path: root/77089-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77089 ***

Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.



[Illustration: BROOKSIDE SERIES.]



                      STOPPING THE LEAK.


                             BY

                        AUNT HATTIE.

                     [Madeline Leslie]


                           BOSTON
                PUBLISHED BY GRAVES AND YOUNG
                      No. 24 Cornhill.




   Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
                     GRAVES AND YOUNG,
  In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.



                         DEDICATION

                           ——————

                             TO

                   HARRY AND GEORGE COLVIN,

          SONS OF MY ESTEEMED FRIENDS IN BALTIMORE,

                  I dedicate this Volume,

     TRUSTING IT MAY HELP THEM TO AVOID THE FOIBLES AND

        EXCESSES WHICH DESTROY FORTUNE AND CHARACTER,

          AND TO CULTIVATE INDUSTRY, ECONOMY, AND

                  THOSE KINDRED VIRTUES

            WHICH DISTINGUISH THE WISE AND GOOD.

                                       THE AUTHOR.



                          CONTENTS.

                       [Illustration]


                          CHAPTER I.
    LADY-BIRD

                          CHAPTER II.
    THE RECONNOISANCE

                          CHAPTER III.
    DAYS OF YORE

                          CHAPTER IV.
    WHO IS MISTRESS?

                          CHAPTER V.
    FARM VERSUS RUM

                          CHAPTER VI.
    A RAY OF SUNSHINE

                          CHAPTER VII.
    POLICE AND CRIMINALS

                          CHAPTER VIII.
    DETECTION AND ARREST

                          CHAPTER IX.
    A PLUG IN THE LEAK

                          CHAPTER X.
    A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION

                          CHAPTER XI.
    ONE LEAK STOPPED

                          CHAPTER XII.
    A SECOND LEAK STOPPED

                          CHAPTER XIII.
    FAILURE FROM LEAKS

                          CHAPTER XIV.
    HOME VERSUS OYSTER SALOON

                          CHAPTER XV.
    AFFIDAVIT

                          CHAPTER XVI.
    THE RESTORED HOME

                          CHAPTER XVII.
    DANGER AND COURAGE

                          CHAPTER XVIII.
    LEAKS ALL STOPPED



                      STOPPING THE LEAK.

                       [Illustration]

CHAPTER I.

LADY-BIRD.

"THERE'S a leak somewhere!" was the emphatic exclamation of Mrs. Mercy
Lovell. "I, of course, have my own opinion where it is, but that's
neither here nor there. 'Tisn't my way to state my opinions in a hurry."

Mrs. Lovell had reached the house of her nephew the evening previous
to that day on which I have so unceremoniously introduced her to my
reader, and having been invited to a tour of reconnoisance through
the spacious mansion, had, on her return to the dining-hall, given
expression to the prudent remark,—

"There's a leak somewhere!"

Mrs. Everett, wife to her nephew, stood daintily holding up her
nicely-embroidered morning wrapper, gazing in the old lady's face with
an air of solicitude and wonder.

"What do you know of the servants, child?" inquired Aunt Mercy,
condescending to smile as she saw with what reverence her opinion had
been received. "Very little, except that the cook makes splendid coffee
and muffins. She has only been here three days, and breakfast is the
only meal we have taken at home."

"Goodness sakes! Why, I should be crazy with so much going abroad. Once
a month is as much as I ever go out to take a social cup of tea with
a neighbor, but that don't stop the leak. Who's that finikin-looking
creature that handed round the coffee this morning? Is she honest and
faithful to her business?"

"I suppose so. She waits on the table beautifully. She's been here ever
since we commenced keeping house, and she was the one who recommended
the new cook. Mamma says we must try and keep her, she does up my
dresses so nicely."

"Well, what kind of a cook did you have before?"

The young bride laughed merrily.

"Oh, such a funny-looking woman,—nearly as broad as she was long.
Lawrence insists she fatted on our butter; for loads of it were brought
into the house; and yet she was always coming to me with the complaint,
'There's no butter, ma'am.' I declare," with a heavy sigh, "I had no
idea being married brought so much care."

"What did you say to her? Did you insist on knowing what she had done
with it?"

"I insist!" There was a merry peal of laughter like the tinkling of
silver bells. "Oh, Aunt Mercy, you're not in earnest! I told her to
send Tom to the grocer's for more, and not trouble me."

"And who is Tom?"

"Now I can tell you. He's a boy, or man I suppose he'd call himself,
since he sports mustachios, whom papa found at some out-of-the-way
place. He had been taken up for stealing bread, because he was so very
hungry, you know; and papa pitied him, and paid the fine, and took him
home, where he's been ever since till I was married; and then mamma
gave him up to me. I must have somebody to do errands, you know; and
mamma could spare him because the coachman is good-natured and is
willing to do such things."

"Have you any more servants?"

"No; Lawrence laughed at the idea of three being necessary to wait upon
two of us, but mamma thought I ought to have a woman for myself."

"A woman! What for, pray?"

"Why, a dressing-woman, of course. A French woman is best,—one who can
dress hair, and is skilful about the toilet."

"If you can't dress your own hair, you are not as smart as I am. I
never had anybody touch a comb to my head since I can remember," said
Aunt Mercy, decidedly.

Lily glanced at the stiff pug on the back of the old lady's head, and
again the peal of music echoed through the rooms. Laughter is always
contagious; and Mrs. Lovell's risibles were not proof against the
appeal, even though she shrewdly suspected herself to be the object of
it.

"Well," she said, pursing her mouth, "I think we shall come at the
bottom of the leak by and by. I may as well go to my chamber and get
my knitting,—I suppose you have some work,—and we can talk the subject
over."

Lily colored a very little as she answered,—

"I scarcely know how to sew. I mean to learn by and by. Lawrence was so
surprised when he asked me to sew a button on his shirt that I rang for
Ann to do it. He said he thought girls learned to sew as soon as they
could walk."

The old lady stopped short and gazed at her niece over the top of her
glasses as if she were a new and curious specimen of the animal kingdom
that ought to be critically examined.

"For mercy's sake, child, do tell what you can do with yourself from
morning till night!"

Lily threw herself into a chair laughing till the tears stood in her
eyes.

"Why, you see," she answered, when she could speak, "I only left
school two months before I was married; and then my time was all taken
up with French and Italian and music. I finished the regular course
a year before, but mamma wanted me to be very learned,—" another
laugh,—"and then I had Monsieur Follywasher three times a week for my
dancing-lesson."

"Goodness! If I'd been your ma, I wouldn't have trusted you with a man
who had such a heathenish name for nothing. Pray, what did you want of
a dancing-master? You float round anyhow just like one of the fairies
I've read of."

"Monsieur Follywasher would say I owed it to him if I move gracefully.
He's a Frenchman, though his grandfather was a German, as his name
denotes. He's the sweetest, dearest man, with such cunning little
whiskers, perfumed up so nicely. All the girls were in love with him."

"Were you?" The gaze was almost stern this time.

"I! Oh, no, indeed! Why, Lawrence had been waiting on me a year;
besides, I don't mean exactly in love, only they admired him
excessively. He's so handsome and graceful!"

"I don't see how you ever fell in love with Lawrence. I always thought
he was the plainest-featured of any of my nephews; and none of 'em
would be taken for Apollo."

"Oh, Aunt Mercy, you're too funny! Why, I think Lawrence is splendid.
He's got such great black eyes, and such a heavy, curling beard,—I'm
very proud of his beard,—and then when he smiles, he shows his elegant
teeth. The girls used to wonder I was not afraid of him,—and he is
sober, but he always smiles for me. I had ever so many beaus," she
rattled on. "Papa is rich, you know, and I'm his only child; and then
I'm not particularly ugly, I suppose," she added, with a pretty tinge
of rose coloring her lily cheek, "but I never liked anybody till I saw
Lawrence."

The old lady gazed at the pretty creature for a moment in silence, and
then, recalling the subject with which they began, remarked, gravely,—

"I suppose you carry the keys."

"What keys, Aunt Mercy?"

"Why, the keys to the store-closet where the sugar and raisins and eggs
are kept, and the keys to your bureau where you put your laces and
rings, and all such finery."

Lily's eyes were opened wider than ever. She arched her delicate
eyebrows as she inquired, eagerly,—

"What should I want of keys to the store-room? I don't even know
whether there are locks on the doors. If there are, I suppose cook and
Tom attend to them. Ann, of course, puts away my jewels; and she is
responsible for their safekeeping."

"Well, well," was the horrified exclamation, "I'm beat now! Why,
the biggest fortune in Europe—and they say the Rothschilds' is the
biggest—couldn't hold out no time against such goings-on!"

Here the old lady, fearing she should say something she ought not,
hurried to her room for her knitting. In a few minutes there was a loud
peal at the bell, and, peering through the closed blinds, Mrs. Lovell
saw an elegant carriage, two prancing black mares, and a liveried
driver at the door. An elegantly dressed lady sat within the carriage,
giving directions to the footman, whom she had sent to the door.

"Mrs. Everett is at home," the old lady heard him say as he let down
the steps for her to alight.

"Mamma, come up to my room, please," called Lily, over the balusters.

"So that's Mrs. Percival," said the old lady, with a sigh. "Why, she's
dressed out like a duchess! And what a carriage! Two servants, too, as
respectable-looking men as there are in our town. I should think they'd
be ashamed of themselves, spending their lives so. Just look now at
that great popinjay getting up behind. Well, well! It does beat all.
Little I thought, when I used to give Lawrence a piece of short-cake
for bringing in wood, that he'd cut such a dash as this."

Her reverie was cut short by a quick knock at her door. And Lily, with
a tiny hat shading her beaming face, hastened in to say,—

"What will you do with yourself, Aunt Mercy? Mamma has called to take
me out for a drive, but I'll be sure to come home before Lawrence
leaves the store. He pretends, foolish fellow, that he likes to have me
open the door for him."

Oh, how the light sparkled from her eyes as she said this! Then she
added, thoughtful of her duties to her guest,—

"Will you ring the bell and order lunch whenever you wish it? I shall
stop with mamma to see a friend."

"La! Don't you worry about me," returned Aunt Mercy, much pleased to
be even thought of under the circumstances. "I'll find enough to do; I
shall hunt up Lawrence's stockings, and darn the holes. I'll take care
of myself, never fear."

Lily bent down and pressed her rosy lips to the old lady's cheek. It
was a trifling, every-day act, but somehow it made Aunt Mercy's eyes
grow dim.

"She's a sweet, beguiling creature," she repeated to herself, rising
and walking to the window to see the last of them, "but she's no more
fit than a new-born babe to be trusted with a house."

Lily ran lightly down the steps, nodding pleasantly both to the
coachman and footman, who were old family servants, and then followed
her mamma into the carriage. Mrs. Lovell lost not one motion until
the carriage rolled away from the door, and then she sat down to her
knitting to compose her thoughts.

"Well, well," she said to herself, "no wonder Adam ate the apple, if
Eve gave it to him with a smile like Lily's! She's pretty as a picter,
but that don't make her fit to keep house."



CHAPTER II.

THE RECONNOISANCE.

AUNT MERCY'S thoughts kept her busy for an hour, her stocking,
meanwhile, growing visibly. Then she started up for a visit to the
kitchen.

"I wonder who ordered dinner," she said to herself, as she went down
the broad staircase.

The table was spread in the kitchen with cold ham, spring chicken, an
egg omelet, and hot coffee. And around it sat cook, Ann, Tom, and a
hugely-whiskered stranger, partaking of the highly-seasoned viands with
great relish.

To say that Mrs. Lovell was surprised would but feebly express her
feelings, as, with one quick glance, she took in the whole scene. But
she was far too shrewd to allow this to be perceived, and merely saying
to the cook, "Mrs. Everett will dine at home to-day," passed on through
the kitchen to a large pantry beyond.

She had already visited this apartment once, in company with her niece,
but now everything wore a different aspect. Cook joined her instantly,
her cheeks glowing like fire.

"It's not what I'm used to," she began, in a loud tone, "to have
company intrude on my apartments. If ye want lunch, I'll send Tom with
it to yer order. Mrs. Everett is the mistress here; and I'll not have
two to dale with!"

Aunt Mercy had already spied an elegant damask napkin protruding from
a drawer under the dressers, and deigning no answer to this harangue,
except a momentary stare over her glasses, deliberately proceeded to
make a more thorough search of the premises than she had thought it
prudent to do in the presence of her niece. Pulling open, therefore,
the broad, deep drawer, she found the napkin used to enfold half a
dozen of the delicate muffins admired so much at the breakfast-table;
underneath it were two long, damask table-covers of the finest quality,
soiled and stained with fruit, four damask towels, one fine linen
pillow-case, the delicate lace ruffle torn from contact with a nail in
the drawer, and lastly a loaf of frosted cake.

Without one word of comment, and proceeding as calmly as if the
inspection were an every-day affair, Mrs. Lovell throw one after
another of the soiled articles across her arm, as totally unmindful of
the abuse and coarse invectives Bridget was heaping on her head as she
would have been of the buzzing of a fly.

By this time Ann and her associates had pushed back their chairs from
their disturbed luncheon, and were waiting to see what would follow.
The muffins were placed on a plate in the dresser, and a net cover put
over them, the frosted cake carefully deposited in a tin box standing
empty on a chair, and then the old lady said, calmly,—

"Ann, wont you get me a small tub? I'll show you how to take the stains
from these table-covers while cook prepares my luncheon."

Turning to the latter, who stood, her arms akimbo, casting defiant
glances first at her and then at her companions, she said,—

"Make me a cup of tea,—oolong, if you have it; one spoonful will do,
and send it up on a tray with a slice of ham and the muffins you'll
find in the cupboard."

"Sure as yer alive, the old critter's deaf!" murmured the stranger, in
a low voice, to Ann.

"Look here!" said Mrs. Lovell, carefully gathering all the stains into
her hand and laying them in the tub. "Pour boiling water on the spots,
and repeat as often as it cools. Then dry them, and they'll be ready
for the wash."

Casting her eyes to the table, she saw that one of the best covers had
been used, and she said, coolly,—

"You'd better do that cloth at the same time. I see it has strawberry
stains on it."

She waited until Ann brought the large kettle from the range and poured
on the water, and then, with another glance around the room, walked
up-stairs, taking the box of fruit-cake with her.

"Well, well!" she thought. "Sure enough, I've begun to find the
leak. 'Twould take more than the Rothschilds' money to support such
extravagance. 'Twill be the ruin of Lawrence before he's a year older.
Goodness sakes! How that woman did rave! Frosted cake, coffee, and
jellies! I'm beat now!"

She sat waiting in the dining-room for her lunch to be served, and
might have waited a month, but for a step in the hall, and a voice,
calling,—

"Lily, my Lady-bird, where are you?"

"Lily's gone out to ride," explained Aunt Mercy, hurrying to the door.
"She'll be terribly disappointed though; she calculated on being at
home before you came."

It was evident the husband was keenly disappointed, but he made an
effort to conceal it.

"I hurried through my business," he said, "to come home and lunch with
you both. Have you ordered anything?"

"Yes,—a cup of tea and some cold ham. There is coffee and muffins
below, and chickens, if they are not all eaten up."

He rang the bell with a quick jerk.

"Bring up lunch for two," he said, as Tom made his appearance,—"the
best you have."

Ann came at once to lay the table.

"You may set the teapot by my plate," said Mrs. Lovell. "I'll pour out
and wait on my nephew, so you can go on with your work."

She spoke pleasantly, but Ann looked sullen, and made no reply. The old
lady had determined to improve the opportunity to enlighten her nephew
in regard to the want of proper management in the kitchen department.
As soon as they were alone, he opened the conversation at once.

"Well, Aunt Mercy, how do you like my Lady-bird?"

"I think she's the sweetest, dearest, most beguiling creature I ever
did see!" responded Mrs. Lovell, warmly. "Why, only think! She came to
bid me good-by when there was the beautifullest carriage waiting for
her,—and she actually kissed me too!"

"That was because you'd been praising me, I suppose," he answered,
laughing.

"No, I told her you were thought to favor me; that you were the
homeliest of all my nephews, but she wouldn't agree to that. It's no
kind o' use to repeat what she did say, 'cause she makes no secret
of it I take it. I've been a-wondering whether Eve was any like her;
'cause if she was—"

"You think I'd eat the apple," he said, interrupting her. "Well, I see
she's made a convert of you, and I'm glad to see my two best friends
understand each other. I never shall forget what you've been to me,
Aunt Mercy. I've told the story to Lily, and she's all ready to love
you as well as I do."

The old lady coughed and choked. Not all Bridget's invectives had moved
her as those simple words did. But the meal was almost finished, and
she had not yet hinted at the subject she wished.

"I wonder what Mrs. Percival could be thinking of, to let her daughter
be married till she'd learned how to manage a family. Why, Lily, pretty
as she is, knows no more about what's going on in the house than a
china doll."

"I suppose I must take the blame of that," returned Mr. Everett, while
a little cloud rested on his brow. "I thought she'd learn better
when she saw the necessity for it, and so she will with a few hints
from you. She's as light-hearted as a bird, and I would not have her
otherwise for all the money in this rich city. But, as I wrote you,
housekeeping is a ruinous business to a young man."

"There's a dreadful leak somewhere!" she remarked, gravely. "And it
must be stopped."

"Yes," he continued, "I'm convinced that it costs us more than it
need to, even to live in style, but how to manage is the question. My
Lady-bird knows absolutely nothing about economy, and how she is to
learn it without troubling her pretty self is a problem I should like
to see solved."

"It's plain there must be a head to such an establishment as this,
Lawrence."

She then proceeded to give him, in brief, the result of her morning
reconnoisance.

He bit his lip with anger, rose and paced the room, saying,—

"I shall be ruined if we go on at this rate. Say, Aunt Mercy, what can
be done?"

"I've thought it all over," she said, "while I was waiting here by
myself. 'Tisn't very convenient, but if it's duty, it must be done.
I've set out to find the leak, and when I do, I think I can contrive to
stop it. I'll write home to Caroline to shut up the house and go back
to her mother's, and I'll remain and right things up, but first I must
have authority from you and Lily, so that the servants will obey me."

He answered by ringing the bell.

"Tom," he said, when the youth appeared, "my aunt, Mrs. Lovell, will
give you directions for the future. You will go to market under her
instruction, and you may repeat what I say to Bridget and Ann."

The old lady had her eye on Tom when the order was given. She was
convinced that her first opinion of him was correct.

Mr. Everett sat a few moments talking with his aunt, then wandered
restlessly to the parlor, to see whether Lily was net in sight. Though
absent from her but a few hours, he longed for a glimpse of her bright
face. He ran up to her chamber, and presently called at the stairs,—

"Aunt Mercy, come up here!"

It was the old lady's first peep into that sanctuary, and, for a
moment, she stood at the entrance, her keen eye glancing quickly from
one object to another.

