept quiet.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>The magistrates and their clerk walked away to
+the end of the ward, and held a short consultation
+there. There was not much doubt that this man was
+the right man; but there was no one to bring home
+the crime to him, except his mother. Bob, Dr. Layard&#8217;s
+servant, swore positively that he was the man
+who told him a woman was lying in the road murdered;
+but the woman herself denied that it was he
+who had attacked her. To be sure there was more
+than sufficient reason for her to do so, but if she persisted
+in it, what was to be done?</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;You must remember you are upon your oath,&#8217;
+said the elder magistrate, &#8216;and probably upon your
+deathbed. Now look at this man carefully, and tell
+me if he is not the man who shot at you.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Duffy gazed earnestly at her son, smiling
+more and more, until her pale, shrunken face grew
+radiant with happiness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Why, it couldn&#8217;t be him,&#8217; she said, &#8216;how could it?
+Ay, ay; I could swear it were never him; my Johnny.
+Please let him stay aside of me for a bit. The police
+may stop for him if you like; but he&#8217;d never do it.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Carey and I will be bail for him, if it&#8217;s necessary,&#8217;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>
+said Dr. Layard, &#8216;only let the poor fellow shake
+hands with his mother. There, let him go.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>The man seemed to slip suddenly from the policeman&#8217;s
+grasp, and sunk down on his knees at his
+mother&#8217;s feet, hiding his face in the bed-clothes, and
+sobbing till the bed shook under him. All the time
+his mother&#8217;s eyes were shining upon him, and her
+arms, still kept firmly down by Dr. Carey, were
+trembling to touch him.</p>
+
+<p>The magistrates and their retinue went their way,
+leaving Mrs. Duffy with her son, while Kate and
+Philip Carey stood by, a little aloof from them, and
+from each other. The man crept closer and closer
+to his mother, till his hot and heavy face rested upon
+her hand. There was a deep silence in the ward.
+Outside in the corridor, through the half open door,
+could be seen the policeman, still waiting for final
+orders.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Mother,&#8217; sobbed out Duffy, in a smothered and
+faltering voice, &#8216;can you forgive me?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Why! there&#8217;s nothing to forgive, Johnny,&#8217; she
+said, &#8216;and I&#8217;m so happy, I&#8217;d forgive everybody. I&#8217;d
+forgive the raskill as shot me. I have forgive him
+already, Johnny.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I want you to get well, mother,&#8217; he said, with
+desperate earnestness, &#8216;and I&#8217;ll make it all up to you.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>
+I&#8217;m come back to work for you, and indeed, I&#8217;ll work.
+Will you forgive me, mother?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Forgive you, Johnny!&#8217; she murmured, &#8216;it&#8217;s a
+easy thing to forgive a body when you love a body.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>The last words dropped faintly, syllable by syllable,
+from the old woman&#8217;s white lips, and Kate&#8217;s heart
+sank like lead. The withered face had grown paler,
+and the wrinkled eyelids closed slowly over the filmy
+blue eyes. Kate uttered a low cry of trouble, and
+Philip Carey turned quickly towards her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Is she going to die, Philip?&#8217; asked Kate.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;She is very faint,&#8217; he replied, &#8216;She has been too
+much excited, but she may rally yet. Go and send
+me a nurse, and do not return yourself.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Kate walked softly down the ward, the tears
+falling fast from her eyes. She was no longer grieving
+over her own troubles, but for the hopeful, cheery,
+brave old woman, who had met her long-lost son
+again in such a manner, and at such a moment as
+this. She waited in the matron&#8217;s parlour until a
+message was brought to her that Mrs. Duffy was
+sleeping again, with her son watching and waiting
+beside her. Then she returned home with her father.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I&#8217;ve not the shadow of a doubt Duffy&#8217;s the man,&#8217;
+shouted Dr. Layard to her, above the noise of the
+train; &#8216;but the thing cannot be brought home to him.
+The old woman is as true as truth itself, but she is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>
+labouring under a delusion. She no more believes
+that her son was the man who shot at her than I believe
+that you did it. I question whether she would
+believe Duffy himself if he owned it to her, which he
+must not do. I&#8217;ve told him so. I said, &#8220;Duffy, I feel
+pretty sure you are the villain that did it, and if she
+dies I&#8217;ll do my best to prove it. But never you tell
+your mother it was yourself; it would go far to break
+her heart.&#8221; And he said, &#8220;I&#8217;ll never speak a word
+about it, one way or the other, sir.&#8221; Oh! Duffy did it!&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Do you think she will die?&#8217; asked Kate.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Carey will do his best for her,&#8217; said Dr. Layard;
+&#8216;I never saw such a change in a young fellow as there
+is in Carey. He is as dull as a beetle; just when he
+has got all he has been striving for, too! I don&#8217;t understand
+it.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>Kate believed she understood it, but she kept
+silence. It was not likely he could feel happy and
+at ease in her presence or her father&#8217;s if he had a
+spark of feeling; and he certainly possessed a good
+deal of feeling. She had caught his eye once during
+the strange interview round Mrs. Duffy&#8217;s bed, and
+they had looked at one another with a sympathy
+which had seemed at the moment the most natural
+thing in the world. She had called him Philip, too!