The house was built by an old nabob on his return from a long sojourn
in the Indies, and this room was especially fitted up for his young
bride. On one side of the apartment the floor was raised about a foot
and covered with marble of different colors set in mosaic. Upon this
platform stood the bedstead covered with elaborately-wrought lace
depending from a gilded scroll fastened to the ceiling. Curtains of
lace and delicately-tinted rose damask partially concealed the windows.
Chairs and lounges stood inviting the weary to repose; a costly mirror,
reaching nearly to the ceiling and resting on gilded brackets, was
flanked on each side by gilded statues holding lights for gas, while
the toilet-table and its belongings were wonders of art. The young
husband stood in the doorway leading to the dressing-room, a complacent
smile hovering over his features as he witnessed Aunt Mercy's gaze of
astonishment, and then said,—

"Come in here; it was to show you this I called you."

"It is very, very beautiful. It is like a fairy tale," she murmured,
slowly advancing, "but—"

"I know what you would say," he exclaimed, interrupting her, "and it
is a question I sometimes ask myself: Can I, ought I, to start in
life so luxuriously? Lily has been used to all this from her birth,
and scarcely notices it. I do not believe she depends on costly
surroundings for happiness, but I love to see her in the midst of
beauty, and I think I can afford it. One thing is certain: I have not
run in debt. Your teachings have proved too powerful for that. Now rest
in that chair, and let me show you something."

He lifted a book bound in velvet from the table and raised the clasps
with reverence. There was a worked book-mark carefully laid in at the
twelfth chapter of Exodus, and to this he turned.

"This was my bridal gift to my Lady-bird," he said, speaking her name
tenderly,—"the one she says she prizes most. Dear little girl! Among
all her gay accomplishments, she had never been taught the Bible's
blessed truths. I told her how I loved this book, and what I hoped
it had done for me; that the warnings I found here had saved me
from becoming what most of all she loathes,—a profligate; that its
invitations had led me to One better than any earthly friend, because
his love bestows all blessing. 'If you will learn to love the Bible,' I
said, 'our affection, begun in this world, will go on ripening through
all eternity.'

"She looked full of wonder as she exclaimed, 'I always thought the
Bible would make one gloomy.'

"'But you don't call me gloomy,' I said, smiling.

"'Oh, no, indeed! I will read it and love it, if it will make me like
you.'

"Since that, she has never left her room in the morning till she has
read a chapter. See, this was what she read this morning. All the time
I was dressing, she was talking to me about it. I can't help thinking
that the Spirit of God is moving on her heart; and oh, what a Christian
she would make! So full of enthusiasm and soul! Do you wonder now, Aunt
Mercy, that I thought it not too soon to remove her from the atmosphere
of worldliness which surrounded her at home, and have her here, where I
could turn her thoughts to high and noble views of life?"

The old lady's dim eyes answered him sufficiently.

"I am glad you told me this," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I
thought she was different from other gay girls. Have you ever taught
her to pray, Lawrence?"

He colored a little as he said, hurriedly,—

"I never thought to tell these things; they seem too sacred. But you
have been a mother to me, and—yes, I will tell you.

"The morning after we were married, I took my pocket-Bible and read as
usual. I noticed that she looked sober, but I didn't know what foolish
fears were filling her little heart. Then I knelt in the closet,
beckoning her to come, if she wished, and kneel by me. She did not,
but stood leaning against the door. I offered my petition silently,
as I had been accustomed to do, and when I arose, my poor, frightened
Lady-bird threw herself into my arms.

"'Are you going to die, Lawrence, that you pray?' she asked, quickly.

"I noticed that her eyes were moist and her lips tremulous, but I
didn't understand her fears.

"'No, darling,' I said, seating her for the first time on my knee. 'I
was thanking our good Father for my beautiful, loving wife; and then I
asked him to teach me to care for your best comfort, so that you might
never regret you had left your father and mother, and come to live with
me.'

"I wish you could have seen her face brighten. She put her cheek close
to mine, and said, softly,—

"'I would like to thank him too, but, Lawrence,' she added, in a
moment, 'I thought,—I always heard, people prayed to God when they knew
they must die, so that they could go to heaven, you know. I thought God
was angry with us, and wanted us to be sober all the time, and not at
all loving and nice.'

"I was really frightened to see how ignorant she was, even of the
simplest Bible truths, and thought our morning could not be better
spent than in telling her what glorious news was contained in its pages.

"I began with the Garden of Eden, sketching briefly the stories of the
creation and fall, so familiarly known to every Sabbath-scholar.

"She was greatly excited and sometimes laughed heartily. Eve she
condemned totally, but for Adam's sin she found some excuse,
exclaiming, with a tear in her eye,—

"'He loved her so well, you know, Lawrence.'

"From this point, I went rapidly on to the birth of the Saviour, when
she frequently interrupted me by asking,—

"'Is it true, Lawrence,—is this all true? Oh, why did nobody ever tell
me of it before? And you say he's been loving me all this time?'

"Her head sank lower and lower on her breast, until I lifted it with a
kiss. 'When you kneel again,' she asked, hiding her face in my neck,
'will you ask him to forgive me?'

"'Yes, darling, I'll ask him now.'

"This time we knelt together, and I implored the forgiveness and mercy
of God for us both, and asked that our love for each other might
increase, as it certainly would, if we obeyed the rules given us for
our conduct in the sacred word.

"I never saw such a holy light on her face as beamed there when we
arose. I gathered her in my arms, and vowed while life lasted to do all
in my power for her happiness."



CHAPTER III.

DAYS OF YORE.

AUNT MERCY stealthily wiped a tear from her eye, and finding she had no
voice to answer, was hastening from the room, when a sweet voice in the
hall arrested her steps.

"Oh, I'm sorry I stayed so then! Where is he?" was the hurried
exclamation.

Lawrence started forward, laughing, and caught her in his arms.

"Here I am, my truant bird, ready to hear you defend yourself. Why were
you not here to open the door for me?"

"Are you really sorry?" she asked, after a searching glance in his
face. "I wish I'd been here, for I had a tedious ride, after all.
Mamma's friend wanted to shop; and I was so tired of hearing silks and
tissues and laces discussed I—What do you think I did?"

"Sat in the carriage and thought of me, of course."

She laughed merrily, exclaiming, as she glanced archly at Aunt Mercy,—

"Did you ever see such a man?"

"He always was a little vain," was the old lady's remark.

"I did, I did!" she exclaimed. "I thought what a kind, patient husband
you are, and how hard I would try to be worthy of you."

A softened light beamed in his eyes as he whispered fond words of
endearment in her ear.


It was not a light task Mrs. Lovell had undertaken, when she promised
her nephew that she would do her best to find and stop the leak.
Whenever she stepped her foot into the kitchen, it was the signal
for cook, Ann, and Tom to maintain a profound silence. If she asked
a question, they either did not answer at all or pretended profound
ignorance of the subject in question. The drawers and dressers were
thoroughly overlooked, but there the work of reform seemed to stop. The
servants took pleasure in misunderstanding her orders. And every day
proved the want of a systematic overseer in the household.

One day, after the old lady had delivered a lecture in the kitchen
on economy, the dinner was served up in so meagre a style that Mr.
Everett, who had brought home guests, ordered it back to the kitchen,
and sent Tom to a hotel near by for means to serve a decent repast. It
was no time for the old lady to explain, but she made a resolve either
to take the whole care of the household, and hire new servants, or to
give up interfering with them. She was rather amused to see that Lily
did not feel at all involved in the disgrace of having a poor dinner
for her husband's guests, but was engaged in watching what he would do
in such an emergency. She had not yet learned that it is a wife's duty
to see that the money a husband provides for the use of his family is
properly expended.

The next morning Lily awoke feverish and languid, with a severe
soreness in her throat. Mr. Everett was greatly alarmed, and wished at
once to summon the doctor, but she told him she was subject to such
attacks, and she thought with some simple remedies, such as Ann knew
how to apply, it would soon pass away. She promised to lie quiet, let
Ann bring her coffee to the bed, and then try to sleep.

Unfortunately, Mr. Everett had a business engagement which would occupy
most of the morning, otherwise he would not have left her. But he sent
for his breakfast to be brought to his chamber. Then he sat by the bed
and read the account of Christ healing the sick, after which he prayed
the good Physician to bestow healing mercy on the dear afflicted one.

"Now," he said, cheerfully, "as I cannot be with you, I shall get Aunt
Mercy to come, and tell you some of my pranks when I was a boy; she is
very eloquent on that subject."

Lily was delighted; and her husband did not leave her until the old
lady was duly installed in her arm-chair near the bed, her knitting in
hand, and her glasses exactly on the end of her nose, ready to dilate
on her favorite theme.

"Did Lawrence ever tell you," she began, "how I came in the place of a
mother to him?"

"He told me quite a romantic story connected with it," answered Lily,
her eyes sparkling with pleasure at the thought of hearing it in detail.

"You will laugh, I suppose," the old lady commenced, "at the idea that
I was ever called handsome, but there was a time when my cheeks and
lips were rosy, my eyes bright, and my hair black and abundant. I was
very lively, too, in those far-off days; for the world looked very fair
and lovely to me.

"My father was the richest man in the place, being the owner of the
large factories that supplied half the village with work. I was,
therefore, always kept at school, and was considered quite a prodigy
in learning. One winter (how well I remember it!) I was sent to the
academy in Leicester. It was at that time the most popular school in
the State. It was to be my last term, and I resolved to do my best.

"The teacher, whose name was Everett, was a graduate from Harvard,
and was just commencing the study of law. He was dependent on his own
exertions for support; and as he loved teaching, he had obtained this
school, studying at intervals in the office of Squire Wellington, of
Leicester."

For a few moments Aunt Mercy seemed wholly absorbed in her knitting,
but suddenly rousing herself, went on.

"It is strange for me to tear away the curtain of time from those
early days for you, so much of a stranger, to look in. But I will say,
in brief, that young Everett paid me marked attention, which woke
an interest for him in my heart. At last, he told me he loved me,
and asked me to be his wife. I consented, with the proviso that my
parents approved. One Saturday afternoon, he drove to the door of my
boarding-house in the handsomest sleigh the town afforded, to take me
home, in order to gain my parents' consent. This was not difficult; for
he had brought letters of recommendation from men high in rank, whom my
father could trust.

"That was a happy Sabbath,—the happiest, I said to myself, that
I had ever known; and I looked forward to the future with bright
anticipations of many such days. There was only one circumstance which
lessened my pleasure, and this was the absence of my only sister, who
had gone to pass a few days with our grandmother.

"We returned to Leicester the next morning in season for school,
feeling that earth contained no two persons with prospects of happiness
fairer than ours.

"I had a new incentive to study,—for I wished my teacher to feel proud
of his choice,—and at the end of the term graduated with the highest
honors of the school, having received the prizes both for composition
and deportment from the trustees, with the chairman of whom I had
boarded.

"I went home directly after this, and Mr. Everett returned to Harvard
to complete his studies. He couldn't expect to have a home for me for
several years, but I was young, and willing to wait.

"Though I had left school, I did not give up my studies. I pursued a
course of reading under the direction of my teacher; and much of our
correspondence, during two years, was on subjects which interested me,
connected with my reading. During the second year of our engagement,
I accepted an invitation to visit a schoolmate near the college, and
remained there six weeks, seeing Mr. Everett more frequently than I
had ever done before. I used often to compare him with other young
gentlemen who called, and had no hesitation in pronouncing him superior
to them all.

"The next year I had the small-pox, which left some few marks on
my face. I have often since wondered that I did not feel more
mortification on account of this disfigurement, which, to be sure,
every one told me was slight and would entirely disappear in time.
But I knew that if my friend was pitted so that nothing of his former
complexion could be seen, it would only increase my affection for him,
or rather increase the manifestation of it. I would not allow to myself
that I could love him more.

"At last, he wrote me that he had been admitted to the bar, that he had
opened an office in the pleasant village of W—, and that he wanted me
to fulfil my promise to be his. I laid the letter before my parents.
My trunks were already filled with preparations for housekeeping. My
father had long ago informed Mr. Everett that five thousand dollars lay
waiting in the county bank for my benefit; so that nothing remained but
to prepare dresses suitable for a bride.

"I wrote an answer that I would be ready in a month. How happy I was
then! Three times a week I received long epistles from my lover, full
of assurances of his undying affection. Ah, how trusting I was! But the
time was hastening when I was to be undeceived.

"I had but one sister, four years younger than myself, a sweet,
confiding girl grown suddenly to womanhood. I had from a child been
called the beauty of the family, while Charlotte, or Lottie, as we
lovingly called her, was plain, but years had improved her complexion
as it had marred mine. She was of a happy temperament, flirting from
room to room, singing, oh; so merrily!

"Strange enough, she had never seen Mr. Everett, but she often gazed
admiringly on a miniature he had sent me, wondering how it would seem
to have a brother.

"He came at last, two days before the time appointed for the wedding;
for we were to leave directly after the ceremony, and there were many
arrangements to be made. There was a stage-coach which passed our house
twice in a day. It was by this in the afternoon of Tuesday that I
expected him. In the morning, therefore, Lottie and I went out to make
calls at the houses of some poor friends whom I might not see again for
years. She grew tired, and I urged her to return, while I took a longer
route home."

The old lady suddenly caught off her glasses; and Lily could see bright
drops standing in her eyes.

"Can't you guess, child, what happened then?" she asked, the words
coming with an effort.

"No, Aunt Mercy; Lawrence never told me you had been married twice."

"I thought I had forgotten all that weary sorrow," she murmured. "I
thought that I could tell what followed without the dreadful pain
at my heart which never left me for years afterward. I reached home
soon after noon. Mr. Everett had been there for hours talking with
Lottie,—sometimes of me, but more of herself. Why had not I told him,
he asked, of her charms?

"Then I made my appearance with the scars on my face brightened by my
long and tedious walk. He received me politely, but I saw the change.
How I lived through that day and the next, I cannot tell you. He
avoided being alone with me until Thursday morning, until within a few
hours before the time our friends would assemble, when he demanded an
interview. He told me to hate him,—to forget him; his affection had
changed. He loved my sister.

"Pride came to bear me up; and when he saw how coldly I received this
announcement, he charged me with not loving him as I ought,—that it
was well for both of us that the engagement be broken. I did not
try to undeceive him. I bowed assent, and went out,—anywhere to be
alone,—anywhere that I might rouse myself from this dreadful dream. I
thought I had the nightmare; that it could not be true. Only a short
time before, and I was so happy! Now what was I? A poor, crushed,
despised creature thrown aside as worthless.

"The company came and went. I was missing, and the ceremony could not
go on. Mr. Everett went too, but not before he had told Lottie his love.

"My father was a man of easy temper, bound up in his children. I was
afterwards told that they found me in an arbor at the bottom of the
garden, lying on the ground insensible. The first I can remember I
was in his arms, as he carried me to my chamber. I had never before
seen him angry, but when I was laid on a couch, and had swallowed some
ammonia and water, I heard him use words that made me tremble. He
called Everett by every vile epithet he could think of. He summoned
Charlotte into the room, and threatened her with being disinherited
if she ever dared to speak or write to that black-hearted villain. He
seemed to have an idea that all this would soothe me,—would avenge my
sorrows.

"It was a long, long time before I could venture forth into the fresh
air. I felt that I was disgraced forever. I avoided company; and at
last, my health was greatly affected. Our physician advised change of
scene; and I went to the West with a cousin for a long visit. There
I became acquainted with Dr. Lovell, who knew my sad history from my
cousin. He tried to win me to brighter views of duty; and finally,
I consented to be his wife. I was to go home for a month, where he
would follow me and the wedding would take place immediately. The week
before I returned, I received a letter from home, with the startling
announcement that, during a visit to a friend in the city, Lottie had
been privately married to Mr. Everett.

"The couple then wrote my parents, begging forgiveness, but father
returned the letter in a blank envelope. He made a will the next day,
leaving every cent of his property to be divided between mother and
myself. By one proviso, mother was to forfeit half hers if, as the
clause read, she gave anything to her lost daughter. He never seemed to
imagine that I should feel any disposition to forgive them."

"But you did,—I know you did!" murmured Lily, the tears running down
her cheeks. "You gave her a home, and took care of her boy."

She caught the old lady's hand and pressed it to her lips.

"Well, dear, since you know the rest, I'll end my long story."

"No, please tell me. I do so want to know everything."

"Perhaps you can't understand it, Lily, but as soon as my respect for
my old teacher was gone, all my love died out. Dr. Lovell was a very
kind husband, and as, by my father's request, he removed from the West,
I seemed to have every wish gratified. But sorrow came soon. By a most
singular coincidence, my father and Mr. Everett were on a train of cars
when there was a collision. Father was not supposed to be seriously
hurt, but my brother-in-law was killed instantly.

"Now we hoped father would relent, but he did not. He refused to hear
a word in poor Lottie's behalf; and soon disease was developed in
consequence of his injury which, after five months, terminated his life.

"I instantly sent for my sister to come to his funeral, but Lawrence
was only three weeks old, and she was not able. Dr. Lovell visited
her at my request a week later; and she returned with him, a feeble,
heartbroken woman. It is sufficient to say that she had not found the
happiness in her marriage which she expected. Mr. Everett's temper
was seriously affected by their troubles. He was greatly prospered in
business for a year or two, but there was a leak somewhere. Poor Lottie
knew nothing about housekeeping; and the money he gave her for family
purposes was not well expended; and this made him cross. I don't know
exactly how it was, but they were always in trouble,—he constantly
throwing the blame on her, and she retorting bitterly, until, by his
sudden death, she was left penniless."



CHAPTER IV.

WHO IS MISTRESS?

IN a day or two, Lily was entirely restored to health. The story of
Aunt Mercy had made a deep impression on her mind, causing a shade of
thought to rest on her fair features. The old lady she treated with
great attention, notwithstanding sundry hints thrown out by Ann that
she was a fidgety, fussy, meddling woman; that visitors had better keep
in their own rooms, and not interfere with what didn't belong to them.

It was Mrs. Lovell's method to go into the kitchen at the most
unexpected hours. Sometimes she arose early and took a general survey
of the premises before any one was stirring; and then again she would
wait till they had retired for the night; or, she would appear in the
midst of the preparation for dinner. Finding she paid no attention to
their sullen disregard of her wishes, cook and Tom grew more insolent
than ever, and on one occasion bolted the door in her face. To be
sure, she might at any minute have caused their dismissal by reporting
their conduct to her nephew, but she reasoned that the next set might
prove no better; and she was convinced that there were some underhand
dealings in the kitchen which, if she could prove upon them, would be a
lesson of warning to poor, unsuspecting Lady-bird.

From the first she had suspected Tom. Ever since he could remember,
he had lived in the street, from which he had been rescued by Mr.
Percival after being detected in petty larceny only to be placed in
circumstances of far greater temptation. Besides, his looks were
greatly against him. He had a low, retreating forehead, and never
could be made to look you full in the face. Many times the old lady
had noticed a glance toward his fellow-servants, low, cunning, and
malicious, such as had for an instant appeared on his face when
notified by Mr. Everett that he was to go to market under the direction
of his aunt.

On several occasions, Aunt Mercy, whose eyes were wide open, had
noticed glances of warning when she suddenly entered the kitchen; and
then the cook had hurried away to the pantry, where she was apparently
busy at work when Mrs. Lovell entered. Keeping her suspicions entirely
to herself, she became every day more convinced that, aside from the
great waste of every article of provision, flour, coffee, tea, sugar,
butter, etc., there was a most mysterious disappearance of these
articles, especially the latter.