+How her cheeks burned at the very recollection. She
+wished she had preserved to the end an icy dignity of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>
+manner towards him; but she had altogether forgotten
+herself, and it had been a happier moment than
+she had felt for these four weeks past. Perhaps utter
+forgetfulness of self is the only real happiness.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Kate was once more sitting
+alone before the fire in the breakfast-room, with nothing
+particular to do, until it was time to start for
+Lentford once more, when the servant brought in a
+large official-looking cover, with the words &#8216;Dead
+Letter Office&#8217; printed upon it, and addressed &#8216;Miss
+Kate Layard, Ilverton.&#8217; It was the first time in her
+life that Kate had ever received such an ominous-looking
+packet. She opened it with some trepidation,
+and drew from it her own brief note to Philip Carey,
+written four weeks before. The envelope bore several
+postmarks upon it, with directions to try one town
+after another&mdash;Liverpool, then Manchester, then London&mdash;but
+it was several minutes before she discovered
+how it had all happened. Her own handwriting lay
+before her eyes, or she could never have believed it:
+she had directed her letter to &#8216;Dr. Carey, Everton
+Square, Liverpool.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>How Kate had come to write Liverpool instead
+of Lentford she could never understand. It was
+true Philip had gone to Liverpool after leaving
+Ilverton, but how stupid of her to make such a dreadful
+mistake! Then he, too, had been passing through<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>
+as miserable a time as herself. He must have come
+to the conclusion that she did not care for him, and
+that she had not even the grace to thank him for the
+love he had bestowed upon her in vain. What could
+he have thought of her? It must have been a pain
+to him. She would make it up to him in some
+way.</p>
+
+<p>Kate&#8217;s brain was in a whirl all the way to
+Lentford. She walked up the broad steps of the
+hospital portico like one in a dream. The fat
+porter, in his handsome livery, nodded pleasantly
+at her; and the students, hurrying along the broad
+corridors, took off their hats to Dr. Layard&#8217;s pretty
+daughter. She had to pass by a recess as large as
+a good-sized room, with benches round and across
+it, upon which were seated rows of poor patients,
+waiting humbly for their turn to go in and see the
+doctor. The doorkeeper had just opened the door an
+inch or two, and Kate saw Philip Carey&#8217;s face, grave
+and care-worn, listening to a poor woman who was
+just going away by another entrance. She laid her
+hand upon the arm of the patient who was going in,
+and passed on into the room instead. &#8216;Philip,&#8217; she
+said, her face flushing at his look of amazement, &#8216;I
+am only going to stay one moment. I have been so
+miserable. I wrote this four weeks ago.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Wrote what?&#8217; he asked, clasping the hand with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>
+which she offered him the misdirected letter, and
+holding both closely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I only wrote &#8220;Come,&#8221;&#8217; stammered Kate, the
+tears starting into her eyes, &#8216;and I thought&mdash;oh, I
+don&#8217;t know what I thought! I directed it to Liverpool
+instead of Lentford, and it&#8217;s been wandering
+about ever since. Do you understand?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Do you mean you will be my wife?&#8217; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Yes,&#8217; she answered.</p>
+
+<p>They had only three minutes to themselves.
+Three minutes was the time allotted for each case,
+and as it expired the door was opened again an inch
+or two to see if the doctor was ready for the next
+patient. Dr. Carey led Kate to the other door, and
+dismissed her with a glance which set her heart
+beating fast with happiness. She mounted the long
+flight of stairs and entered the ward where Mrs.
+Duffy was lying as if she trod on air. The old
+woman was resting very comfortably in bed, her eyes
+calm and bright, and a faint streak of the old apple-red
+beginning to show itself upon her cheek. The
+good chance for her recovery was a still better one
+this morning.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;He&#8217;s coming back again this morning,&#8217; she
+whispered in Kate&#8217;s ear; &#8216;they let him stay beside
+me all yesterday, and he&#8217;s coming back again to-day.
+It&#8217;s a beautiful Christmas this is; I never knew one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>
+like it. I hope they&#8217;ll never catch that poor raskill
+as shot me, I do. It &#8217;ud spoil my Christmas and
+Johnny&#8217;s if they did. Has it been a happy Christmas
+for you, my dear?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Very happy,&#8217; answered Kate, with a bright smile,
+as the present joy blotted out the remembrance of the
+past sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;That&#8217;s right, my dear!&#8217; murmured Mrs. Duffy,
+&#8216;I don&#8217;t know as ever I knew such a Christmas.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>There is little more to be told. Dr. Carey made
+his appearance at Dr. Layard&#8217;s that evening, and
+delighted him beyond measure by asking him for
+Kate. Mrs. Duffy recovered and lived two or three
+years longer in undisturbed happiness, and in a
+degree of comfort to which she had been unaccustomed
+throughout her life. For her son, who had
+not prospered much in Australia, worked industriously
+and steadily to maintain her at home, and
+devoted himself to her with real tenderness. It was
+not till after her death, when Kate Carey was standing
+beside her coffin looking down at the placid face and
+closed eyes of the old woman, that he told the story
+of his return home.</p>
+
+<p>&#8216;I&#8217;d worked my passage across, ma&#8217;am,&#8217; he said,
+the tears rolling down his cheeks, &#8216;and I&#8217;d landed in
+Liverpool a week afore Christmas, with as much as
+five pound in my pocket, all I&#8217;d saved in Australy;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>
+and there were a lot set on me, and took me to a
+public, and I suppose I drank all my wits away. I
+reached Ilverton by the last train on Christmas Eve,
+but I didn&#8217;t know as mother were gone to live in
+the town. It were a bitter night, and I slept on a
+bench at the railway station. I hadn&#8217;t a penny left,
+when I set out to seek mother; and I were wandering
+about very miserable, when I saw a decent old
+woman coming along all alone. I only thought I&#8217;d
+frighten a shilling out of her. I never meant no
+harm. The pistol were an old pistol I&#8217;d had in the
+bush; and I didn&#8217;t recollect it was loaded, and it
+went bursting off, all in an instant of time. That
+quite brought me to, and I were running away to find
+somebody, when I see you and the doctor coming.
+I seemed to know it were a doctor. But when I
+found out it were my own poor old mother, which I
+did face to face with her in the hospital, I felt as I
+should die. She never knew as it were me, never.
+She used to talk about him, and say, &#8220;I forgave him,
+Johnny, and I hope God has forgave him too, whoever
+he is.&#8221; I shall never see another woman like my
+poor old mother.&#8217;</p>
+
+
+<p class="center">
+LONDON: PRINTED BY<br />
+SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE<br />
+AND PARLIAMENT STREET</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph1"><span class="smcap">WORKS by HESBA STRETTON</span>,</p>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Author of &#8216;Jessica&#8217;s First Prayer.&#8217;</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/bennetts.jpg" alt="" /></div>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>I. CASSY.</b> Twenty-fourth Thousand. With Six Illustrations. Square
+crown 8vo. 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;The close of the little tale is of the most exquisitely touching kind, and the narrative,
+while free and graceful, is really of the most compressed and masterly character.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Nonconformist.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;It is very fresh and simple. We thank Miss Stretton for another treat, as real to
+grown-up people as to children.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Church Herald.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><b>II. THE KING&#8217;S SERVANTS.</b> With Eight Illustrations.
+Thirtieth Thousand. Square crown 8vo. 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+<p class="center">
+Part I. Faithful in Little.<span class="gap">Part II. Unfaithful.</span><br />
+Part III. Faithful in Much.</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;The language is beautifully simple, the stories are touchingly told, and the religious
+purpose constantly kept in view.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Watchman.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;An interesting story.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Church News.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;The story, in all its beautiful simplicity and pathos, possesses a living power likely to
+carry it home to the hearts of all who read it.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Freeman.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><b>III. LOST GIP.</b> Forty-third Thousand. With Six Illustrations.
+Square crown 8vo. 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>&#8216;Prettily told.... Will be a favourite with young people.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Echo.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;One of the most simply touching tales we ever read.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Brighton Gazette.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p><b>IV. THE WONDERFUL LIFE.</b> Eighth Thousand. Fcp. 8vo.
+2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+<p>This little book is intended to present the result of close investigations
+made by many learned men, in a plain, continuous narrative,
+suitable for unlearned readers. It has been written for those who have
+not the leisure or the books needed for threading together the fragmentary
+and scattered incidents recorded in the four Gospels.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>&#8216;A well-written and concise narrative, which describes the wonderful story with a
+forcible simplicity that will appeal to all readers.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Hour.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Will be very useful in the more advanced classes of the Sunday-school, and is also
+suitable for a Sunday-school prize.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Church Review.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;The story is presented in a plain and attractive manner.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Rock.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;It is invaluable.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Sunday-School Quarterly Journal.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">HENRY S. KING &amp; CO., London.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="center"><b>A LIST OF</b></p>
+
+
+<p class="ph1">HENRY S. KING &amp; CO.&#8217;S</p>
+
+<p class="center">BOOKS SUITABLE FOR</p>
+
+<p class="ph1">CHILDREN&#8217;S PRESENTS AND PRIZES.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p><img src="images/asterism.jpg" alt="" /> <i>HENRY S. KING &amp; CO.&#8217;S GENERAL CATALOGUE,
+comprising works on Theology, Science, Biography, History,
+Education, Travel, Commerce, and Fiction, will be sent gratis
+on application.</i></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>SUNBEAM WILLIE, AND OTHER STORIES</b>, for
+Home Reading and Cottage Meetings. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">G. S. Reaney</span>.</p>
+
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Containing</span>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table">
+<tr><td>&#8216;Little Meggie&#8217;s Home,&#8217; &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>     &#8216;Sermon in Baby&#8217;s Shoes,&#8217;</td></tr>
+<tr><td>&#8216;Aggie&#8217;s Christmas,&#8217;</td><td>    &#8216;Lina.&#8217;</td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+<p>Small square, uniform with &#8216;Lost Gip,&#8217; &amp;c. Three Illustrations.