Setting her wits at work, she tried to contrive some method of
detecting the plot. Sometimes she resolved to go in person to the
grocer and look at the books, but though she might thus ascertain how
much butter, for instance, had been ordered, she couldn't say it had
not all been used in the family. The more she saw of the servants, the
more she was convinced that, unless this terrible leak in her nephew's
expenditures could be stopped, he would be ruined.

She had been in the house nearly a month, when her nephew came one
morning to her chamber holding a paper in his hand. His face was very
grave as he seated himself by her, saying,—

"I have just received the grocer's bill, which I ordered to be sent
once a month. It is nearly three, and it has swelled to such an amount
that I am frightened. Why, at this rate, our mere living will cost us
between four and five thousand dollars a year!"

"More than that, as I have calculated it," eagerly answered Aunt Mercy.
"Beside the shocking waste, I'm convinced there's dishonesty in your
kitchen."

She related facts on which she had founded her suspicions until he grew
very angry.

"I can do no good here," she added. "As you are now situated, I am only
one against three; for I feel confident they are all implicated. There
must be a thorough overturn,—new servants, new rules. Some one who
can be trusted must keep the keys to the store-room, and deal out the
articles as they are needed. I wish Lily—"

"Don't expect Lily to undertake such business," he answered, almost
petulantly. "The drudgery and confinement would crush her; and then
if such an arrangement be proposed, her mother would insist that we
should break up housekeeping, and take rooms at some of the fashionable
hotels. No, that wont do at all."

He rose and walked back and forth across the room, his brow knit with
anxiety. At length he said,—

"It isn't this one bill that worries me. I can pay this easily enough,
but it's the idea of living at such a rate of extravagance. I wish you
had come to us at first, Aunt Mercy, before these wasteful creatures
were established."

A low, timid knock interrupted them, and Lady-bird appeared looking as
sweet and happy as though no cares ever intruded themselves into her
mind.

"I heard your voice in here," she said, smiling upon her husband. "Are
you getting up a conspiracy against me that you look so sober?"

"Yes, darling, a conspiracy to make you more happy," he answered, for
the time throwing all his care to the winds.


The next day, Mrs. Lovell noticed that when Lily came to dinner, her
eyes were red with weeping. It was so unusual a circumstance to have
even a cloud shadowing her beaming face that she would have spoken
instinctively of it, had she not met a warning glance from her nephew.
A ride was planned for the afternoon, and Lawrence devoted himself to
her comfort, as he told her, for the rest of the day.

As he was passing his aunt's room while Lady-bird was preparing for the
drive, he looked in and said, hurriedly,—

"No more interference with the servants; let them go on as they please.
I will explain when I can."

"'Tisn't right, Lawrence!" She spoke decidedly.

"Hush!" he said. "Lily will hear you. It's only a matter of dollars and
cents, which is nothing in comparison with her comfort."

Before she could say more, he had shut the door softly, and was gone.
It was not till evening that she saw him again. They had gone to her
father's to tea, and returned with some friends, who were to pass the
night with them. When the company were talking gayly in the parlor, he
slipped away and knocked on his aunt's door.

"I came," he began "to explain what I said this morning. Instead of
meeting me with smiles at the door, as Lily generally does, Ann came
and informed me that her mistress wished to see me in her chamber. I
found her weeping bitterly. Failing to get rid of your interference, I
have no doubt it was a plan of the three to appeal to her.

"First, cook rushed to her room, and gave notice of an intention to
quit, professing that she 'could live to the end of her days with so
swate a mistress as herself, but she couldn't stand interference, and
niver could.'

"Then Ann made a pretext of carrying an armful of dresses to the room,
and echoed the same story. She was willing to do her best, and thought
nothing too much trouble when she could plaze so kind a mistress, but
everything was different from what it was when she was hired. She made
a great favor of consenting to stay till her lady was supplied.

"Lily had scarcely recovered her breath before there came a request
for Mrs. Everett to step to the hall, and spake to poor Tom, who was
suffering because he was going away,—back to Mr. Percival's. 'Sure
my auld mistress never said a word about my being under any one but
yourself, ma'am; and though I'm a poor bye, I values my character too
much to stay where I'm not wanted.'

"Ann came back and found her crying, and told a doleful tale of your
suspicious looks, etc., ending with,—

"'Feth, ma'am, it's enough to make honest folks rogues to be watching
'em in that fashion, and so I can't risk myself nohow; for I couldn't
tell what I'd become with the likes of Miss Lovell put over my head.'

"My poor Lady-bird was terribly grieved by all this, and began to think
trouble had come upon her in earnest, but I made light of it. I told
her you were a thoroughly good housekeeper, and that I had requested
you to look a little after kitchen affairs during your visit, but that
it was an awkward job for you, and you'd be glad to be relieved of it.
Still she looked very sober, and presently it all came out.

"'Are you sure,' she said, shyly, 'that you are not sorry you took such
a useless little girl to be your wife? I'm afraid I'm very, 'very'
ignorant about housekeeping. I know Aunt Mercy thinks so, though she is
so kind, and I love her so dearly.'

"'You can learn,' I said, encouragingly. 'In time you will become used
to care. You are very young yet.'

"'But,' she said, with fresh tears, 'it does seem dreadful to have to
think about servants from morning to night, and to keep the closets
locked up, as Aunt Mercy says I ought, and give out the sugar and eggs;
besides, I never could learn how many were needed for all the puddings
and cake that cook makes so nicely. Oh, Lawrence, you can't tell how
much I dread to do it!'

"What could I say but that I would arrange it with cook and the rest
to stay? I sent for them to the dining-room, and gave each of them a
five-dollar bill, charging them to let me hear no more of their going
to their mistress with stories of leaving. I saw they thought they had
triumphed, and I hated myself for giving them the occasion, but there
was no other way."

"You will live to regret it, Lawrence. Lily cannot be happy while
neglecting positive duties. How long do you imagine either the cook or
Ann will remain content to be servants when they can be mistresses? You
have only begun to see the trouble they will give your wife, setting
aside all their waste and extravagance."

"I know, I know," he answered, reddening, "but it can't be helped now."

"I shall start for home to-morrow," she added, after a moment's pause.
"You will need me more by and by."

There was a most affectionate parting between Aunt Mercy and her
niece. Lily kissed her repeatedly, and begged her to come again, not a
suspicion entering her mind that the old lady's visit had been abruptly
terminated in consequence of what had occurred; while Mrs. Lovell in
her turn thanked her young hostess for the pains taken to make her stay
agreeable, and reminded her that there was always a home for them in
her house.



CHAPTER V.

FARM VERSUS RUM.

LET me introduce you, dear reader, to a tall, stalwart man just opening
the gate leading through a potato-patch to an humble cottage. This
is his home, and through the open windows he hears the hum of merry
voices. There is a smile on his face, and yet not a glad smile. It
might have said,—

"They seem happy notwithstanding our misfortunes."

It is a most kind provision of Providence that the young are blessed
with buoyant spirits. Troubles come, and are keenly felt, but the cloud
soon passes away, and all is bright again.

It was particularly fortunate for Mr. Allen that his children,
who were neither few nor far between, were possessed of cheerful,
happy dispositions; else on this bright morning, instead of hearing
half-suppressed bursts of laughter and joyous exclamations, he might
have listened to the notes of sorrow. He entered the open door, and
looked within. Even he was surprised at the busy scene.

The room was the largest in the house, used in winter both for
a kitchen and sitting-room. At this moment it was littered with
split-cane, bundles of which lay in one corner, and from which Lizzie,
the oldest girl, had just taken a quantity, which she was slowly
weaving into a chair for the benefit of the eager lookers-on. John,
Mary, Bell, Carrie, and ever so many more, of all ages, from fifteen
downward, were pressing as near as possible to the frame, while the
baby, springing in its mother's arms, was trying to catch the end of
one of the canes as it was alternately woven over and under the others.

But I cannot expect my reader to understand why the heart of Mr. Allen
was filled with remorse and sorrow, instead of pleasure, as he silently
gazed on the noisy group, or why the pale, careworn face of his wife
smote him with a sharp pang of regret.

Mary Walbridge, own cousin to Lawrence Everett, was the fairest of all
the maidens in the village of N—. She had scores of admirers; indeed,
there was scarcely a young man, either in her own or the neighboring
towns, but would have thought the gift of Mary's hand the richest boon
he could ask. But, though the young girl was kind to all, her smiles
were given alone to Joseph Allen, son of their nearest neighbor; and
her parents approved her choice.

Joseph was an only son, the heir to his father's broad acres, extending
full two miles on the banks of the beautiful C— River. He was a merry
youth, always welcomed by young and old, prepossessing in appearance,
moral and upright in character. Beside all this, he loved Mary with all
the strength of his manly heart. He could not remember the time when he
did not love her; and so they stood together before the white-haired
clergyman who had married their parents, and had known them from their
infancy, and gladly took the solemn vows which made them one.

Only two years did the young wife minister to the parents of her
husband,—for she went at once to live at the farm. At the end of that
period, Mr. Allen died; and as his wife soon followed him to his quiet
resting-place beneath the willows, Joseph became possessor of the whole
property.

Mary's prospects of happiness were now very fair. Her little daughter
Lizzie, named for her husband's mother, was the picture of childish
beauty, and she had but to name a wish in order to have it gratified.

Joseph, or Mr. Allen, as he was now called, had always attended school
in the winter until two years before his marriage. He had quite a gift
at speaking, which he was very fond of improving, and often astonished
the old settlers by an earnest appeal at the town-meeting for money to
be granted for a new and improved school-house.

When Mary had been married five years, she had four children. She had
grown quite matronly in form; there was a richer bloom on her cheeks,
and a deeper, holier light in her eye than on her wedding-day.

Mr. Allen was considered one of the most rising men of the town. He
already had been chosen a member of the school committee, and had the
pleasure of giving the land for the new and commodious building where
his little Lizzie commenced her education. But, alas, all these bright
prospects were to pass away! The glorious morning was to be shaded with
clouds, and would rise to a tempest long before the sun reached the
zenith.

Having abundant means, Mr. Allen did not feel it incumbent on him
to labor,—at least, not as his father had done. He hired men, and
bought patented machines with which to work his farm. His own time,
he thought, could be more profitably spent for the good of the town.
Committee meetings, caucuses, and State conventions, roused his
abilities, and kept his mind at work. He was thoroughly alive at such
times, and liked the excitement. As his family rapidly increased,
instead of sharing the care and responsibility with his wife, he grew
more and more ambitious of town offices,—more and more fond of meeting
his neighbors at public dinners.

It was a long, long time before poor Mary would own to herself that
her beloved husband had begun to crave the drink which intoxicates,
but at last, the evidence became too conclusive. Once, in the depths
of winter, he came home at midnight too much lost to reason to know
that he was not sleeping in his bed. His wife, who for hours had been
listening to every sound, heard the sleigh-bells as the horse turned
into the barnyard.

After waiting nearly an hour for him to come in, she aroused her oldest
boy, and they went together to the barn, their hearts throbbing with an
unknown dread.

The faithful horse had returned to his home, and gone directly into the
open door, where he was patiently awaiting attention, while his master
lay in the bottom of the sleigh in the deep slumber of the drunkard.

The united efforts of mother and son could not rouse him, or drag him
farther than the floor of the barn, where they made a bed of hay for
him, and having led the more sensible beast to his stall, retired to
weep over this new and dreadful affliction.

From this hour, Mr. Allen's path was downward, till, when Lizzie was
fifteen years old, they were turned out of their loved home by the
man whose rum had been exchanged for it, and removed to the small
cottage in which we find them with barely furniture enough to render it
habitable.

Mrs. Lovell witnessed the gradual downfall of the husband of her niece
with deep solicitude. Many and many a time, the pecuniary assistance
she gave was all that kept them from actual suffering. A little
time before their removal, the poor inebriate had a short return of
consciousness. He really desired to reform, and, with many sighs,
promised Mary, if Aunt Mercy could be induced to buy the mortgages held
by the rumseller, and give him a chance to earn them back, he would
sign the pledge of total abstinence.

But the old lady had no faith in his perseverance. She encouraged him
to show his penitence for the past by giving up, at once and forever,
that which led to his ruin. She reminded him that his intemperate
habits more than his years had made an old man of him; that he had a
large family dependent on him for support,—children that might grow up
an honor to society, but whom his evil example might corrupt; and she
urged him to stop the leak in his fortune by vigorous efforts to reform.

At this time, too, Lizzie, his favorite child, persuaded him to
accompany her to a lecture on temperance. He listened to accounts of
those who had been sunk in degradation far below him, but who had
broken the bonds of their evil habits, and come forth from the gutter
restored to their manhood. He resolved to add one to their number. His
daughter watched him, while tears unconsciously stole down her cheeks.
At the close of the lecture, he arose in response to the speaker's
invitation, and walked slowly up the aisle, while Lizzie bowed her head
on her hands and wept tears of joy.

When Mr. Allen left his home, therefore, he did it with the full
consciousness of all he had lost,—that he had sinfully wasted the
patrimony bequeathed him by his parents; had deprived his wife of the
comforts he had taught her to expect, and his children of the means to
acquire an education.

When Aunt Mercy saw that the reformation was lasting,—that her nephew
acted like a sober, penitent man, she offered to assist them to stop
the leak he had made in their fortune. It was by her advice they moved
to the town of G—, where work for himself and the children could be
obtained. She herself placed Lizzie where she could learn the art of
seating chairs, and then supplied money to purchase a quantity of
the material. This would furnish employment for the girls and the
second boy. For John, the eldest, named for her husband, she had other
plans. She wished, however, to ascertain more of his capabilities for
business, and it was for that purpose, on her return from the city,
that she rode twenty miles out of her way to visit her niece in her new
home.

The change from the princely mansion of Lawrence to the lowly cottage
of his cousin was as great as could well be imagined, but Aunt Mercy
enjoyed herself quite as well in the hut as in the palace. To be sure,
it sounded strangely, while sitting in that uncarpeted room, the filthy
walls of which the new inmates had felt most happy to be able to cover
with sixpenny paper, to talk of the style and splendor of Lawrence's
appointments, of Lily's luxurious chamber and costly dress, and feel
that the near relation of cousins united them.

The children's fingers flew rapidly over their allotted tasks as, hour
after hour, the old lady described the sweet Lady-bird her nephew had
won for his own, or told of the terrible leak in their housekeeping.

"I'm just as sure how it will end," she exclaimed one day, laying aside
the garment she was patching for her niece, "as I was when Joseph
began to stay out late to those public meetings and caucuses, etc.!
'Twouldn't take a prophet to see it either. The difference between his
case and yours is, the money's running out of his leak, while you've
all undertaken to stop yours."

Mr. Allen had been so fortunate as to obtain regular employment in a
nursery near his home. But still, with all their economy, Mrs. Allen
could see it would be difficult to provide food and clothing for so
many little ones. She had been so accustomed to have milk, butter,
eggs, and cheese from the farm, besides vegetables, grain, and pork,
that she scarcely knew how to cook, when every one of these must be
bought with scanty means at the grocer's. There were five girls and
four boys, beside herself and her husband, to provide with clothing.
The house, poor as it was, with the little strip of land by the side
of it, rented for eighty dollars; and then fuel and lights were to be
bought for the approaching winter.

Mrs. Lovell was scarcely surprised that Mr. Allen should often be
plunged in despondence. He went regularly to work, struggling day after
day against the craving of appetite for drink, but seldom smiled. The
sad contrast between the present and the past rose continually before
his mind, while conscience, with a voice like thunder, seemed ever
echoing in his ears,—

"This is your work!"



CHAPTER VI.

A RAY OF SUNSHINE.

AS I have before said, Mr. Allen was naturally mirthful; and the change
in his temperament would have cast a gloom over all the family, had it
not been for Lizzie, whose merry face and sunny smiles chased away many
an hour of despondence.

Aunt Mercy was a shrewd observer of character. As she had before talked
in the plainest terms to her nephew of the sin of pursuing a course
which was not only ruining his own soul, but the peace of his family,
so, now that she saw he was striving to amend, in her own frank way
she strove to encourage him. Entirely ignoring his silence on all such
occasions, she persevered in consulting him regarding the children.
Lizzie, she said, as soon as times were a little more prosperous with
them, must be sent to a Normal school, and prepared for a teacher.

"There is a vacancy now," she added, hopefully, "in our district. I
wish she were ready, for she would be good company for me."

Joseph would not glance toward the bright eyes he was sure were asking
his consent, but answered, in a hard tone,—

"Wife couldn't spare Lizzie; and money wouldn't tempt me to let her go
back to N—, where she would be pointed at as the drunkard's daughter."

"That would not be true now, husband," murmured his wife, softly laying
her hand on his shoulder.

"I have a plan for John too," the old lady went on, "but it is a secret
as yet. There is no need of haste; he must get a better education
first."

"Bread and butter is the first object with us," was the bitter retort.
"You forget that we are poor."

"I know as well as you do that your money has all run away," she
answered, smiling, "but I know, also, that you are all taking hold in
earnest to stop the leak. And, as I have a little money lying idle
in the bank, I suppose there is no one to forbid me the pleasure of
helping those who are trying to help themselves."

Mr. Allen's chin quivered. "Wife and Lizzie will thank you," he said,
in a subdued tone, "but my feeling is all gone."

"Not quite, father!" exclaimed Bell, throwing her arms around his neck.
"For I heard you telling Mr. Grey last night that you would bear your
own lot without a murmur, if your family need not suffer, and the tears
glistened in your eyes."

Mrs. Lovell often noticed that Mary, when her husband entered the
room, glanced shyly at him, to see whether the boisterous mirth of the
children was likely to annoy him. They kept steadily at their task of
seating chairs until near the hour in which he returned from his work,
when they bounded out of doors, chasing each other all over their small
enclosure, and making the air ring with their laughter.

She well remembered the time when, in the earlier years of their
married life, Lizzie, John, and Bell used to run down the road as soon
as they heard their father's carriage-wheels, when he good-naturedly
stopped the horse and took them all in. Now for many years he had been
so fretful and capricious under the influence of liquor that they had
avoided him as much as possible, quietly stealing from the room when
he was in it, so that Jamie and Fred., the younger boys, were almost
strangers to him.

Aunt Mercy took occasion one day to call up the old reminiscences,
and afterwards told her niece that she was quite sure it would please
Joseph to be welcomed by the children as of old.

Lizzie, who was old enough and wise enough to be taken into the family
counsels, entered into this proposal with her usual enthusiasm. Jamie,
Fred., and even Baby Nelly, after this, each had his or her lesson, and
the next afternoon, when the unsuspicious father came walking gloomily
down the road, they all set out to meet him.

"See, pa!" cried Fred., reaching up, and pulling his father's coat
to attract attention. "See what I've got for you!" And he held out a
prettily-arranged bunch of wild wood flowers.

"Nelly, too!" lisped the baby, reaching her arms out toward him.

Jamie presented his offering with a quiet smile. He was the image of
his mother in her happier days, and his upturned face reminded the
husband so forcibly of her that, when he tried to speak, the words
choked him.