+Price 1<i>s</i>. 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>DADDIE&#8217;S PET.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Ellen Ross</span> (&#8216;Nelsie Brook&#8217;). A
+Sketch from Humble Life. Square crown 8vo. uniform with &#8216;Lost
+Gip.&#8217; With Six Illustrations. 1<i>s.</i></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;We have been more than pleased with this simple bit of writing.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Christian World.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Full of deep feeling and true and noble sentiment.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Brighton Gazette.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A very pretty tale.&#8217;&mdash;<i>John Bull.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A pretty little story for children.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Scotsman.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;An exceedingly pretty little story.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Literary Churchman.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>LOCKED OUT</b>: A Tale of the Strike. By <span class="smcap">Ellen Barlee</span>. With
+a Frontispiece. 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Beautifully written ... should be bought by all means for parochial libraries,
+whether in country or in town.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Literary Churchman.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Well written.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Edinburgh Courant.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p class="center"><b><i>HENRY S. KING &amp; CO.&#8217;S THREE-AND-SIXPENNY SERIES of<br />
+BOOKS for JUVENILES.</i></b></p>
+
+
+<p class="center">Works by the Author of &#8216;St. Olave&#8217;s,&#8217; &#8216;When I was a Little Girl,&#8217; &amp;c.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>I. AUNT MARY&#8217;S BRAN PIE.</b> Illustrated.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A bright story for children.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Globe.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;The stories are exceedingly good.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Nonconformist.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Capital stories.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Hour.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;This is a very amusing book for children; one of the best books of the season.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Literary
+World.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>II. SUNNYLAND STORIES.</b> Fcp. 8vo. Illustrated.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>BRAVE MEN&#8217;S FOOTSTEPS.</b> A Book of Example and
+Anecdote for Young People. By the Editor of &#8216;Men who have Risen.&#8217;
+With Four Illustrations by <span class="smcap">C. Doyle</span>. Third Edition. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<p>The lives have been chosen to represent marked varieties of
+character, and their operation under different forms of effort. Success
+is here viewed in no narrow or merely commercial sense.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;The little volume is precisely of the stamp to win the favour of those who, in choosing
+a gift for a boy, would consult his moral development as well as his temporary pleasure.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Daily
+Telegraph.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A readable and instructive volume.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Examiner.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A good book which will, we hope, meet well-deserved success.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Spectator.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><b>Works by CHARLES CAMDEN.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>I. HOITY, TOITY, THE GOOD LITTLE FELLOW.</b>
+With Eleven Illustrations. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Relates very pleasantly the history of a charming little fellow who meddles always
+with a kindly disposition with other people&#8217;s affairs, and helps them to do right. There
+are many shrewd lessons to be picked up in this clever little story.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Public Opinion.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Another of those charming books which Mr. Charles Camden knows so well how to
+produce.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Leeds Mercury.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Original, faithful, and humorous story.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Manchester Examiner.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>II. THE TRAVELLING MENAGERIE.</b> With Ten Illustrations
+by <span class="smcap">J. Mahoney</span>. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A capital little book ... deserves a wide circulation among our boys and girls.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Hour.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A very attractive story.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Public Opinion.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A series of admirable tales in which boys will take the deepest interest.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Leeds
+Mercury.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Will be sure to delight young readers; they will get from it much useful knowledge of
+natural history. The story is told in a pleasant, chatty style.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>PRETTY LESSONS IN VERSE FOR GOOD CHILDREN</b>;
+with some Lessons in Latin, in Easy Rhyme. By <span class="smcap">Sara
+Coleridge</span>. A New Edition. Illustrated.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Both in English and Latin they will pleasantly help little folk through what has been
+called &#8220;the bitterness of learning.&#8221;&#8217;&mdash;<i>Saturday Review.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;This is a most delightful, and, let us add, a most sensible book for children. It
+teaches us many a good moral, many a good common-sense lesson, in its rhymes, which
+are, for the most part, very musical to the ear.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>THE DESERT PASTOR, JEAN JAROUSSEAU.</b> By
+Colonel <span class="smcap">E. P. De L&#8217;Hoste</span>. Translated from the French of Eug&egrave;ne
+Pelletan. In fcp. 8vo. with an Engraved Frontispiece. New Edition.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;There is a poetical simplicity and picturesqueness; the noblest heroism; unpretentious
+religion; pure love, and the spectacle of a household brought up in the fear of the
+Lord.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Illustrated London News.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;It is a touching record of the struggles in the cause of religious liberty of a real
+man.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Graphic.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;It is difficult to imagine any class of persons to whom this little book will not prove
+attractive.&#8217;&mdash;<i>London Quarterly.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><b>Works by MARTHA FARQUHARSON.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>
+<span class="indent"><b>I. ELSIE DINSMORE.</b> Crown 8vo.</span><br />
+<span class="indent2"><b>II. ELSIE&#8217;S GIRLHOOD.</b> Crown 8vo.</span><br />
+<b>III. ELSIE&#8217;S HOLIDAYS AT ROSELANDS.</b> Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;We do not pretend to have read the history of Elsie as she is portrayed in three
+different volumes. By the help, however, of the illustrations, and by dips here and there,
+we can safely give a favourable account.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Westminster Review.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Elsie Dinsmore is a familiar name to a world of young readers. In the above three
+pretty volumes her story is complete, and it is one full of youthful experiences, winning
+a general interest.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Athen&aelig;um.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>THE DESERTED SHIP.</b> A Real Story of the Atlantic. By
+<span class="smcap">Cupples Howe</span>, Master Mariner. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Townley Green</span>.
+Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Curious adventures with bears, seals, and other Arctic animals, and with scarcely
+more human Esquimaux, form the mass of material with which the story deals, and will
+much interest boys who have a spice of romance in their composition.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Edinburgh
+Courant.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;It is full of that continual succession of easily apprehended, yet stirring events, which
+please a boy, more than any other quality.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Edinburgh Daily Review.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>THE LITTLE WONDER-HORN.</b> By <span class="smcap">Jean Ingelow</span>. A
+Second Series of &#8216;Stories told to a Child.&#8217; With Fifteen Illustrations.
+Square 24mo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;We like all the contents of the &#8220;Little Wonder-Horn&#8221; very much.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Athen&aelig;um.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;We recommend it with confidence.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Full of fresh and vigorous fancy; it is worthy of the author of some of the best of
+our modern verse.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>GUTTA-PERCHA WILLIE, the WORKING GENIUS.</b>
+By <span class="smcap">George MacDonald</span>. With Nine Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Arthur
+Hughes</span>. Second Edition. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;The cleverest child we know assures us she has read this story through five times.
+Mr. MacDonald will, we are convinced, accept that verdict upon his little work as final.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Spectator.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>PLUCKY FELLOWS.</b> A Book for Boys. By <span class="smcap">Stephen J.
+MacKenna</span>. With Nine Illustrations. Second Edition. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;This is one of the very best &#8220;Books for Boys&#8221; which have been issued this year.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Morning
+Advertiser.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A thorough book for boys ... written throughout in a manly, straightforward
+manner, that is sure to win the hearts of the children.&#8217;&mdash;<i>London Society.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>LITTLE MINNIE&#8217;S TROUBLES</b>: an Every-day Chronicle.
+By <span class="smcap">N. R. D&#8217;Anvers</span>. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">W. H. Hughes</span>. Fcp. 8vo.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>THE AFRICAN CRUISER.</b> A Midshipman&#8217;s Adventures on
+the West Coast. By <span class="smcap">S. W. Sadler</span>, R.N., Author of &#8216;Marshall
+Vavasour.&#8217; A Book for Boys. With Nine Illustrations. Second
+Edition. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A capital story of youthful adventure.... Sea-loving boys will find few pleasanter
+gift-books this season than &#8220;The African Cruiser.&#8221;&#8217;&mdash;<i>Hour.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Sea yarns have always been in favour with boys, but this, written in a brisk style by
+a thorough sailor, is crammed full of adventures.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Times.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>SEEKING HIS FORTUNE, and other Stories.</b> Crown
+8vo. With Four Illustrations.</p>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>:&mdash;Seeking his Fortune&mdash;Oluf and Stephanoff&mdash;What&#8217;s
+in a Name?&mdash;Contrast&mdash;Onesta.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;These are plain, straightforward stories, told in the precise detailed manner which we
+are sure young people like.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Spectator.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;They are romantic, entertaining, and decidedly inculcate a sound and generous moral....
+We can answer for it that this volume will find favour with those for whom it is
+written, and that the sisters will like it quite as well as the brothers.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Athen&aelig;um.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>SEVEN AUTUMN LEAVES FROM FAIRYLAND.</b>
+Illustrated with Nine Etchings.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Contents</span>:&mdash;</p>
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table">
+
+<tr><td>Mermaid.</td><td>    Specklesides.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Little Hans.</td><td>      Black Sneid.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>Dimple.</td><td>      Little Curly.</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Two Princes.</td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p class="center"><b><i>HENRY S. KING &amp; CO.&#8217;S SERIES OF FIVE-SHILLING<br />
+BOOKS FOR JUVENILES.</i></b></p>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>MIKE HOWE, THE BUSHRANGER OF VAN DIEMEN&#8217;S
+LAND.</b> By <span class="smcap">James Bonwick</span>. Crown 8vo. With a
+Frontispiece.</p>
+
+
+<p>This story, although a work of fiction, is a narrative of facts as to the
+leading incidents of the Bushranger&#8217;s career. The tale may therefore
+be regarded as a contribution to Colonial Literature.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;He illustrates the career of a bushranger half a century ago; and this he does in a
+highly creditable manner. His delineations of life in the bush are, to say the least, exquisite,
+and his representations of character are very marked.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Edinburgh Courant.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>THE TASMANIAN LILY.</b> By <span class="smcap">James Bonwick</span>. Crown 8vo.