"What does it mean?" he asked, presently, turning to Lizzie, whose
kindling eye expressed volumes.

"Only that we have been telling the little ones how we used to run out
and meet you, and they want to welcome you too."

He leaned forward and kissed her, saying, softly,—

"If I ever do become a good man, Lizzie, you will be the means of it."

"That is because I pray 'for Christ's sake,'" she answered, in the same
tone.

Mrs. Allen was greatly delighted to see her husband come across the
potato-patch with baby sitting on his shoulder. She stood in the
doorway, with a smiling countenance, to receive him, Aunt Mercy and
John pressing up behind her.

The meal which followed was the most cheerful one they had enjoyed
since they came to G—, Mr. Allen exerting himself to talk, and telling
them more about his business than they had ever known before.

[Illustration: BRIGHTER DAYS.]

The next morning at breakfast, Aunt Mercy said, "I wish you had a barn,
Joseph; for I think I could find you a cow. The little ones would grow
fatter if they had plenty of milk."

"I like milk!" exclaimed Jamie, warmly.

"And we could make our own butter," said the practical John.

"I know Mr. Burrel, where I work, would be glad to let us pasture a
cow with his, if one of the boys would drive both of them," added the
father, "but we have no barn; so it is of no use to talk about it."

"I'll build one with the first money I earn teaching school!" exclaimed
Lizzie, laughing, and there the subject was dropped.

But Mr. Allen thought of it again, as he walked back to his work. He
thought, also, of a remark he had that very morning overheard his
employer make to a neighbor in regard to himself, and this was,—

"He's the most faithful, energetic man I ever knew. If he only had more
enthusiasm in his nature, I'd advance him at once to be head gardener;
for I see he's well informed."

The neighbor answered, "He owned a fine piece of property once, I've
heard, but was unfortunate, and lost everything."

For the first time, a feeling that there might be hope for him in the
future quickened his steps, and almost brought a smile to his lips.

"If I could get that situation," he soliloquized, "I should have the
pretty cottage on the grounds, and Mary could have the cow at once.
A dozen quarts of milk in a day does make a vast difference in the
expense of living."

Mrs. Lovell lengthened her visit from week to week, because she saw
she could be a help to her niece. A few dollars well expended made
a sensible improvement in the comfort of the family, and a few more
bought cloth, which Aunt Mercy's own hands made into garments greatly
needed.

Then the thoughtful old lady had begged a number of articles from
Lawrence, which she had foreseen would help replenish the wardrobe of
Mr. Allen against the coming winter, and enable him to accompany his
wife to church; for it was her earnest desire that the whole family
should be under the influence of faithful religious teaching. But at
last, the alterations necessary in these were completed, and Mrs.
Allen could find no excuse for urging her aunt to prolong her visit.
Mrs. Lovell's trunk was packed, and she only waited for a letter she
expected that morning from Lawrence before she started for home.

At last Jamie, the news-carrier, as he called himself, came in sight,
holding up an envelope, and shouting,—

"It's for you, Aunt Mercy; the letters are always for you!"

Though the old lady did not read it to the eager lookers-on, but
mysteriously folded and placed it in her pocket, we will take the
liberty to peruse it.

   "DEAR AUNT,—If the boy is what you describe, I will give him a start,
as you call it, but he must be very honest, active, and go-ahead,
in order to succeed here, where there are so many competitors for
fortune. He ought to be well grounded in arithmetic, and have a general
idea of bookkeeping, though he may never advance beyond a runner, or
errand-boy. I think well of your keeping him with you for the winter.

   "As to our own affairs, I suspect I made a mistake when I gave the
reins so completely into the hands of our kitchen functionaries. To
speak within bounds, they are four times as extravagant as when you
left. Indeed, the way they manage to treat their own guests, and cheat
ours of everything that is eatable, would furnish abundant material
for a modern novel-writer to publish a book entitled 'High Life below
Stairs.' Where all this tends, I am beginning seriously to inquire.
In the mean time, Lady-bird is just as sweet and beguiling as ever,
singing and smiling in the most delightful unconsciousness that
everything is not proceeding in the most approved manner. It is barely
possible that I may be obliged to go to France for a month or two in
the winter. If I do,—but I will write you further at another time.

                                "Yours most gratefully,

                                       "LAWRENCE EVERETT."



CHAPTER VII.

POLICE AND CRIMINALS.

"OH, Lawrence, what do you think has happened?" exclaimed Lily, one day
in early autumn, running to the door, as she heard his familiar ring.

"Perhaps I can guess," he answered, with a sad smile.

"Did papa tell you? I have been waiting so impatiently to ask you about
it! To think of mamma being willing to start off in such a hurry, and
then to sell the house and furniture! She thinks we had better take the
carriage and servants, since ours are beginning to be troublesome, but
it is all so strange and sudden, it quite takes away my breath."

He took her hand and led her to the sofa. Then, carefully closing the
doors, he seated himself beside her, and said,—

"Don't excite yourself, Lily, and I will tell you why it is necessary
that either he or I should go. I would have told you before, only that
I hoped the news by yesterday's steamer would have been such that all
danger to our firm would be averted. Your father, you know, has had
dealings with a large house in Paris for many years. We sold goods
for them on commission, and a very profitable business it has been
for both. Last month we heard that they were greatly embarrassed, but
hoped, in a few weeks, to be relieved by the payment of large sums due
them from India. Yesterday the news was so far from encouraging that
it becomes necessary for one of the partners to be in Paris at once to
prevent immense loss."

Mr. Everett spoke calmly, but with deep seriousness, and Lily, who was
closely watching him, said,—

"And was it this which prevented you from sleeping last night, and made
you look so very sober?"

"Yes, darling, I cannot deny it. I fear a great crisis is before us."

"Why don't you go yourself then? Papa says he confides greatly in your
judgment."

"He proposed it, but he is better acquainted with the business there
than I am; and then I could not leave you, Lily. I might be detained
six months or a year. We talked it over last night, but it was not
fully decided till this morning."

"But why does papa sell his house? He can never get another that he
will like so well, and the beautiful furniture that mamma has taken so
much pains to select."

He drew her closer to him, as he said, "Because it is certain that our
loss will be great, though we hope to save something from the wreck. It
is a terrible misfortune that has come upon us, darling. I look to you
to help me bear it patiently."

Oh, what a beaming smile she gave him! But he sighed deeply, as he said
to himself,—

"Poor child, she little knows the trials before her!"

"If all happens in Paris that you fear, shall we be very poor?" she
asked, innocently.

"Yes, Lily; we shall have to leave this beautiful home. I can no longer
surround you with luxuries, or buy you freedom from care. I shall have
to begin life anew, and how will you endure the change?"

He leaned his head on her shoulder, that brave Christian man, and sighs
that not all his trouble had caused, now made his breast heave as he
thought of her.

For a moment, the news was overpowering. Lily had, from her birth, been
surrounded by every elegance that wealth could create. She could not
quite realize what all this change would be. But she was a true wife,
and the first thought, after the stunning blow, was pleasure that she
had it in her power to comfort her husband. She looked in his face with
a smile, though her lips were tremulous and her eyes dewy, and said,
softly,—

"But you will have your Lady-bird still, and I can learn to work and
help you."

Oh, how he pressed her to his heart, and told her she was worth more
to him than a thousand fortunes! How he thanked her for bearing it so
nobly!

"You have stolen away my burden," he said again and again. "My greatest
fear was for you."

They talked a long time, unmindful of the repeated summons to dinner,
and then Lily, who had been trying to comprehend the detail of
business, whispered,—

"I read yesterday how the disciples, when they sorrowed, went and told
Jesus. I thought it so beautiful! Wouldn't he hear us if we told him
now, and asked him to help us do right?"

They knelt together side by side, while the husband poured their
sorrows into the ear of a sympathizing Saviour. Then they arose and
were comforted.

"Can you spare time to go round through the square with me?" inquired
Lily, as they arose from the mere form of eating. "I must be with mamma
all I can before she goes."

"Yes, Lily, but before that, I propose Aunt Mercy should come back and
help you get rid of the servants. She is a great manager. If I had
taken her advice, I should have been some richer than I am now."

"I will write a note asking her."

He nodded assent, and brought her portfolio from the library, waiting
with some curiosity to see what she would say. The note began:—

   "You will wonder, Aunt Mercy, when you read this. Lawrence and I are
no longer rich. We are quite poor. We are to leave this house, but
it is not decided where we shall live. Mamma goes with papa to Paris
immediately, to try to save some of the money there. Will you come
and help me learn to be economical? I cannot be grateful enough that
Lawrence has told me all about it, and lets me comfort him. I feel very
happy, but Lawrence says it is because I don't realize what is before
me. We shall see who is right. Please come as quickly as you can. Your
loving niece,

                        "LILY."

In twenty-four hours after receiving the above, the old lady landed at
her nephew's door. She was received with open arms by Lady-bird, who,
excepting that she was pale from a headache the previous day, looked
bright and cheerful as a May morning.

Presently Lawrence came in with a clouded brow, and, after saluting his
aunt with a kiss, exclaimed,—

"There is some rascality in this! Here is another bill from the
grocer's. We have never consumed this amount! Aunt Mercy, I wish you
had shipped the whole pack when you were here before."

"I don't imagine Tom was overjoyed to see me," she said, quietly. "He
scowled when he opened the door."

"We must get rid of them all at once, but take off your bonnet, and we
will talk about our arrangements. Mr. and Mrs. Percival sail to-morrow,
leaving me to dispose of their house, furniture, horses and carriages,
to the best advantage the times will allow. I suppose the whole may
bring thirty thousand dollars,—perhaps a third or quarter of what they
cost; and that is every cent they will have to live upon, unless our
affairs in France terminate more favorably than we dare to expect."

"It's a pity they didn't lay by something against a time of need like
the present," remarked the old lady, with her usual frankness.

"Papa was very rich, and he had no idea that French house would fail,"
urged Lily, earnestly.

"It's a very common thing, child, for riches to take to themselves
wings and fly away. But, Lawrence, I hope, when you were in the
floodtide of success, you settled something on your wife."

Mr. Everett colored. "No," he answered; "we talked it over, Mr.
Percival and I. He said Lily would be the heir to all they were worth;
and he thought I had better put my money into the business, where it
would yield a large profit. I'm sorry now I didn't do it."

"If you had merely put by what your servants have wasted or dishonestly
got rid of, you could have taken out a life-annuity that would have
kept her from want. But experience must be bought, and now you've
earned it; so we'll leave the past, and talk of the future. Have you
intimated to the servants that they must leave?"

"No, but I think they have a suspicion of it."

While they had been talking, Aunt Mercy noticed two or three times a
slight noise near the door; and now, without giving any notice of her
intention to do so, suddenly threw it open, when Tom, who was leaning
against it, fell sprawling into the room.

Darting a cautionary glance toward her nephew, she exclaimed to the
discomfited fellow,—

"Oh, Tom you're just the one I want! I wish you'd take my trunk
up-stairs; or, wait a minute till I've been up myself."

"I was just going to ask you if I shouldn't carry it there," muttered
Tom, in so grieved a tone that Lily, though trying to control herself,
nearly laughed aloud.

As the old lady came through the hall on her entrance, she remembered
to have seen Ann hurrying up the stairs with a conscious-blush
crimsoning her cheeks. Accustomed to watch every expression, she saw
that something unusual was going on, and, calling Lily one side, she
asked,—

"Have you examined your jewel-box lately?"

"No, but Ann says one of my pearl earrings is missing. I was going to
give her the other, as one was useless, but I remembered it was a gift
from a schoolmate."

"Have you any idea how many handkerchiefs, laces, or collars you have?
I mean could you tell if any were missing?"

Lily arched her eyebrows. She could not imagine to what these questions
were tending.

"I don't know," she answered, hesitating, "but Ann can tell."

"Perhaps so. We will ask her presently. Now I want you to stay in the
parlor, where you can keep watch of Tom while I speak with Lawrence.
Don't let him out of your sight a minute; talk to him if he leaves the
hall. I wont be long."

Calling her nephew into the back-parlor, she said, calmly,—

"The servants have found out that they will be dismissed, and are
preparing to go. Did you see how guilty Tom looked when discovered
listening? Ann, I have no doubt, is up-stairs selecting for her own use
articles from her mistress' wardrobe and jewel-box; and I dare say cook
is equally export in her department."

Lawrence started angrily toward the door.

"Stop!" said Aunt Mercy, authoritatively. "What are you going to do? If
you go out and charge it upon them, you have no proof; and they will
escape you. Now hear my plan. I was sure it would come to this, and am
only glad I am here now. Send Tom across the street for your friend Mr.
Dix. I saw him go in with his night-key when I came. Watch the fellow
closely that he goes nowhere else. Ask Mr. Dix to send for a couple of
police-officers. You will need two. In the mean time, keep Tom employed
under your eye without exciting his suspicion if you can, and take
yourself the key to the door. I will go below and see that no one goes
out there or comes in till the officers arrive. I have proof enough of
their purloining to have their trunks examined."

"I see, I see!" he said. "But poor Lily! I'm afraid the excitement will
be too much for her."

"Lily is not such a baby as you think her."



CHAPTER VIII.

DETECTION AND ARREST.

THEY parted, Mrs. Lovell with rather more caution than usual descending
the stairs to the basement, while her nephew returned carelessly to the
parlor. The kitchen was vacant, but a sound of voices in angry dispute
came from the pantry beyond. She advanced softly behind the door, where
she could distinctly hear all that passed.

"I'll take my oath I gave you three forks and two spoons the last time
you came. I remember I hid them in with the butter, and you said you'd
have to lump it over."

"I lost them then. I never saw them."

"I guess 'twouldn't take me long to find them!" was the angry retort.
"If you don't pay up handsome, as you promised, I'll confiss, and have
you put in jail."

"You daren't do it; you're too deep in for that."

The old lady peered through the crack behind the door, trying to get a
view of the speaker, but she could not, as he was standing outside the
window in the side passage.

"I will, I will! You've had more of the profits than we have. Tom and
I both agreed upon that. Feth, a good business you've made of it these
six months."

"Not more than you have. It's for our interest to keep friendly," said
the man, in a soothing tone. "Have you got anything for me to-day? If
it's my mistake about the spoons, I'll make it up, of course. Where's
Ann's bundle?"

"It's like a man of sinse, ye're talking now. Ann is packing some
finery of my lady's; and sure she's long about it. Give me the basket,
and I'll fill it while yer waiting. We must make the most of it; for
Tom says they're breaking up intirely, and we'll have to quit. Feth,
and I'm not sorry either; we couldn't go on much longer without those
detective gintlemen paying us a visit. I know 'em."

Cook now occupied herself with packing into the basket sundry articles
such as she had prepared for the occasion. Rich frosted cake was taken
from the drawer,—the woman's dress almost touching Aunt Mercy's as she
passed in and out of the pantry,—sugar, tea, coffee, napkins, towels,
two shirts of Mr. Everett's hanging on a clothes-frame; a large platter
of butter was brought forward. But the basket was already so full the
man promised to come again at night for it; and cook, laughing, said,
"I'll find something more against that time."

Mrs. Lovell in her retreat now began to be anxious for the arrival of
the police. She had seen through the front window Mr. Dix run up the
steps, and go away again, walking off at a rapid pace; and she knew
that they might be momentarily expected. Up-stairs, all was perfectly
quiet; and she hoped it would remain so for the present; for in case
Ann made her appearance in the kitchen, she would be discovered. Cook
would give the alarm, and the man outside take his flight.

In the pantry she heard the sound of silver coin; and presently cook,
in some indignation, exclaimed,—

"It's too little. Why, the shirts alone is worth all this!"

"But just think of my risk," he remonstrated.

"Give 'em back then! I wont be risking my soul to save ye for such a
trifle. Feth, it wouldn't pay the praist for confissing me. Give 'em
back! I'd no idea of yer maneness. It's absolute chating, it is."

To expedite his departure, the man had left the gate through which he
entered ajar. He saw an officer walking slowly past, gazing up toward
the house, and, much to the surprise of cook, with one bound, sprang
through the window, basket and all. Greatly to Mrs. Lovell's relief,
at this moment she saw a man in the dress of a police officer, walk
deliberately up the front-stops, his companion stationing himself
outside the gate.

"Howly Mary, help me!" shrieked the guilty cook, as she caught a
glimpse of Aunt Mercy, who was hastily crossing the kitchen to
report to her nephew, and have the man arrested. "Wait till ye hear
me confiss. It's the rogue of a Tom who stole these things and was
disposing of 'em to this rascal. I'll confiss everything, and bless you
as long as I live."

"You shall have a chance to confess," answered Mrs. Lovell, "but it
must be in the presence of Mr. Everett and the officers above stairs."

A perfect howl of rage came from the man in the pantry, while cook
began to cry aloud,—

"It's all your doings tempting me, when I had a dacent character."

Mr. Everett was talking earnestly in the hall when his aunt made her
appearance, pale with excitement, and told him what she had seen. The
officer nodded complacently. It was plain he liked the job. Walking to
the door, he sprung his rattle, and presently half a dozen men in blue
coats and brass buttons obeyed the call. To one of these he committed
the arrest of the man below, while he told the others to be on hand in
case any assistance was needed.

In the mean time, poor Lily sat trembling on the stairs, wondering what
Lawrence was doing with the stranger, and why Mr. Dix did not go into
the parlor instead of standing in the hall.

Making a sign of caution, Aunt Mercy went past her on to the chamber
already described, where Ann stood with an armful of clothes as usual,
waiting for the way to be cleared, so that she could convey them to
the kitchen. Wondering whether it would be best to call Lily and
examine the jewel-casket, the old lady stood a moment just before Ann,
who nervously strove to conceal something by covering an embroidered
wrapper over it.

"What have you there?" she asked, thrown off her guard by catching a
glimpse of silver.

"Nothing but what belongs to me!" was the angry retort.

"Let me see."

She threw back the wrapper and discovered an elaborately-chased
bouquet-holder, which the artful girl was carrying to her trunk.

"Mrs. Everett gave it to me! It's mine!" she screamed, forgetting for a
moment that her master was below.

Lily, hearing her name mentioned, came running in. Her cheeks were a
bright crimson, and her eyes had such a frightened stare that the old
lady determined at whatever cost to prevent farther excitement.

"You had better go to your room and put away your things," she said to
Ann, in a tone as calm as if nothing had occurred. "I will get your
mistress' hat; she is going out for a walk."

The girl gladly left the room, though she wondered not a little at
being allowed to do so, when Mrs. Lovell urged her niece to go to her
mother's until the dishonest servants were out of the house.

Mr. Everett, for the first time in his life, was pleased to have her
leave him, as he dreaded the coming scene for her sake. As soon as
she had gone, he went into the kitchen accompanied by Mr. Dix and an
officer, and sending for Ann and Tom, told them they had been detected
in stealing from him, and he should give them up at once to the
officers. The basket, packed to its utmost capacity, was brought in,
and Aunt Mercy was witness that the man who was in league with them had
implicated all the three. Cook shrieked and offered to confess, while
Ann tried to escape, and would have done so, but for the officer still
at the gate, who brought her back, saying,—

"No, no, you are too old for that. I think I've seen you before, my
lovely jail-bird."