+With Frontispiece.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;An interesting and useful work.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Hour.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;The characters of the stories are capitally conceived, and are full of those touches
+which give them a natural appearance.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Public Opinion.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center"><b>Two Works by DAVID KER.</b></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>I. THE BOY SLAVE IN BOKHARA.</b> A Tale of Central
+Asia. Crown 8vo. With Illustrations.</p>
+
+
+<p>In this work real scenes are grouped round an imaginary hero;
+genuine information is conveyed in a more attractive form than that of
+a mere dry statistical report.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Ostap Danilevitch Kostarenko, the Russian who is supposed to relate the story, has
+a great number of adventures, and passes, by dint of courage and ability, from a state of
+slavery to one of independence. Will prove attractive to boys.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Exciting boy&#8217;s story, well told and abounding in incidents.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Hour.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Full of strange adventures ... well worked out to the end.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;An attractive boy&#8217;s book. He claims to have grouped real scenes round an imaginary
+hero.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Spectator.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>II. THE WILD HORSEMAN OF THE PAMPAS.</b>
+Crown 8vo. Illustrated.</p>
+
+
+<p class="right">[<i>Just out.</i></p>
+</div>
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>RAMBLES AND ADVENTURES OF OUR SCHOOL
+FIELD CLUB.</b> A Book for Boys. By <span class="smcap">G. C. Davies</span>.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>FANTASTIC STORIES.</b> By <span class="smcap">Richard Leander</span>. Translated
+from the German by <span class="smcap">Paulina B. Granville</span>. With Eight full-page
+Illustrations by <span class="smcap">M. E. Fraser-Tytler</span>. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Short, quaint, and, as they are fitly called, fantastic, they deal with all manner of
+subjects.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Guardian.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;&#8220;Fantastic&#8221; is certainly the right epithet to apply to some of these strange tales.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Examiner.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Amusing tales by one who took part in the general siege of Paris.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;&#8220;The Knight who grew Rusty&#8221; is a delightful story, but &#8220;The Queen who could
+not make gingerbread nuts, and the King who could not play on the Jew&#8217;s harp,&#8221; will
+probably be the children&#8217;s favourite.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Daily News.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>THE GREAT DUTCH ADMIRALS.</b> By <span class="smcap">Jacob De Liefde</span>.
+Crown 8vo. With Eleven Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Townley Green</span> and
+others.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A wholesome present for boys.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Athen&aelig;um.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A really good book.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A really excellent book.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Spectator.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>HER TITLE OF HONOUR</b>: a Book for Girls. By <span class="smcap">Holme
+Lee</span>. New Edition. Crown 8vo. With a Frontispiece.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;It is unnecessary to recommend tales of Holme Lee&#8217;s, for they are well known, and
+all more or less liked. But this book far exceeds even our favourites, not perhaps as a
+story, for this is of the simplest kind, but because with the interest of a pathetic story is
+united the value of a definite and high purpose; and because, also, it is a careful and
+beautiful piece of writing, and is full of studies of refined and charming character.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Spectator.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;It contains a vast amount of admirable and happy teaching, as valuable as it is rare.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>AT SCHOOL WITH AN OLD DRAGOON.</b> By <span class="smcap">Stephen
+J. MacKenna</span>. Crown 8vo. With Six Illustrations.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Consisting almost entirely of startling stories of military adventure.... Boys will
+find them sufficiently exciting reading.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Times.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;These yarns give some very spirited and interesting descriptions of soldiering in
+various parts of the world.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Spectator.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Mr. MacKenna&#8217;s former work, &#8220;Plucky Fellows,&#8221; is already a general favourite, and
+those who read the stories of the Old Dragoon will find that he has still plenty of
+materials at hand for pleasant tales, and has lost none of his power in telling them well.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>WAKING AND WORKING; OR, FROM GIRLHOOD
+TO WOMANHOOD.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">G. S. Reaney</span>. With a
+Frontispiece. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A good tale&mdash;good in composition, good in style, good in purpose.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Nonconformist.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;The story is of a very attractive character. Its purpose is a good and important
+one.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Rock.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>SLAVONIC FAIRY TALES.</b> From Russian, Servian, Polish,
+and Bohemian Sources. By <span class="smcap">John T. Naake</span>, of the British Museum.