Tom sat sullenly scowling at Aunt Mercy, believing her to be the one
who had brought this trouble upon them,—the only one in the family, as
he had often boasted to his companions, who had any sense. Mr. Everett
then ordered Tom to accompany them to his room while they examined his
trunk, but this he doggedly refused; nor would he give up the key until
loudly threatened with handcuffs by the officer.

I need not go into detail. In Tom's trunk, as well as in the cook's,
were found stolen garments, silver, and other things too numerous to
mention, while Ann's was a sight to behold. There was nothing too rare
or costly in her mistress' establishment for her to lay her hands on.
Wrought pocket-handkerchiefs, fine as a spider's web, laces, ornaments,
ribbons, underclothes, two flounced dresses, books, etc., etc., etc.,
were found rolled in her own coarse garments, and carefully hidden
under her common dresses.

Aunt Mercy stood with her hands uplifted in horror, while Ann burst
into a louder cry at every fresh discovery. At last, she shrieked in a
rage,—

"It's yerself as is to blame for it all. I was an honest girl till
I came here, where everything was open to my hand; and even after
yees knew that yer old aunt suspected us, ye bid us never to spake of
laving."

"Don't you believe it, Mr. Everett," said the officer, shrugging his
shoulders. "She's been caged before."

But he did believe it, and regretted, then and afterwards, that he had
sinned in placing temptation in their way. And he resolved, then and
there, whenever he had servants, to watch over them and labor for their
good. He was intensely relieved when the house was rid of the wicked
creatures, and he could have an hour or two before summoned to court
to appear against the grocer, Nolan, who had carried on so successful
a business with them. On the trial, it appeared so plain that this
man had been an accomplice from the beginning that his whole bill was
forfeited, and Mr. Everett finally recovered from Nolan between three
and four hundred dollars for provisions, besides table-linen, napkins,
and silver.

It was not until a late hour that Mr. Everett was at liberty to go for
Lily, who was with her mother. The articles taken from the servants'
trunks, and rescued from the clutches of Nolan, lay on the hall table
and scattered about the back-parlor. Mr. Everett calmly explained what
had happened to the astonished listener, taking the opportunity to
explain the duty of master and mistress to their servants, which, he
said, he was too conscious of having neglected.

"And where are they? What will become of them?" murmured poor Lily,
with blanched cheeks.

"Safe in jail, my dear, where they await their trial."

She gave a cry of horror, and trembled so excessively that they saw the
wisdom of having her away during the excitement. Aunt Mercy persuaded
her to retire at once, which she did, after wondering how they could
get along without breakfast.

"I'll send to the intelligence office the first thing," said Mr.
Everett.

"And have the same scene over again," rejoined Aunt Mercy. "No, I'll
go myself. 'Tisn't the first time I've been in search of servants. I
flatter myself I can tell an honest girl."

The next morning Lily made her appearance just as her husband was
pouring a cup of coffee of his aunt's manufacturing to carry to her
chamber. She was full of wonder at the idea of breakfast being ready.
And when she tasted the delicious waffles, in which delicacy Mrs.
Lovell prided herself that she excelled in, declared that nothing had
ever tasted so good.



CHAPTER IX.

A PLUG IN THE LEAK.

THE winter had passed; and the first breath of spring found our
family at the hut moving to the neat cottage on Mr. Burrel's grounds.
Finding his new gardener had boasted of skill he did not possess, the
gentleman, late in the winter, dismissed him, and advanced Allen to the
place.

They had been in their new home but a short time when it was
ascertained at the great house that Mrs. Allen was an experienced
dairywoman; and henceforth the care of making butter and cheese for the
family was committed to her. Aunt Mercy remembered her promise to find
a cow, which the new gardener had easily obtained permission to keep in
his master's barn.

Prosperity now seemed to dawn upon them, and they prized every comfort
far more than when they had never known what it was to be deprived of
it.

As soon as the light began to dawn in the east, the family were all
astir. The gardener's duties commenced early, and he wished, before he
left home, to give Mary all the assistance in his power. For an hour or
two in the morning, Lizzie, too, was able to help her mother,—skimming
the cream or preparing breakfast, but she had begun to attend a high
school in the village, which, as it was more than a mile from her home,
kept her away through the entire day.

John was absent at an academy, where Aunt Mercy had sent him for one
quarter, in preparation for his business in his cousin's store. Bell
and Carrie also attended school near by with Sarah and Ned, though
they still had their daily tasks at the chairs, at which business they
had become very skilful; and the proceeds of which helped greatly in
clothing them. Every dollar which Mr. Allen earned, he gave into the
hands of his prudent wife, and she knew what to do with them,—setting
aside for necessary family purposes a part, and laying by a certain sum
every week toward the accomplishment of a secret object very dear to
the heart of her husband.

Every month Mr. Allen regained more of his former cheerfulness. He was
often heard whistling at his work; and came home with a glad smile to
be welcomed by a whole troop of children, who needed now no prompting
in order to present their little offerings. On the Sabbath, quite a
procession from the cottage walked down the wide avenue on their way to
church. First Mr. Allen, with his wife leaning on his arm, the mother
leading restless Fred.; then Lizzie, leading another little one; and
Bell, a third,—all with that cheerful sobriety which proved that to
them church-going was not only a duty, but a pleasure.

Yes, Mr. Allen had learned the truth of the inspired writer,—"Be not
high-minded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God who
giveth us richly all things to enjoy," and had come at last to depend
on almighty help for guidance in the right path. He was now earnest in
teaching his children the Scripture, "Let him that thinketh he standeth
take heed lest he fall," illustrating the doctrine by a reference to
his own fall; while his wife reminded them how ready God is to hear and
answer prayer for the conversion of dear friends.

Mr. Burrel showed his approval of his gardener's industry and skill
by constantly adding to their comforts. At one time he visited his
cottage, and remarked that there was a fine opportunity behind the
barn for raising chicken's. The very next day Jamie came home with a
fine pair of fowls, a present from Mrs. Burrel. Later in the season,
when the farmer was ploughing the garden, his master laid off an acre
of ground, well fertilized, and told Allen he might plant it with
vegetables for his family.

As soon as the fruit ripened, Bell, Carrie, Jamie, and even little Fred
were busily employed in picking it for the use of their employers.
Strawberries, currants, raspberries, blackberries, each in their
season, together with peas and beans from the garden, were nicely boxed
and carried to the kitchen of the great house ready for use. Mrs.
Burrel often remarked that she had never before taken so much comfort
in her garden. In former years, when fruit was ordered for the table,
there was often the excuse that the servants were too busy to pick it,
or that it was not fully ripe.

"And the Allen children are so well brought up," she said, "so
respectful and attentive when addressed, and so thankful for any
favors!"

In this way, and by always being ready to oblige, the little ones won
many friends. The partly-worn garments of their friends were given to
Mrs. Allen, who astonished the donors by making them up for herself or
children so as to appear almost as well as new.


In Lizzie's vacation, Mrs. Burrel invited her to the mansion to assist
in a sudden emergency, and found her possessed of so much good sense,
and withal so lovely in disposition, that she determined to befriend
her. Aunt Mercy, when informed of all this, was not at all surprised.
She had always insisted that there was something about Lizzie better
than beauty, though the young girl had enough of that, which would
interest all those who knew her.

She had just passed her sixteenth birthday; her clear hazel eyes
beaming brightly upon one convinced the beholder that there was both
intellect and soul in the possessor. Her complexion was of that
exquisite fairness usually the accompaniment of auburn hair, the
abundant tresses of which were rolled off from her broad forehead in
a style peculiar to herself. Her mouth was rather wide, but finely
shaped, and disclosed a set of even teeth of pearly whiteness. Add to
this that Lizzie had a straight nose and tiny ears, the lower tips of
which were just visible beneath her hair, that her hands and feet were
small and well shaped, that her figure was slight and graceful, and the
reader can form a tolerably correct fancy in regard to her appearance.
With all this, she was exceedingly modest and diffident with strangers,
though her bright eyes would often sparkle with intelligence or mirth
when her shyness prevented any other display of her feelings.

With her father and brothers Lizzie had a wonderful influence. Indeed,
the only weakness he displayed on the point of expense, was in urging
his wife to subtract something from their treasured hoard and purchase
his favorite a silk dress for Sunday wear. But this Mrs. Allen wisely
refused. A white muslin for summer and a thibet for winter were quite
becoming enough and far more suitable for a girl in her circumstances.

Lizzie's heart was set on teaching, and as her father now not only
withdrew his objection to her returning to her native place, but for
some reason greatly wished it, she applied for a situation there in one
of the public schools.

It was a disappointment to all, and especially to Mrs. Allen, that Aunt
Mercy was still with her nephew in the city. But the family who had
moved into a part of her house readily agreed to take the young teacher
to board, in case her application was successful. The school was to
commence the third week in September, and the first Monday in that
month Lizzie was requested to meet the committee for examination. Her
heart beat painfully as she, in company with the daughter of her old
minister, went before them. But they were nearly all friends who had
known her from the cradle, and who wished to put the best construction
on her timidly-spoken replies. There was, however, one stranger present
who, though greatly interested in the applicant, feared she was too
youthful to maintain order in a district-school. He was the gentleman
who had recently purchased from the liquor-dealer her father's old
estate, and who had also been elected in his place on the school
committee.

"What do you say, Miss Lizzie?" smilingly inquired one of the
gentlemen. "Do you think you could keep the little ones to their
lessons?"

"I don't know, sir, but I should like to try," was the eager answer,
with so beaming a face that, as another friend remarked, "Lizzie has
always been in an orderly family."

Mr. Greenough withdrew his objection, and the young lady was duly
informed that the school would commence three weeks from that day. How
she succeeded, or whether she succeeded at all, will best be learned
by a letter she wrote her parents after a week's experience in her new
business.

   "DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,—This is Saturday afternoon, and I have
resolved to devote part of it to writing you a long letter.

   "I scarcely think Fred. or Nelly would know me, I have become so
dignified. Indeed, I scarcely know myself.

   "Though I have been in school only five and a half days, yet I have had
some exciting events, which I will relate, but first I must say that I
have thirty-four scholars, their ages varying from eight to fourteen
years. They are generally obedient and attentive to their studies, with
the exception of one boy, a black-eyed urchin, who began at once to
defy my government, and said openly that he would not have a chit of a
girl ordering him about.

   "On Tuesday morning, while the scholars were reading the Scriptures in
turn, he whistled aloud, and tried to make his companions laugh, but
I am glad to say they only seemed distressed for me. I know I looked
anxious, and my cheeks burned like fire, but I thought it best to take
no notice of his bad conduct for the time. In the afternoon, while I
was hearing a class recite in grammar (he had refused to come out of
his seat), he began to throw slate-pencils and wads of paper toward the
desk.

   "I looked at him as calmly as could and said,—

   "'I am sure there is no pupil here who wishes to disturb the
recitations. We can do nothing without order.'

   "'I shall do as I please, here or anywhere else,' he answered,
defiantly, and he whistled louder than ever.

   "Willie Greenough, a fine boy twelve years old, came directly to my
side, and stood there, as if he meant to defend me from insult, while
both girls and boys cried, 'Shame!'

   "During the remainder of the morning I had no trouble.

   "In the afternoon, Mr. Greenough came to visit the school. I saw Willie
smile when his father took the great chair on the platform, and judged
at once that he had been notified of our disturbance. At recess the
gentleman talked with me about Thomas Brown, the unruly boy. He said I
should not be troubled with him, for he ought to be expelled.

   "'Oh, no, sir,' I answered, quite forgetting my fear of the gentleman.
'I hope to make him one of my best friends and scholars yet. If I
cannot manage the school, I will resign it to somebody who can do so.
I feel quite confident Thomas will be a comfort to me by and by. It is
only a work of time.'

   "He smiled pleasantly.

   "'Well,' he said, 'I see you understand governing. I'll leave him with
you for the present, on condition if you have trouble, you will send
for me at once.'

   "'Thank you, sir,' I answered, 'but Willie is so stout a defender of my
rights, I have no doubt I shall get along very well.'

   "'Ah, yes,' he said, warmly. 'You have made a friend of Willie.'

   "I watched a chance for two days of talking with Thomas, but until
Thursday night I did not succeed. Then I came upon him suddenly, and
asked him to walk home with me.

   "At first he would scarcely speak. I tried to convince him I was his
friend, and at last, he said, sullenly,—

   "'I never could bear partial teachers.'

   "'How have I been partial?' I asked.

   "'You let Willie Greenough do just what he's a mind to; and you smile
at him ever so much. I saw you this morning when he gave you the
flowers.'

   "I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing, but I said,—

   "'Did you know, Thomas, I used to live where Willie does now? I had a
pretty garden then, and my father planted a rose-bush for me close by
the window. It bore beautiful blush roses; and it was a rose from that
very bush Willie brought me. When I smelled it, I was carried back to
the time I was a little girl, and used to pluck them for myself. Do you
wonder I was pleased with his little gift?'

   "'Well, you let him walk home with you 'most every day.'

   "'Of course I don't refuse his company, but I should have preferred
yours, because I wanted to talk with you.'

   "I then conversed with him about his studies and at last said, 'If
I can't teach you, I must leave; for I never shall consent to your
growing up ignorant on my account.'

   "We came at last to Aunt Mercy's gate. He stood a moment awkwardly
waking figures in the dirt with his foot, and his face as red as fire,
and then burst out,—

   "'You sha'n't leave for me. I like you tip-top, now!' And then he ran
off as fast as he could go.

   "This morning he brought me a large bunch of dahlias of a dozen
varieties, and I think he was satisfied by the way I received them that
I was not partial, unless it was to him.

   "He has recited in every lesson since, and has not missed one word.

   "This noon as I came by our old home, Mr. Greenough came out. I was
surrounded with girls and boys, who took turns in holding my hand. He
laughed heartily as he saw us, and said,—

   "'I congratulate you, Miss Allen, on your success.'"

   "I don't think I shall have any more trouble, though my rules are
stricter than they were at first, but I explain everything, and ask who
will help me. Thomas's hand was raised twice to-day, the first of any
one.

   "Mrs. Russell, where I board, is very kind, but I miss Aunt Mercy
dreadfully. Please send me John's letters as soon as you receive them.

                       "Your affectionate daughter,

                                            "LIZZIE."



CHAPTER X.

A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.

"I WONDER what is the reason some folks are always poor," muttered
Robert Carter, a neighbor of the Allens, and also employed by Mr.
Burrel on the farm. "I work as hard as anybody, but somehow I never get
along."

His wife, to whom the remark was made, thought it more prudent to
remain silent, having learned from painful experience that it is not
always wise to speak one's thoughts.

"There's Allen," the man went on. "He was as poor as poverty when he
came into town little more than a year ago. His expenses must be more
than mine, for he has two children to my one; yet he's prospered and
laying up money, besides sending off his children to school. I don't
see how it is. Sometimes I get to thinking about it and I'm clear down
at the heel."

"Why don't you ask Allen?" inquired his wife, seeing he expected her to
speak. "I'm sure I should be more'n glad to know their secret."

"'Tisn't no use; it's all luck. Some folks are born to prosper and some
isn't, that's it."

"Perhaps if we saved up a little money, husband, and sent Bob and Susan
to school, and kept Warren from robbing Mr. Burrel's garden, they might
get the job of picking fruit. I knew the Allen children earn a good
deal that way."

"What nonsense you talk, wife! All the fixing up and schooling you
could give our young uns would not alter it a hair. Mrs. Burrel's
prejudiced against 'em, and wouldn't let 'em among her vines for
nothing."

"It's worth making the trial, then; four cents a box for strawberries
and six cents a quart for shelled peas or beans, is something when it
comes every day. Mrs. Allen told me she'd speak to the mistress for
them if I wished. Even her little Fred. is trusted to weed, and he only
five years old."

"'Twould be worth all that to keep our boys at it," said the husband,
only half convinced. "They'd rather be off bird-nesting, or sitting
with their feet in the water."

"Yes, I suppose so, but they'll have to learn to work sometime, and, as
Mrs. Allen says, 'it's easier to form the habit when they're young.' I
was telling her what a sight of work there was in her children, and she
said they were like all children, fonder of play than of work, but the
habit was the thing. She had to drill them into it. 'So much must be
done, and then your time's your own.'"

"I never had a fancy for taming children down that way. If you have,
you're welcome to try, but don't bother me with it."

"Mrs. Allen says she'd rather have her children work, even if they get
nothing for it; and then she repeated off the prettiest verse. I can't
justly remember it, but it was about Satan finding work for the idle
hands. I thought of it all the way home, and I believe, Robert, if our
boys were made to work, they wouldn't bring us into disgrace with their
mischief."

"Wont you tell Mrs. Allen to mind her own business? I have enough
bother with her young ones jumping into the cart every time I go back
empty from the field."

"But you said, Robert, they were such mannerly little things it was a
pleasure to oblige them. There was always, a 'Thank you, sir,' or a
'Please, Mr. Carter, do I trouble you?'"

"Well, well! You've talked enough about it. Give me down my pipe, and
I'll smoke awhile before I go to bed."


"How much do you suppose your tobacco costs you?" asked Mr. Allen,
pleasantly, as his neighbor came walking toward him one day with a
piece of broken pipe in his mouth.

"Only the merest trifle. I don't smoke much."

"Well, how much—ten cents a week?"

"Rather more than that. I generally get two papers when I go to the
store."

"Say twenty-five, then, which is a low estimate. Have you ever reckoned
that in a year that sum would be thirteen dollars,—enough to buy a suit
of working clothes?"

"I don't see what you're driving at. I could sooner do without food
than without my pipe."

"So I thought once, but I haven't touched a cigar for fifteen months.
I was thinking of what you said about times being hard with you. It's
these superfluities that count up with us working men. You or I would
think it hard if our wives insisted every day on having a dainty meal
which they couldn't share with the family. But we men, who work no
harder than they do, spend money for what is no advantage to any one;
for I'm sure we're better off without it."

"I don't. I tried quitting it once, and I declare I was cross enough to
bite a board nail. There's difference in people, you see."

Mr. Allen laughed heartily.

"I know exactly how you felt," he said. "I grew thin and lost my
appetite, but I persevered, and now I wouldn't touch the vile weed for
the brightest guinea you could give me. You see, neighbor," he said,
warming with the subject, "smoking or chewing, and you do both, creates
a thirst that water don't satisfy. You may drink and drink, but there
will be a terrible craving still. Little by little, one is tempted
to try stimulants until the night and morning drams are thought as
necessary as the tobacco."

This was a sore subject to Carter; for his score at the oyster saloon,
where he went as regularly as to his meals, swallowed more than a third
of his wages. He felt inclined to resent this plain talk from his
fellow-laborer, but Allen had always been kind to him, and had it in
his power to befriend him farther.

"I think I know your thoughts," the gardener said, good-naturedly. "I
heard your wife talking to mine the other night, and wondering how we
got along so much better than our neighbors; and I thought then that
I'd have a little talk with you. I feel an interest in your family,
Carter, and in you, too, and I would be glad if I could help you to
better days."