+With Four Illustrations. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A most choice and charming selection.... The tales have an original national
+ring in them, and will be pleasant reading to thousands besides children. Yet children
+will eagerly open the pages, and not willingly close them, of the pretty volume.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;English readers now have an opportunity of becoming acquainted with eleven
+Polish and eight Bohemian stories, as well as with eight Russian and thirteen Servian,
+in Mr. Naake&#8217;s modest but serviceable collection of Slavonic Fairy Tales. Its contents
+are, as a general rule, well chosen, and they are translated with a fidelity which deserves
+cordial praise.... Before taking leave of his prettily got up volume, we ought to
+mention that its contents fully come up to the promise held out in its preface.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Academy.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>STORIES IN PRECIOUS STONES.</b> By <span class="smcap">Helen Zimmern</span>.
+With Six Illustrations. Third Edition. Crown 8vo.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A series of pretty tales which are half fantastic, half natural, and pleasantly quaint,
+as befits stories intended for the young.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A pretty little book which fanciful young persons will appreciate, and which will remind
+its readers of many a legend, and many an imaginary virtue attached to the gems
+they are so fond of wearing.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Post.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>THE BETTER SELF.</b> By <span class="smcap">J. Hain Friswell</span>. Essays for
+Home Life. Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Contents</span>:&mdash;</p>
+
+
+<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2" summary="table">
+
+<tr><td>Beginning at Home</td><td>   Pride in the Family</td><td>     Likes and Dislikes</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Girls at Home</td><td>   Discontent and Grumbling &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>  On Keeping People Down</td></tr>
+<tr><td>The Wife&#8217;s Mother &nbsp; &nbsp; </td><td>   Domestic Economy</td><td>  On Falling Out Peace</td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A high conception, but never severe nor morose; the spirit is as sound and wholesome
+as it is noble and elevated.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A really charming volume of Essays, which gives good advice without becoming a
+bore.&#8217;&mdash;<i>City Press.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>BY STILL WATERS.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edward Garrett</span>. A Story for
+Quiet Hours. Crown 8vo. With Seven Illustrations. 6<i>s.</i></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;We have read many books by Edward Garrett, but none that has pleased us so well
+as this. It has more than pleased; it has charmed us.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Nonconformist.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Mr. Garrett is a novelist whose books it is always a pleasure to meet. His stories
+are full of quiet, penetrating observations, and there is about them a rare atmosphere of
+not unpleasing meditative melancholy.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Echo.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>BEATRICE AYLMER, AND OTHER TALES.</b> By
+<span class="smcap">Mary M. Howard</span>, Author of &#8216;Brampton Rectory.&#8217; Crown 8vo.
+6<i>s.</i></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;These tales possess considerable merit.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Court Journal.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A neat and chatty little volume.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Hour.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>OUR PLACE AMONG INFINITIES.</b> By <span class="smcap">Richard A.
+Proctor</span>, B.A., Author of &#8216;Saturn and its Systems,&#8217; &#8216;The Universe,&#8217;
+&#8216;The Expanse of Heaven,&#8217; &amp;c. To which are added, &#8216;Essays on
+Astrology&#8217; and &#8216;The Jewish Sabbath.&#8217; Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>THE EXPANSE OF HEAVEN.</b> A Series of Essays on the
+Wonders of the Firmament. By <span class="smcap">Richard A. Proctor</span>, B.A.
+With a Frontispiece. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A very charming work; cannot fail to lift the reader&#8217;s mind up &#8220;through nature&#8217;s
+work to nature&#8217;s God.&#8221;&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Full of thought, readable, and popular.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Brighton Gazette.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>PHANTASMION.</b> A Fairy Romance. By <span class="smcap">Sara Coleridge</span>.
+With an Introductory Preface by the Right Hon. Lord <span class="smcap">Coleridge</span>,
+of Ottery S. Mary. A new Edition. In 1 vol. Crown 8vo. 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>This book, of which the first edition was limited to 250 copies, was
+long out of print, and as now revived appeals to a larger audience and
+a new generation. They will find in this delicate imagination, melody
+of verse, clear and picturesque language, and virginal purity of conception.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>&#8216;The readers of this fairy tale will find themselves dwelling for a time in a veritable
+region of romance, breathing an atmosphere of unreality, and surrounded by supernatural
+beings.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Morning Post.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;This delightful work.... We would gladly have read it were it twice the length,
+closing the book with a feeling of regret that the repast was at an end.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Vanity Fair.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;A beautiful conception of a rarely gifted mind.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Examiner.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>ECHOES OF A FAMOUS YEAR.</b> By <span class="smcap">Harriett Parr</span>.
+Crown 8vo. 8<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>The story of the Franco-Prussian War, 1870-71, told mainly for the
+young, but, it is hoped, possessing permanent interest as a record of
+the great struggle.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Miss Parr has the great gift of charming simplicity of style; and if children are
+not interested in her book, many of their seniors will be.&#8217;&mdash;<i>British Quarterly Review.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">HENRY S. KING &amp; CO., London.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph1">POETICAL GIFT BOOKS.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>LYRICS OF LOVE</b>, from Shakespeare to Tennyson. Selected
+and arranged by <span class="smcap">W. Davenport Adams</span>, Jun. Fcap. 8vo. cloth
+extra, gilt edges, 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+<p>The present work differs from previous collections of the kind in these
+particulars: (1) That it consists entirely of short lyric poems. (2) That
+each poem exhibits some phase of the tender passion, and (3) That it
+includes specimens of the genius of the latest as well as of the earliest
+writers.</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>HOME SONGS FOR QUIET HOURS.</b> By the Rev. Canon
+<span class="smcap">R. H. Baynes</span>, Editor of &#8216;Lyra Anglicana,&#8217; &amp;c. Second Edition.
+Fcap. 8vo. Cloth extra, 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>A Collection of Hymns and Sacred Songs for the help and solace of the
+various members of Christ&#8217;s Church Militant here on earth.</p>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;A tasteful collection of devotional poetry of a very high standard of excellence.
+The pieces are short, mostly original, and instinct, for the most part, with the most ardent
+spirit of devotion.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Standard.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>POEMS.</b> By <span class="smcap">William Cullen Bryant</span>. Red-line Edition. Handsomely
+bound. With 24 Illustrations and Portrait of the Author.
+7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>A Cheaper Edition, with Frontispiece. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>These are the only complete English Editions sanctioned by the Author,
+and they contain several of the Author&#8217;s Poems which have not appeared in
+any previous Collection.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Of all the poets of the United States there is no one who obtained the fame and
+position of a classic earlier, or has kept them longer than William Cullen Bryant.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Academy.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>ENGLISH SONNETS.</b> Collected and Arranged by <span class="smcap">John Dennis</span>.
+Fcap. 8vo. Elegantly bound. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+
+
+<p>This Collection of Sonnets, arranged chronologically from the Elizabethan
+to the Victorian era, is designed for the students of poetry, and not only
+for the reader who takes up a volume of verse in order to pass away an
+idle hour. The Sonnet contains, to use the words of Marlowe, &#8216;infinite
+riches in a little room.&#8217;</p>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;An exquisite selection, a selection which every lover of poetry will consult again and
+again with delight. The notes are very useful.... The volume is one for which English
+literature owes Mr. Dennis the heartiest thanks.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Spectator.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">HENRY S. KING &amp; CO., London.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="ph1"><i>W. C. BENNETT&#8217;S POEMS. NEW EDITIONS.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">A Library Edition.</span> Crown 8vo. Illustrated, cloth 6<i>s.</i></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><b>BABY MAY</b>&mdash;HOME POEMS and BALLADS. People&#8217;s Edition,
+in Two Parts, paper covers, 1<i>s.</i> each.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;One of the most popular of our poets. Let us say that every mother
+ought to learn &#8220;Baby May&#8221; and &#8220;Baby&#8217;s Shoes&#8221; off by heart.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Westminster Review.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;The love of children few poets of our day have expressed with so
+much na&iuml;ve fidelity as Dr. Bennett.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Examiner.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Those readers who do not as yet know &#8220;Baby May&#8221; should make
+her acquaintance forthwith; those who have that pleasure already will find
+her in good company.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Guardian.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Many a tender thought and charming fancy find graceful utterance in
+his pages.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Athen&aelig;um.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;&#8220;Baby&#8217;s Shoes&#8221; is worthy to rank with &#8220;Baby May,&#8221; which, from
+its completeness and finished charm as a picture of infancy, is one of the
+most exquisite among Dr. Bennett&#8217;s productions.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Some of his poems on children are among the most charming in the
+language, and are familiar in a thousand homes.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Weekly Dispatch.</i></p>
+</div>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><b>SONGS FOR SAILORS.</b> Cloth gilt, Illustrated, 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>; paper
+covers, 1<i>s.</i></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p>&#8216;Spirited, melodious, and vigorously graphic&#8217;&mdash;<i>Morning Post.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Very spirited.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Daily News.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Really admirable.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Right well done.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Illustrated London News.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Sure of a wide popularity.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Morning Advertiser.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Songs that sailors most enjoy.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Echo.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;Full of incident and strongly expressed sentiment.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Examiner.</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8216;We may fairly say that Dr. Bennett has taken up the mantle of
+Dibdin.&#8217;&mdash;<i>Graphic.</i></p>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p class="center">HENRY S. KING &amp; CO., London.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<div class="transnote">
+<p class="ph2">TRANSCRIBER&#8217;S NOTES:</p>
+
+
+
+<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p>
+
+<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p>
+</div></div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO CHRISTMAS STORIES: SAM FRANKLIN'S SAVINGS-BANK; A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR ***</div>
+<div style='text-align:left'>
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