"I can't say I like very well to have neighbors meddling in my
affairs," was the somewhat surly reply. "I think I'm as competent to
manage my business as most common men. I dare say you mean well, but
it's no use to argue about smoking and chewing and all them things, for
I never shall give 'em up."

"Well, Neighbor Carter, I'm glad you acknowledge that my motive is
good." And so they parted.

But Mrs. Allen did not cease her efforts for the benefit of her
neighbors. She encouraged Bell and Carrie to be kind to the children;
and herself often called in Bob, Warren, and Susan to eat a bowl of
bread and milk with her little flock.

Mrs. Carter now often came to her for advice. She was beginning to be
dissatisfied with her own way of living, and, under her neighbor's
judicious instruction, had commenced a reform in her housekeeping. She
exerted herself to the utmost to make their poor home appear pleasant
to her husband, and refrained from detailing the constant annoyances to
which her children subjected her by their thieving propensities. From
Mrs. Allen, too, she learned to cook a number of relishing dishes at
little expense, which, though he did not acknowledge it, went farther
toward convincing him that he might possibly do without his dram than
all else had done.

"So you've had a call from the great folks," he said, one evening on
his return from work. "I should think it was time they came, when I've
worked on the farm two years before they ever heard of Allen. But some
folks has the luck of attracting notice."

"It was Mrs. Allen asked her to call," urged Mrs. Carter, warmly, "and
she'd be a good friend to me and to you, if you'd let her. She spoke
very pretty to the lady for me, and I'm to go up for washing, to try if
I can do it to please the great folks."

"That's because she didn't want the washing herself. I aint so easily
taken in."

Mrs. Carter felt her blood boil with anger, but resolved, if possible,
to curb it. So taking a heaping platter of potatoes and a johnny-cake
from the oven, she proceeded to place them on the table.

Her husband sat down to eat in silence, the children as usual being off
on some frolic. But curiosity to hear about their visitors at length
prevailed over his ill-humor, and he said,—

"What did you find to talk about to the ladies?"

"I was after scouring the floor, and she praised me for keeping it
neat. She said, 'if a house was ever so poor or plainly furnished,
neatness might make it attractive.' Those were her very words. I minded
them well."

"Yes, Betsey," the man said, gazing about him with a condescending air,
"you do keep your room a great deal smarter than you used to."

Even this poor praise made her heart quite light, and she went on
frankly to say,—

"I have been thinking how I wish we owned this place. If we did, I
could paper the walls,—I learned when I was a girl,—and with the money
I earn at the great house, I could buy paint for the outside. Then I'd
add green blinds,—they make a house look so genteel, you know,—and have
a pretty patch of flowers in front. I do believe, husband, if we had a
tidy place of our own, the children would be proud to stay in it."

Her eyes beamed with pleasure at the picture she had drawn, but she was
suddenly let down from her heights of fancy by her husband, who said,—

"Wife, if you aren't too much lifted up by your green blinds, wont you
light my pipe? I'm going to the store."

"Oh, husband, if you will only stay with me! I know it hurts you to go
there so much. I'll fix me up, and we'll take a walk together, as we
used to. I made your tea real strong, so you wouldn't miss your drink.
Say, wont you?"

Whether it was the strong tea, or a newly-awakened desire to try the
effect of abstinence, Mr. Carter did consent to stay at home, and cut
wood for the rest of the evening, which concession so much elated his
wife's spirits that she planned a number of additional improvements if
the house were only their own.

Taking in washing, as she hoped to do, involved the buying of a new
clothes-line and pins. How to obtain them was the question, since, if
she asked her husband for money to go to the store, he would be likely
to say she had better give up at once, since it cost more to get ready
than the work was worth. The berries were now in their prime, and at
last, a lucky thought occurred to her.

"If Robert will consent for once to eat a cold dinner, I will take the
children and go into the woods for the day."

Robert did consent, though not very graciously.

"I can do it," he answered, "but I'm sick of improvements, as you call
them, since I must be shut out of my own house, and left to eat dinner
like a dog from a pail."

But at night, when she returned laden with the fruits of her industry,
and even Bob in possession of a large basket of berries, which
he eagerly declared he could sell for ten cents a quart, the man
acknowledged they had made a good day of it, and recommended them to
follow the business.

Mrs. Allen had many times urged her neighbors to send their children to
the Sabbath-school, but had always been met by the excuse that they had
no suitable clothes. Now, by means of much coaxing, she persuaded them
to go berrying day after day, until, besides the new line and two dozen
of pins, they had earned enough to buy cloth for two calico dresses,
two jackets, and a pair of pants. These her kind adviser gladly cut for
her, explaining, meanwhile, that, in the families of the poor, many a
penny may be saved by making one's own garments instead of buying them
at the shops.

It was quite an era in the Carter family when, one fine Sabbath morning
in September, Bob, Susan, Warren, and Nora started off together for
Sabbath-school.

Even Mr. Carter was conscious of some degree of pride as he saw them
walk away from the house neatly dressed, while the passers-by turned
again and again to gaze at them.

"Why didn't you buy yourself a gown?" he asked, suddenly turning to his
wife, who was standing in the doorway, shading her eyes to see the last
of the children.

"Me? Oh, my turn will come by and by. I want to fit you out next."

He said no more, but on Saturday night brought her a silver dollar,
the exact sum he had saved by going without his morning and evening
dram,—the exercise of which self-denial cost him more than he cared to
acknowledge.

The woman was in raptures, declaring it was worth more to her than a
dozen new gowns; that she'd be willing to wash day and night, to go
without new dresses, if he would only give up his visits to the saloon.

In truth, Mr. Allen's friendly warnings and his wife's hopeful visions
were not without their effect, though not for his little finger would
he acknowledge it to any one. He began to doubt whether it was all
luck, as he had so often declared, and whether his own habits might not
have something to do with it.

The first step he took toward reform was to seize Bob and Warren, as
they lay sunning themselves in front of the house, and give them a
smart flogging for their laziness, assuring the astonished youngsters
that they were old enough to earn their own living, whereas they now
didn't earn the salt to their porridge.



CHAPTER XI.

ONE LEAK STOPPED.

AND now, dear reader, I will invite you to accompany me to a tasteful
cottage in the suburbs of the great commercial city in which the early
scenes of our story are laid.

Descending from the omnibus in the great thoroughfare passing directly
by the house, we turn into a rustic gate and enter a narrow path,
so shaded by shrubbery that the walls of the cottage are scarcely
visible. The building is of rough stone, of Gothic architecture, a
wide portico running along in front of the door far enough to take in
the long window on either side. Over the parlor window at the end,
a pretty balcony is thrown out, giving expression, as Downing says,
to the house. The other end, which is the sunny one, the windows are
almost concealed by a luxuriant growth of woodbine, which is trained on
trellises and then runs up to the roof.

Glancing from side to side, as we pass on to the door, we see that the
walk is lined with ornamental shrubs, smoke-trees, and a few plants,
among which the scarlet geranium and a fine growth of verbenas are
prominent. In the front portico hangs a bird-cage, from which comes a
gush of song to welcome our arrival, but a far prettier scene than that
without awaits us as we enter. The rooms below—a parlor on one side
and library on the other—are open, but vacant. The hum of voices from
the chamber arrests our attention, and we softly advance up the black
walnut staircase, past the beautiful statue of a flower-girl in the
niche, on toward the door of the room. It is a sacred picture. Dare we
intrude?

In the foreground, stands a tall gentleman, receiving from the arms of
an old lady his first-born son, while the beautiful mother, pale as the
lilies whose name she bears, looks on with mingled tears and smiles.

"Don't be afraid of the little creature!" exclaims Aunt Mercy, her
countenance showing how fully she enters into the scene. "He's neither
sugar nor salt, and wont melt in your hands."

"But it does seem so very small!"

"Bigger by a couple of pounds than you were, Lawrence. He's a good
stout fellow, considering."

A feeble wail from the infant caused the father to press his lips
softly on the tiny cheeks, and resign it quickly to the more
experienced arms of his aunt.

"Perhaps he's hungry," murmured Lily, with an anxious glance at the
roll of flannel. "Oh, I wish babies could talk!"

A holier, deeper light beamed from her eye as her husband took his
customary seat near her.

"Only think," she said, with a smile, "the doctor says I shall be able
to ride out in a week. I wish mamma could see baby. Oh, I never knew
babies were such little darlings!"

"Aunt Mercy is in her element now," he exclaimed, laughing. "I suppose
that is the way she used to fondle me."

She drew his head down to the pillow and whispered,—

"Oh, Lawrence, my heart is full of love and thanks to Him for this
precious gift! I never knew before what happiness was. How can I best
show my gratitude?"

"We will try to train our child for his service," was the low-spoken
rejoinder.


Weeks flew by with rapid wings. A happy household was that where God
was loved and honored. Lily's heart was full of joy. Every morning,
with her own hands, she washed and dressed her babe, murmuring soft
words of endearment, and then she folded his tiny hands in hers, and
offered sweet, earnest petitions in his behalf.

"He shall never remember when he learned to pray," she said one day to
her husband; "for he might not have one so tender and patient to teach
him as I had; and then I lost so many years of happiness."

Lady-bird had become a full convert to Aunt Mercy's opinion that every
wife should know how to order her own family. At first, indeed, she
begged the old lady to do it for her, at least while she was with them,
but the answer was,—

"'Twont do to transfer your responsibility to my shoulders. I'll help
you all I can, but you are mistress here."

It was trying to the young mother to tear herself away from the
nursery, even though Master Harry lay sound asleep in his cradle, but
she was convinced Aunt Mercy was right. So, tucking up her dainty white
cuffs, and donning an apron, she ran laughing to the kitchen to take
lessons in bread and cake making.

Little by little, with the judicious advice of an experienced hand
over at her side, Lady-bird learned to cook and oversee Maggie, a
ruddy-faced Scotch girl, who had come to them directly after the exit
of cook and Ann. Step by step, she gained an insight into the mysteries
of soups, roasts, puddings, and waffles, until one day, when Lawrence
brought a guest unexpectedly home to dine, she told him, with a smile,
and a blush, that the dinner was entirely cooked by her own hands,
while Aunt Mercy sat by holding Harry in her arms.

[Illustration: TRUE HAPPINESS.]

The visitor was a merchant of great wealth, one who had known Lily for
many years during his occasional visits to the city. He had learned
of their pecuniary trials, and had so great a curiosity to see how
she would bear the change from luxury to comparative poverty that
he readily accepted Mr. Everett's invitation to make a visit at the
cottage. On their way, he hinted at the subject, saying, cautiously,—

"I presume Lily misses her parents and all the elegances of her former
position."

But the husband only smiled. "Yes," he said, "it is a great change for
her certainly. Lily—But she will tell you about it."

"I never knew a child more petted and indulged than she was," rejoined
Mr. Abbott. "Every wish of her heart was gratified."

Again that peculiar smile, and at this moment Lawrence announced that
they had reached home.

Lady-bird had not given up her old habit of opening the door for her
husband, and came running down the stairs at the first sound of his
step on the walk, bringing her babe in her arms. A crimson merino
dress, for it was now chilly weather, gave a beautiful rosy tinge to
her cheek, a little knot of ribbon doing day for a breastpin, while her
eyes beamed with happiness.

"Oh, Lawrence!" she began, joyfully, when, seeing Mr. Abbott, she
checked herself, and extended to him a cordial welcome.

"Come right in here," she said, leading the way to the library, where a
bright coal fire was blazing in the grate. "Come, and I will show you
my boy."

"Mr. Everett, you have played me false!" exclaimed the gentleman,
warmly. "You have been telling me of your losses, but Lily looks as gay
as if she had become heir to the wealth of the Rothschilds."

"Do you mean losing our money?" asked Lady-bird, opening wide her eyes
in astonishment. "Because that was the greatest blessing that could
have happened to us. I have learned a great deal I shouldn't have known
otherwise."

"Truly, then, you can say, 'Sweet are the uses of adversity,'"
rejoined the gentleman, laughing. "But I am neglecting to cultivate
the acquaintance of this little fellow, a fine specimen certainly. I
congratulate you both on the possession of such a prize."

Dinner was usually served as soon as Mr. Everett came home, and Lily,
leaving her boy with his father, ran out to cast a glance over the
table, and see that all was right. Everything was in order, and she
needed only to add an extra plate.

"How glad I am," she said to Aunt Mercy, "that the roast came out so
nicely browned, and then my dumplings are such a success!"

"The proof of the pudding is in the eating, child," was the smiling
rejoinder.

"This is a great occasion for us," remarked the husband, when grace had
been said. "This is Lily's first effort at cooking an entire dinner."

"Mrs. Everett cooking! I can scarcely credit it. What would your
fashionable acquaintances say?" asked the gentleman, in pretended
astonishment. "Well, I think wonders never will end. I should have
thought of almost any one in my knowledge undertaking such business
before you."

"I think, sir," remarked Aunt Mercy, "you never could have known our
Lady-bird, or you would have been sure that she would do this very
thing."

"Well done, Aunt Mercy! You see," exclaimed Mr. Everett, "Lily has
stout defenders here."

"So you will have to be careful how you slander me," added the young
wife, blushing.

"I can tell you how it is in a word," explained the gentleman. "When
I was married, I was in a thriving business and began housekeeping on
too large a scale. It took us but a few months, with Aunt Mercy's help,
to find out there was a dreadful leak in our expenses, and we have all
taken hold in earnest to stop it."

"And what does mamma say to all this?"

Lily's eyes sparkled with merriment, as she replied,—

"She don't know what to say. She can't believe me when I write her that
I can make custards and fricassee chickens and scallop oysters. She
don't understand how I can be so happy in this little cottage. She has
never seen our dear little household angel. She writes doleful letters
of sympathy in reply to my merry ones, and only wishes I could be with
her in Paris, where she is visiting and fêting so gayly. I think if she
could see me in the morning, making coffee and muffins for breakfast
with my apron on, she would weep over me."

Lily ended with a sweet, musical laugh, so hearty that all her hearers
joined in it.

"Aunt Mercy could tell you a long story of my inefficiency when she
first knew me," the young wife went on. "I had not the least idea of my
duties as the mistress of a household, but thought they consisted in
watching at the window for my husband and running to open the door for
him."

"Ah, Lady-bird! Who is slandering my wife, now?" asked Lawrence, with a
tender glance in her face. "You know you find time to do that now with
all your care."

"I shall be warmly received among your old friends, Mrs. Everett," said
Mr. Abbott, "when they know I have been to visit you."

"Oh, no! We have had many visitors, but you are welcome to tell all
who are interested to know that we would not go back to our palace in
Montgomery Place, and be as rich as we once were, for anything. Would
we, Lawrence?"

"I am perfectly content with my present lot," he said, so warmly, that
Mr. Abbott nodded approval.

With the coffee Master Harry was brought in, and sat in his father's
lap, while the delicious beverage was discussed and enjoyed. And then
Mr. Everett reluctantly left for the city, saying, "I must not be
behind the rest in stopping the leak. I work hard in these days."



CHAPTER XII.

A SECOND LEAK STOPPED.

EARLY in the winter John Allen came to the city, and after some
discussion, it was concluded to give him a home at the cottage, and
thus shield him from some of the many temptations which would surround
him. He was an ardent admirer of his Cousin Lily from the first moment
he saw her; and speedily ingratiated himself into her favor by the
attention he paid little Harry. John had brown hair, which curled close
to his head, and nothing pleased the baby better than to get his tiny
fingers tangled in the locks, and then hear John exclaim, with a start,
"Oh! Oh, dear!"

At the store, John strove to please, laying up every cent of his wages
to help stop the leak at his own home. Mr. Everett soon agreed with
Aunt Mercy that there was something in the boy, and resolved to give
him a chance to succeed.

From Lizzie, John heard regularly, sometimes receiving letters she
had written home, and at others epistles directed to himself. She
had succeeded so well during the fall term, and the scholars plead
so earnestly that she would remain, that the committee concluded to
leave the winter school in her hands. There was double the number
of scholars, some of them older than herself. But, as Mr. Greenough
remarked to the other members of the committee, with all her mirth
there was a dignity about their new teacher which would carry her
triumphantly through many difficulties.

The vacation was passed with John in his new home, where the merry
girl speedily became a great favorite. Indeed, the first tears that
Lady-bird had shed at the cottage were when parting from her young
visitor. She had so many queer experiences to relate of her scholars,
so much to say of the kindness of the committee, and withal was so
helpful, in the kitchen and nursery, that both Lily and her husband
begged her to give up her school and pass the winter with them.

One incident which occurred during her visit I must not forget to
relate. The candles were lighted-one evening, and Lizzie was having a
game of frolics with Harry on the floor, while Mr. and Mrs. Everett
were laughing spectators, when there was a ring at the door, and
presently Maggie ushered in a tall, thin stranger. Lizzie sprang so
quickly to her feet that she upset the baby,—blushes burning on her
cheeks, when she introduced the gentleman as "Dr. Greenough."

"What a sly girl," whispered Lily, when the couple were so much
absorbed as not to notice her, "pretending to be such a confidential
friend, and yet keeping back that she had a lover!"

"Hush, Lady-bird!" was the cautious rejoinder. "He will hear you; and
I can see by his manner that though he is a lover, he has not yet
declared himself."

"I shall just go and call Aunt Mercy, and see what she says to all
this."

The old lady had merely seen the family of Mr. Greenough at church,
having been absent most of the time since their arrival; and now she
fixed her keen eyes on the young man, as if she would read him through.
He bore the scrutiny very well, while Lizzie, whose eyes were running
over with merriment, sat smiling to herself at Aunt Mercy's questions.
He was son of the Mr. Greenough who had been so kind to Lizzie in the
school. He had graduated from college, had just finished the study of
medicine, and was intending to accept the offer of the old physician
in N—, to go into partnership with him. This was the substance of the
information Mrs. Lovell's questions elicited from him.

She grew a trifle more gracious, and went on with her catechizing,
resolved to test well the character of a man who was so evidently
making love to her favorite niece. In the course of the conversation,
it came out that for several years he had been a church-member; and
some remark he made concerning the aged pastor satisfied her that
he was a possessor, as well as a professor, of religion. She leaned
back in her chair with an air of so much relief that both Lady-bird
and Lizzie, who had been closely watching them, found difficulty in
restraining their mirth.

Dr. Greenough well understood and appreciated the object of her
inquiries. When they were through, he gave Lizzie so arch a glance
that she was obliged suddenly to leave the room in order to maintain
the dignity of a school-teacher. When she came back, the conversation
turned on her school,—the marked improvement in Thomas Brown, the
devotion of her friend Willie, and the prospect for the ensuing term.
At a late hour the gentleman, with evident reluctance, took his leave,
after having obtained permission to accompany her back to N—.


It is now time that we inquire how Mr. Allen succeeds in stopping
the leak made by his intemperate habits. Bell, Carrie, and Ned made
themselves so useful that, besides attending school, they earned a
considerable part of the money necessary for the actual outlays of the
family. The little ones saved their pennies for shoes and hats, while
Mrs. Allen did her full part in putting everything, in doors and out,
to the best use of which it was capable. Besides what she earned in
the dairy, her own cow was so profitable that she was able to make
more butter than the family used, which she readily disposed of at the
store in exchange for groceries. Every moment of her time was turned to
good account,—making, repairing clothes for herself and children from
garments given her at the great house, or knitting for winter wear at
intervals, while she superintended the movements of her older girls in
the kitchen.

In this way Mr. Allen was enabled to lay by almost the whole of his
wages toward the secret object of his desires. What this was, no one
but his wife knew. But now it was necessary to put the funds he had
gathered in some place where they would be earning interest, and he
resolved to take Aunt Mercy into his confidence. He did so in the
following letter:—

   "TO MRS. MERCY LOVELL:

   "DEAR AUNT,—We have been hoping for a visit from you. But as John
writes there is no probability of your leaving the city for the
present, I wish to write you confidentially on a subject of great
importance to me.

   "As soon as I came to my right mind after leaving N—, I began to ask
myself whether there was any hope that I might recover the estate left
me by my father. For a long time I did not speak of it even to Mary,
but I used to lie hour after hour in the night pondering the subject,
and making plans to get it out of the hands of the man who I am
convinced took advantage of my habits to cheat me.

   "From the first Mary has encouraged me to hope, and she has done more.
Without one word of repining and complaint that I had brought this
trouble on her, she cheerfully promised to aid me in saving every cent
we could spare from our family expenses toward the attainment of that
end.

   "Since that, the estate has been purchased, as you know, by Mr.
Greenough, who has laid out large sums in improving the land,
ornamenting the house, and also in adding about twenty acres to the
original homestead.

   "Against all this I have now four hundred dollars by me, which I wish
to invest safely where it will accumulate. A small sum you will say to
repurchase an estate worth seven thousand dollars, but I hope now to be
able to add rapidly to my stock, while real estate is rather falling
than rising in value.

   "I have questioned Lizzie closely in regard to the present owners,
though she has not the most distant idea of my intention. She says
there are two sons, neither of them intending to be farmers, that Mr.
Greenough himself is not a practical farmer, but he has retired from
the life of a merchant in consequence of feeble health, and that Mrs.
Greenough much prefers the city.

   "Upon these facts I build my hopes that by and by he may be induced to
sell the place, even if he retains a mortgage on it. I feel sure that,
with the experience I have gained here, if I could live there, I could
make the crops so valuable that I could soon pay off any incumbrance
on it. Will you do me the favor to consult Mr. Everett in relation to
funding my small sum? Until I am back in my old position, I never shall
feel that our terrible leak is stopped.

                "Your affectionate nephew,

                              "JOSEPH ALLEN."

"There isn't much prospect of his ever realizing his hopes," murmured
Aunt Mercy, deliberately folding the letter and taking off her glasses
to reflect upon the subject it contained. "Joseph doesn't seem to
suspect that Mr. Greenough's son and his Lizzie are so friendly.
'Twould be strange indeed if the young people should have the farm.
Well, I'll talk with Lawrence about investments. I wouldn't discourage
Joseph for the world; and if he is likely to succeed, there's a
thousand or two I might loan him to begin with. I should be sure of the
interest, and I sha'n't live to want it a great while. No, 'twont do to
discourage him."

The next day she wrote an answer stating two ways of investing his four
hundred dollars where it would yield a good income, and at the close
hinted that in the county bank there were a couple of thousand dollars
which he was welcome to use whenever he wished.

"I wonder what good news Allen has heard," exclaimed Mr. Burrel one
evening to his wife. "He's had a broad grin on his face every time I've
met him."

"He always looks smiling," was the quiet, response.

"Yes, but not as he has to-day. I've heard him whistle often, but
there's something new I'm sure. Well, he's a faithful fellow, and I was
fortunate to secure him."

"Mary told me something of their former history the other day," said
Mrs. Burrel, which accounts for their being so different from most in
their position. "They were quite wealthy when they were married. Mary
says she never knew what it was to have a want unsupplied till she had
been married five years."

"Allen took to drinking, and lost everything; he told me that himself,
when I first hired him. He is a stanch temperance man now. I can see
the effect of his example on the other men. There's Carter has improved
wonderfully of late."

"All Mary's work," was the smiling response. "She began with the wife.
Carter fought her for a long time, and forbade his children speaking to
Mr. Allen's, he was so bitter."

"I really feel a curiosity to know what good fortune has happened to
him," murmured the gentleman, thoughtfully.

"Probably favorable news from Lizzie or John; both, I know, are
prospering. I'll ask Mary, when I see her, what she hears from them."



CHAPTER XIII.

FAILURE FROM LEAKS.

IT was midsummer of the next year when Aunt Mercy returned for a visit
to her old home, and Lily with the baby accompanied her. The little
fellow was teething, and the old lady advised a change of air.

Lizzie was just through her summer term, and was hesitating whether to
engage for the winter, when they arrived. She was eager to take advice,
and was easily persuaded to delay her return home for a few weeks.
Dr. Greenough long before this had ventured to tell the young teacher
that he was earning a home for her; and now he urged her to give up
teaching, as his business was sufficiently profitable to justify him
in taking a wife. He called at once upon Aunt Mercy, hoping to win her
over to his views, as, since that first catechizing, as he termed it,
she had been a firm friend.

But, after hearing all his arguments, she agreed with Lizzie that it
would be better to wait another year. His business, it was true, was
extending, but he was dependent entirely on his parents for means to
commence housekeeping. While if they postponed their marriage a year,
his expenses were slight, living as he did at his father's, and she
could be earning something toward her outfit. At the end of that time,
she would be only eighteen, quite young enough, Aunt Mercy thought, to
assume the cares of housekeeping.

Lily plead for the young physician, and made Harry fold his hands and
say, "Pease, tousin."

But, though Lizzie loved her all the more for this interest in her
friend, she was convinced that Aunt Mercy was right.

The doctor submitted rather ungraciously to this decision, but was
obliged to be content with her laughing promise to be very dutiful at
the end of the prescribed period.

One evening he called, and the conversation turned on Aunt Mercy's
favorite subjects, prudence and economy. He remarked,—

"If young people would only begin right, there would be no need of
their spending half their lives in stopping the leak."

Dr. Greenough laughed.

"I never heard that term before," he said, "but it is so applicable to
a case I knew in college, I must tell you the story.

"In my Sophomore year I became acquainted with a young man, a
classmate, by the name of Storm. His parents lived in the city, only
three miles from college; and I used often to accompany him home. Mr.
Storm lived in great splendor in one of the most fashionable streets,
keeping his carriages of different sorts for the convenience of the
family. But his especial delight was his library, which was one of the
most extensive private libraries within my knowledge. He had a perfect
passion for books; and everything rare, antique, or elegant could be
found on his shelves. He employed agents in England to search for books
new and books old to add to his immense collection."

"I should call that his leak," remarked Lily, laughing.

"Indeed, it proved so; but I am too fast for my story.

"Horace, my friend, was a great reader, and could gather up the
knowledge contained in a volume quicker than any person I ever knew. He
never passed a book-store or an antiquarian stall without stopping to
purchase, if he found anything to admire. I have known him spend twenty
dollars day after day in this manner. And when once I remonstrated, he
laughingly assured me that his father had given him 'carte-blanche' in
the purchase of literature.

"I used to go home with Horace once a week regularly. There was a young
lady," he added, with an arch glance at Lizzie, "very pretty and very
desirous of fascinating; and then we used often to run to the city for
an hour in the evening, especially if my friend had found any rare
volume to add to his father's collection.

"Besides books, paintings of every description were included in Mr.
Storm's mania. There was a large hall in his house, and the walls were
completely lined with elegant paintings and engravings.

"Suddenly I noticed that Horace ceased to call for me to go home with
him. He bought no more books, and grew daily more gloomy. To all my
questions he answered, petulantly, 'There is nothing the matter.'

"But one day I was astonished more than I can tell you by finding a
note from him on my table, when I returned from recitation. It simply
said,—

   "'DEAR ALBERT,—The game is up. There is no need for me to conceal
longer what by to-morrow will be in all the papers. My father has
failed in business for a large amount, double what he is worth.
Everything has gone with a crash,—library, paintings, statuary, and
all. My parents leave for Europe in the next steamer, unable to meet
the loss among old friends. I am penniless, and have lost faith in
everybody. Perhaps even you, the best friend I ever had, will forsake
me; if so, life is worthless.

                         "'HORACE STORM.'"

"Poor fellow!" faltered Lizzie. "But I'm sure I've heard the name
somewhere."

"Do you remember the gentleman who called with me one day at your
school to inquire for Willie? He wore at that time gray spectacles."

"Oh, yes, indeed!"

"That was Horace. He was passing a few days with me, and I had told him
about a certain teacher whose services I was trying to engage for life.
He had a natural curiosity to see her, and so I—"

"Oh, the depravity of man!" exclaimed Lily, pitying poor Lizzie's
embarrassment. "And so you planned a wicked excuse to criticise my
little cousin?"

"You had better finish your story, doctor," coolly remarked Aunt Mercy.

"I have little more to say. The family embarked for Europe."

"Pretty young lady and all?" archly inquired Lily.

"Yes, the young lady, and as much property as they could manage to
get together unknown to the creditors, leaving my classmate, who had
too much honor to accompany them, to look out for himself. He had
been troubled for a year with affection of the eyes, or he would
have accepted the offer of the professors, and finished his college
course. But the distress he was in, together with his sleepless nights,
aggravated the difficulty, and he had to give up study altogether. He
tried to get employment, and for a year peddled books and engravings
from house to house."

"Where is he now?" eagerly asked Lizzie.

"He is teacher in a deaf and dumb asylum, for which he has a singular
aptness. The influence he has over the scholars is wonderful. He is a
noble fellow, as you will all say, when I tell you to what use he put
his first earnings in the institution. When the family broke up, his
mother owed a poor seamstress over fifty dollars, which she could ill
afford to lose. Somehow Horace found it out, and sent her the money,
though at the time he was greatly in need of clothes."

"There are a great many good people in the world!" exclaimed Lily, with
deep feeling. "I should like to know that man, and to have Harry know
him when he is older."

"If he could do it, he would like to stop the leak which his parents'
extravagance has made, especially his father's passion for books,
statuary, and paintings, which were, most of them, sacrificed for a
song."

"Where are his parents now?"

"Still in France. They would scarcely venture back. Horace rarely
mentions them. But he did say that they had not escaped from trouble
by fleeing the country. They were living, the last I knew, in a little
village, where Mr. Storm had found some business: barely sufficient to
support them. His mother embroidered collars to eke out a living."

"And the pretty young lady?"

"Her fate is too sad to repeat," was the concise reply, in a tone which
prevented farther remark.

"Fortunately, Aunt Mercy, you were at hand to prevent so dreadful a
result to our leak," faltered Lily, looking up from her babe with a
smile and a tear. "I shall teach Harry to live so prudently that there
will be no leak."

"But, Mrs. Lovell, don't you approve of giving in charity?"

"You don't know her as well as we do, or you wouldn't ask that," urged
Lizzie, in an enthusiastic tone.

"Certainly I do," was the old lady's reply, "but we must give what is
our own, and not what we owe for debts. I don't believe in doing, as
one of my father's acquaintances did, and give so profusely that his
own family came to want, and his wife, with her two daughters, was
obliged to resort to slop-work to save themselves from starvation. They
worked day and night, trying to stop the leak the husband and father
had made by his injudicious generosity, until, at the end of two years,
the daughters fell ill of disease, brought on by close confinement, and
died, and the broken-hearted mother soon followed them."

"But this kind of leak is very uncommon; for more err in giving too
little, rather than too much. There ought to be system and judgment in
benevolence as well as in anything else."

Lady-bird blushed. This had been a fruitful source of discussion
between them. A generous impulse led the wife to give everything she
possessed to the first needy object which presented itself. In this way
she was frequently imposed upon, and afterwards regretted her charity.

"All can't expect to be as shrewd judges of character as you are," she
urged, half laughing. "You know you discovered Tom was a rogue the
first time you saw him."

"Yes; and it didn't take me long to find out Ann either. But we must
allow experience to be our teachers. When a man or woman comes to my
door with a voluble story of destitution, which they roll off their
tongues like a parrot, I suspect they are telling me a false tale.
You remember how quickly that poor woman dropped her mask of piety
the other day, and began to curse me, when I pointed out to her some
inconsistencies in her story."

"But, Aunt Mercy," urged Lizzie, "I have heard you say you had rather
give to ten impostors than have one really destitute go from your door
unrelieved."

"And so I had, but there is generally not much difficulty in discerning
who are really needy, or to distinguish between those who are suffering
for want of employment and who are too lazy to work."

"Giving to the poor is one of the luxuries I find it very hard to be
deprived of," faltered Lily, gravely. "I often ask myself what if my
boy should ever be in want of food? Wouldn't I wish some one to take
compassion on him, even if he were indolent?"

"I think my father's way a good one," remarked Dr. Greenough. "He lays
by so much every month for charitable purposes, though he often exceeds
it in emergencies, promising himself to make it up the next month. He
is cautious, though, in the selection of his objects."

"Which makes his money go twice as far," added Aunt Mercy, smiling.



CHAPTER XIV.

HOME VERSUS OYSTER SALOON.

"HOW much is there in the teapot now, wife?"

This question was put by Robert Carter, as he saw Betsey, mounted on a
chair, dropping some pieces of silver coin into an old earthen teapot
which stood on the upper shelf of the cupboard.

"The last time I counted it there was fifty dollars lacking a few
pennies, and since that you've given me three from the week's wages,
beside the trifle I and the children has earned."

"At this rate, we shall get leave to purchase the house when we're as
old as Methuselah."

"Oh, Robert, you're always for a joke!" replied Betsey, being in
earnest not to allow her husband's interest to flag. "Wait till I tell
ye what the plan is. Mr. Allen explained it all over to me.

"Mr. Morrison offers to sell the house and the little patch belonging
to it for five hundred dollars. When we get one hundred scraped
together, he will give us a writing, and take a paper—I forget what he
called it—for the remainder."

"A mortgage, I suppose."

"Yes, that's it; and then we sha'n't be paying out money for rent. All
we pay will go toward the house."

"What nonsense you do talk, Betsey! We shall have to pay interest for
his money."

"But Mr. Allen says it wont be half as much as the rent, and then it
will be such a comfort to think we are going to have a home of our own.
I shall plant a rose-bush under the window; Bell Allen has promised
me one. And we can have potatoes and cabbages without buying them. I
shouldn't wonder if, some day, we had a barn and a cow in it, like the
Allens."

Even Mr. Carter was betrayed into a laugh by the pleasant anticipation,
but quickly drew down his mouth, saying, in his usual petulant tone,—

"I shall believe it when I see it. You're always running on, like the
girl in the spelling-book, with a basket of eggs on her head."

"Well, I've got fifty dollars and over to show toward the bargain, and
that's better for ye than to have the money in the till at the oyster
saloon for what's gone down your throat, besides the good it's done the
children. Why, Bob works as steady now as Jamie Allen. It may be the
making of him. Come now, Robert, own up that you're pleased, like you
did the night you gave me the ring out by the big wood-pile."

Robert didn't do that, but he took his pencil and a little piece of
smooth board, and calculated how long it would take, at their present
rate of advancement, to lay by the remainder of the hundred dollars.
Then to this he added the amount he spent for tobacco in six months,
and was surprised to see what a sum-total it made.

"But I can't do it," he said to himself, grumbling; "so there's no use
to talk. I can't, and I wont!"

Nevertheless, Betsey was astonished to see her husband knock the ashes
from his pipe, and replace it on the shelf without even a whiff to
solace himself with, and still more, when the next morning passed
without the most formal recognition of his old friend. This was a
concession in favor of her purchase of which she had never dreamed;
and, though his abstinence made him exceedingly fretful, she bore his
ill-natured remarks without a murmur.

"It's the way he has of putting the worst of himself outside," she
said to herself, "like the lamb the Bible tells about, that put on
the wolf's covering, when he's meaning to do his best. But there's my
ironed clothes to go to the great house, and I must be about it."

In the course of the day, Robert told Mr. Allen he thought he'd try to
do without tobacco. "But I warn ye all ye'd better keep your distance
for a day or two. I'm getting dangerous with this horrid gnawing at my
stomach."

It was a trying week to all the Carter family. Nothing went right with
the father; Bob had his ears boxed for answering back, and Sarah was
sent off without her dinner for laughing when he groaned. Even Betsey
began to wish he would take one whiff, just to put a little good-nature
into him, but, encouraged by her kind friends, she did everything she
could to lessen the craving, slavish appetite for the weed. She made
strong barley coffee, and exerted herself with the corn-cakes, for
which Mrs. Allen was always willing to spare a little buttermilk. Not
a word of praise did she receive, but, on the contrary, Robert found
fault with everything she did. And finally, when she asked him whether
he missed his pipe as much as at first, he told her to shut her mouth,
and mind her own business.

At the end of a fortnight, however, she had her reward. One day Robert
came home, trying to wear the sullen face which had become almost
habitual to him, but it was easy to see something had occurred to
please him. He had a clumsy package under his arm, which he had thrown
his coat over, trying to conceal it.

"Pa!" screamed Bob, jumping from the top of the gate. "I've got a job,
and ma says I shall have the whole of what I earn to buy me a new
jacket."

"What kind of a job is there that you'd stick to, I should like to
know?"

"Oh, Robert, it's hard to say that to the boy, when he helped me so
bravely with the apples and potatoes," urged Betsey, acting, as she
often did, as a lightning-rod between her husband and the children.
"Come in, now; the pudding is fried to a crisp just as ye like it, and
plenty of pork and potatoes hot to yer hand."

The man looked confused, as if he had got himself into a dilemma, and
didn't know how to get out. He walked into the kitchen. But instead of
going to the sink to wash as usual, he sat down at the table with the
package still under his arm. But presently he threw off his coat, and,
starting up, said, with a heightened color,—

"There, Betsey, don't you ever say I never gave you a present! I've
done with tobacco forever, and there's something I've bought for you
with the money I should have spent for it. You shall have something to
put in yer parlor as well as Allen's wife. Now don't go to fooling," as
he saw her suddenly throw her apron over her head to hide her tears,
"but hand on the victuals while I clean up."

"Oh, Robert, I knew the good was in yer heart, if ye'd only let it
shine out! 'Twas only the want of that vile stuff that made ye bitter
against yer own family. I'll be a better wife to ye than ever. I thank
ye, too, for the elegant present."

The children eagerly gathered about to admire the gift. It was a statue
of plaster, white as snow, representing a lovely child kneeling, with
uplifted hands and eyes. It looked so pure that even Bob was awed, and
unconsciously lowered his voice, as he said,—

"Oh, my! Sally, isn't that a pooty picter? I wonder who he sees up
there."

Lifting the statue with the greatest care, Mrs. Carter stowed it away
in a large chest, and covered it with a towel, until the time when she
should have a parlor like her neighbors.

It was astonishing what an effect that simple act of kindness had on
the whole family. Robert often found fault with his food, or the manner
in which it was cooked, but to-night he ate it with an evident relish,
meantime relating every particular of the purchase.

"I may as well make a clean breast of it," he said, laughing. "I've
been cross as fury since I left off smoking, and I don't say but
there'll be times when I shall be so agin, but 'tisn't every wife that
would have got along with it as well as you have. I said that to myself
over and over again in the midst of my tantrums. To-night I was coming
home from work, when I met a man with a long shelf of them 'ere things
on his head, and all at onct it come right into my mind, 'There's a
present for Betsey to put inter the new parlor.'"


The next morning, when the children had gone to school (Mrs. Allen had
persuaded Betsey to send them regularly now), she could not refrain
from carrying the statue to her kind neighbors.

"It's a perfect beauty!" exclaimed Mrs. Allen, wiping the suds from her
hands, and lifting it tenderly.

"Bobby says he's looking at somebody," repeated the mother.

"He is praying to God, Betsey. Children who pray to him see him with an
eye of faith."

"I never thought of that," faltered the woman, her face growing very
serious.

"Don't you see he looks like a little angel?" continued Mary, noticing
with pleasure the effect of her words. "See how pure and peaceful every
feature is! That is the way Christians feel when they have given all
their cares up to Him. They seem to see his smile, and it encourages
them to pray always."

Betsey covered the towel over her treasure, and merely saying
"Good-morning," turned toward home. But again and again she said to
herself, "He's praying to God," and twice she lifted a corner of the
towel to gaze at the peaceful features. The woman could not then
describe her feelings, but she afterwards said,—

"I never seemed to know before what prayer was, and my heart yearned
toward God."

In the evening, she called the children, one by one, into the bedroom,
and showed them the praying child, repeating what Mrs. Allen had said.
But they did not seem impressed by it as she was. To her it seemed to
say, "You ought to pray to God."

In the dead of night, when all were sleeping, she crept softly out of
bed, and kneeling in the middle of the floor, raised her hands and
eyes in the darkness toward that gracious Friend who needs no light to
see the contrite heart searching after him. Not a sound escaped her
lips, but her soul went forth to God, "if haply she might find him," in
yearning desires to be made pure and peaceful like that little child.
She longed to strike a light for one glimpse of those sweet, calm
features, but feared to arouse her husband; so she again sought her
pillow, and was soon fast asleep.


One month glided rapidly into another, every week enabling Betsey to
lay aside a pretty little sum toward the purchase of their cottage,
until a hundred dollars were safely deposited in the earthen teapot.
Mr. Carter now thought it time for him, as the head of the family, to
negotiate the business with the owner. But first he asked Mr. Allen's
advice, who recommended him to request Mr. Burrel, who was justice of
the peace, to draw the deed.

"But how came you by so much money, Carter?" asked the gentleman, after
listening with great interest to the story.

"Well, sir," answered Robert, trying to conceal his confusion by a
laugh, "about half of it is what I've saved from the till of Massey at
the oyster saloon, and what I used to spend for tobacco. T'other half
Betsey and the young ones have scraped together by odd jobs. You see
Betsey has took a notion to have a home of her own, and so we've all
put to, to help it on."

"Capital!" exclaimed the gentleman, warmly. "It shows a great deal of
character to get rid of a habit of long standing. I dare say it was a
good deal of a trial to you."

"Every word you say is true, sir. It was a tough job, as Betsey could
testify. But Allen told me he'd got through it, and I thought it mean
in me to be behind another."

"I'll take the money, and do the business for you with pleasure. And
here is ten dollars toward the second hundred. Betsey may tell the wife
of any of my men that I will do the same by them, when they have proved
themselves to be in earnest, as you have. You say there is a strip of
ground for a garden-patch?"

"Yes, sir; and Bob is old enough to mind it."

"Well, remember, when you are ploughing in the spring, to turn over
the loam with the oxen. You can raise a fine crop of vegetables with a
little care."

"Many thanks to you, sir, and Betsey 'll say the same."



CHAPTER XV.

AFFIDAVIT.

LETTERS from Lizzie, who had returned to N— for another year, informed
her father that Mr. Greenough had cleared the meadow running for half a
mile along by the river, and had planted it over with cranberry vines,
from which he expected a great return of profit. To be sure, he had
been obliged to make a large outlay, and there would be the expense
of picking, but one season of only moderate yield would pay for all.
Lizzie knew nothing whatever of her father's project. If she had, she
would have told him that the present owner would not sell the farm for
twice the sum he gave. She little realized, when she wrote the above,
with what a pang her father would read her letter. Yet, strange to say,
it did not discourage him.

"After all," he said to Mary, "it's only putting money in my pocket;
for something tells me I shall have the old place yet."

In his answer to his daughter, he wrote her to keep him informed of
everything connected with the dear old homestead.

The next week Lizzie wrote, among other events,—

   "I must tell you that Matilda Fish, the daughter of the rumseller I
used to dislike so much, comes to my school. Though her father is
reputed to be rich, she dresses very ordinarily, and seems painfully
aware of her position. Through his means, many a man has drank up
everything he was worth, and there is a feeling of burning indignation
toward him among the best part of the community. I pity Matilda,
because I can see that she feels herself neglected on account of her
father's crimes, and have taken pains to render her situation more
pleasant.

   "At recess, instead of joining in their plays, she always comes to
my desk to talk with me about her lessons. Many a pear, peach, and
bunch of grapes she has brought me, until I made her confess she had
saved her own portion of luxuries for that purpose. To-day she acted
strangely, and I can't think what to make of it. It happened that,
except a little urchin who had violated the rules and was paying the
penalty by staying in, we were alone in the schoolroom. I noticed that
she was very pale, and said, kindly,—

   "'You are ill, Matilda?'

   "'No, not ill, Miss Allen,' she answered, quickly, the bright color
spreading over her face and neck,—'not ill, but—'

   "'But what? Can't you tell me your troubles?'

   "'It isn't about myself. If it were, I would never say a word,—no,
never!'

   "She spoke with passionate energy, such as I had never seen in her
before.

   "'I can't tell what's right to do,' she went on, beginning to cry.

   "'I will help you, Matilda, if I can, but you must tell me frankly all
about it.'

   "'You can't, you can't! I dare not tell! I must go home!' And, hiding
her face in her hands, she left me.

   "Poor child! I'm afraid she has trials with her father. I will comfort
her all I can. This afternoon she was not in her seat.

   "Later. I have just heard that Mr. Fish kept the whole neighborhood
awake last night in a fit of delirium tremens. This explains Matilda's
conduct. How my heart aches for her!"


Two, three weeks, a month passed. Mr. Allen was busier than usual in
the nursery, setting out new stock, and getting everything ready for
winter. Two letters had been received from Lizzie in which she did not
mention Mr. Fish. But one morning, Jamie brought a letter from the
office, which read as follows:—

   "FATHER,—come here as quick as you can. Mr. Fish is dying, and
continually calls for you. He has something on his conscience, and says
he can't die easy till he's confessed it. Matilda has told me some
things, but I can't believe they're true. Don't wait a minute after you
receive this, if you would be in time.

                            "LIZZIE."

Mrs. Allen grew pale as she read, but, rallying, sent Jamie to the
field to summon his father. The train went at half-past eight. It now
only wanted fifteen minutes of that time. With nervous haste, the woman
ran to the closet, and took down her husband's Sunday suit. Then,
throwing a clean shirt, etc., etc., into a bag, she ran to the door to
meet him.

"Take this letter, and read it as you go along," she cried, her chin
quivering with excitement. "You haven't a minute if you want to reach
the morning train. Fish is dying. I can't imagine what the wicked man
wants of you."

"I can." The words came thick and husky. "I have felt it all along. God
help me if I'm too late! Good-by."

He ran along, and, springing over a wall, was out of sight in a moment,
leaving Mary and the children gazing in the direction he had taken, and
wondering what it all could mean.

"Father said he knew!" exclaimed Ned. "I wonder he didn't tell us."
While Bell sank into a chair, and began to cry.

"I am afraid father will be put in prison," sobbed little Fred. "I wish
he hadn't gone."

Leaving them still excited and wondering, Mrs. Allen sought her
own room, where she knelt down, and, as she had often done before,
commended her husband to the care of her almighty Friend. Then, calmed
by this exercise, she returned quietly to her household duties.

The children, seeing her tranquillity, began to make preparations for
school, Jamie first going to find Mr. Burrel, and announce to the
gentleman that his father had been suddenly called away.


When Mr. Allen reached his native town, without a moment's delay, he
hurried down the familiar street to the house of the dying man. On his
way, he was obliged to pass his old home, but he scarcely noticed it;
his thoughts were too intensely anxious concerning the coming interview.

A crowd of men were standing on the piazza outside the bar-room, but
that was nothing unusual. He quickened his steps, and soon was standing
on the threshold which had so nearly proved the ruin of his soul and
his body. Staggering with excitement, he addressed one of the men, a
stranger to himself.

"Is Mr. Fish living?"

"No; he died half an hour ago. The bell's just done tolling his
age,—sixty-two."

Without another word, Mr. Allen turned and walked away.

"Too late, too late!" he repeated. "O God, help me to bear it!"

He turned his steps mechanically toward the house where his daughter
boarded, but suddenly checked himself, as he remembered that at this
hour she would be in school. On arriving there, however, he found only
two or three children playing about the door.

"Where is Lizzie—Miss Allen—your teacher?" he asked, hurriedly.

"She's gone home with a scholar who is sick. Mr. Greenough came and
carried them, and dismissed the school."

He turned away sick at heart; he felt faint and giddy, too, from
over-excitement. He stood still a moment, wondering what he should
do next, and whether he had not better take the return train home,
when the thought of Lizzie's disappointment detained him. Suddenly
remembering that he had not asked where the sick child lived, he turned
back, but the children were out of sight. There was nothing now to do
but to return to the depot and take the back train.

Walking slowly on, he met a gentleman standing in earnest conversation
with some one who was in a covered buggy. The horse was going the other
way, so that he could not have seen who it was, even if he had desired.
But his only object being at the moment to escape observation, he was
hurrying past them, when his steps were arrested by the words,—

"I told Lizzie he couldn't be expected by this early train."

The voice was familiar, and, turning back, the recognition was mutual.
Dr. Greenough cordially extended his hand, and then introduced his
father.

"I am looking for Lizzie," said Mr. Allen, trying to speak calmly.

"She is at Mr. Fish's. I have just left her there."

"Mr. Fish is dead I hear."

"Yes. Did you learn nothing more?"

"Only that I was too late to answer his summons."

"Mr. Allen," said Mr. Greenough, taking his hand, "I have just come
from the death-bed of Mr. Fish, where I listened to a confession which
nearly concerns you and me."

"Thank God, then, he did make it!" murmured Mr. Allen, devoutly.

"Yes, I took a deposition from his lips only two hours before he
breathed his last."

"Was he perfectly conscious?"

"It would be for my interest, I suppose, to say that he was in a fit
of 'mania a potu,' but I must honestly confess that he appeared sane,
and in earnest in endeavoring to repair the wrong he had done you.
You must come home with me and get dinner. My son Horace will make it
convenient, I dare say, to bring Lizzie there too."

The two walked slowly on, by tacit consent avoiding the subject which
engrossed them both, while the doctor rode off rapidly in the opposite
direction.

When they were seated in the parlor, which was so changed by French
windows and gilded paper that Mr. Allen scarcely recognized it, the
other gentleman said, gravely,—

"Perhaps you do not know that I am a justice of the peace. I know a
little of law, but am not yet prepared to say what offer it will be
right for me to make you."

"Offer!" repeated Mr. Allen. "I don't understand you, sir."

"Excuse me, but I wholly forgot that you are entirely ignorant, as yet,
of what Fish confessed. Here is his affidavit, which I will read you."

He took from his breast-pocket a folded paper, and began,—

   "I, Abner Fish, being on my death-bed, and realizing that in a short
time I must appear before God, and wishing, as far as in me lies, to
die at peace with all men, do now on oath declare that, in the year
18—, I forged Joseph Allen's signature to a deed, caused by me to be
drawn up, conveying to me his farm and the houses and barns on the
same in payment of pretended indebtedness to me, which indebtedness
did not cover one seventh part of the amount; that I afterward showed
the signature to said Joseph Allen, who refused utterly to credit the
account, or to believe that he had put his name thereto; that, by means
of threats of personal violence, I persuaded him that he had done this
while under the influence of liquor, and I then took him with me before
Squire Harwood, justice of the peace, to bear testimony to his forged
signature; that he did bear testimony under compulsion, and therefore
that the property in said farm, houses, and barns on it belongs to
said Joseph Allen, the title to them not being valid when conveyed by
me to H. H. Greenough; that Mr. Allen's true bill for liquor was six
hundred and forty-five dollars instead of seven thousand as I told him;
that the same will be found in true charges on my books, and that my
last wish and desire is that, by my dying confession, I may restore
the rights and property of a man whom I have wickedly defrauded, and
therefore I hereby direct my executors to pay to said H. H. Greenough
the balance of the money he paid me above my real and true title to the
said farmhouses and barns thereon, and so may God have mercy on my soul.

   "Subscribed and sworn to on this twentieth day of October, in the year
of our Lord 18—

     "Before me,

          "JOSHUA HARWOOD, 'Justice of the Peace.'"

Mr. Allen, who had started from his chair, and stood breathless while
the reading was going on, now fell back unable to utter a syllable.

"Does this statement accord with your recollection?" inquired Mr.
Greenough, after a long pause, in which both were occupied with their
own thoughts.

"Perfectly. I cannot deny that I visited Fish's bar far too often for
the welfare either of my soul or body. But when he brought me a deed
conveying all my property to him in payment for a long account on his
books, I was bewildered, and had no words sufficient to express my
anger. This property had been in our family under the same name for
several generations; and he says true that I would not for an instant
credit the idea that I had signed it away. But I was in his power,
and I could not escape. Week after week, and sometimes day after
day, he tormented me and my family with threats of imprisonment, of
violence, if I did not go with him and bear testimony to the fact of my
signature. At last, we did go, Mary and I, like martyrs to the stake,
where I sullenly and defiantly bore witness to my supposed signature.
Fish had agreed if I would do this, to allow me as much whiskey as I
could drink for a month, the time I was allowed to stay in the house,
and also a part of the stock, which, under one false pretence and
another, he had got into his hands.

"The month passed. I was a beggar with a wife and nine children
dependent on me for support, but I had abandoned the cup, and become a
sober man. I had formerly been respected by all; now I was disgraced,
and I left the place, resolving never to enter it again. By and by
hope began to dawn on me; I sought the pardon of God, and then began
to inquire whether it were possible for me to earn enough to buy back
my inheritance. I knew you had bought it, and were making expensive
improvements, but still I did not despair. My wife encouraged me,
I suppose, because she saw my heart was so greatly set on it; and
both she and my children have taken hold in earnest to stop the leak
occasioned by my intemperance. At this moment I have five hundred and
fifty dollars laid by toward the purchase, beside the offer from Mrs.
Mercy Lovell of two thousand dollars whenever I was ready to make you a
proposition."

This simple story, told with tearful eyes and earnest gestures, was
not without its effect on the gentleman. He had not once imagined that
it would make any difference to him except the drawing out of a new
deed, and paying the money over to Joseph Allen instead of Abner Fish,
with perhaps a small bonus to satisfy all parties. But here was the
original owner, proved to be the present owner, with money in hand to
pay the bill to the estate of his former creditor, and wishing to take
possession. These thoughts flashed like lightning on his mind, while,
his visitor was talking, and caused him to say,—

"But, Mr. Allen, this property is worth more than twice as much as
when I purchased it. I have sunk a good many thousand dollars in
improvements. The cranberry meadow, formerly yielding twenty tons of
hay, is now worth more than the whole farm was in your time; I mean in
the way of profit. Why, I hope to realize several thousand dollars this
fall, if the frost keeps off two or three weeks longer."

Mr. Allen started, as if about to speak, but checked himself, and at
this moment he heard Lizzie's voice in the hall, asking,—

"Where is he, Horace?"

He turned and caught her in his arms.

After answering half a dozen questions, which she asked all in a
breath, he turned to Mr. Greenough, and said,—

"As this subject is new to both of us, I propose that we defer any
attempt to settle until to-morrow. I am excited, and wish to have time
to think. I shall stay with my daughter to-night, and will be ready to
meet you as early as you please in the morning."

"I wholly agree with you," was the cordial reply. "It is rather sudden,
I acknowledge, for a man who arose this morning, thinking he had a
pleasant home arranged exactly to his liking, to find before dinner
that it has all slipped from under his feet."

"Or to find, as I have," was the humble reply, "that, by the mercy of
God, the consequences of my former sinful habits have not been equal to
my fears."

At dinner the conversation was general, and, during the half-hour they
stayed after it, the peculiar situation of the parties was not once
referred to.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE RESTORED HOME.

EARLY the following morning, Mr. Allen walked up the winding avenue
which his successor had laid out in front of the house, and gazed
with delight at the clusters of shade trees which adorned the
smoothly-shaven lawn. This had formerly been an enclosed field for
mowing. But by a new arrangement, the whole had been thrown open as far
as the public street, leaving an elegant lawn in front, through which
two side avenues wound their way to the front entrance. The man had an
eye to the beautiful, and could thoroughly appreciate the good taste
which marked every arrangement.

Mr. Greenough met him at the door and asked, with a smile, how he liked
the grounds.

"I could scarcely have believed they were capable of so much
improvement. That rock, where my children used to play with their
dolls, under the shade of the friendly butternut is vastly prettier
with its rustic seats. Indeed, it looks quite ornamental, and makes me
blush that I ever thought of drilling and blasting it out."

"I must go over the farm with you after a while, but come in now. Here
is my son Willie waiting to be introduced to the father of his teacher.
He was absent yesterday."

"I am glad, Willie," said the stranger, "to have an opportunity to
thank you for your defence of my daughter. She wrote me about it."

The lad laughed merrily, exhibiting a row of beautifully white teeth.
"I liked her," he said, archly, "because she wasn't afraid of the big
boys."

"And you'll be happy to own her as a sister," added his father.

"Wont I, though? But it will seem queer to call her Lizzie, as she says
I must then."

Turning to the table, Mr. Greenough said,—

"I have prepared a schedule of expenses incurred by me since I bought
the farm, copied from my books, setting aside the land I have added to
the original deed. It amounts in all to four thousand two hundred and
fifty dollars, including expense for cranberry-plants. From one year's
experience in this last, I am sure that in a short time I could realize
a fortune more than sufficient to pay me back every cent I have spent
here. It seems reasonable that I should have some return for all I have
done here; and yet I can't expect you to pay for improvements you did
not authorize."

"Mr. Greenough," exclaimed Mr. Allen, warmly, "I profess to be governed
by Christian principles. I prayed last night that I might be enabled to
do right in this whole business,—to obey the Golden Rule, and do to you
as I should wish you to do by me, were our circumstances reversed. I am
aware, as you say, that I might claim the farm at once, but I have come
to the conclusion to make you two propositions, with either of which I
shall be satisfied.

"First, that you continue on the place, rent free, for five years, on
the sole condition of keeping the farm up to its present condition of
productiveness, and at the end of that time leave all to me.

"Or, that you remain here until next June, which will give you time to
build a new house on your own land and adjoining mine, and have the
profits of the meadow lot for eight years."

Mr. Greenough considered for a moment, and then answered, promptly,
"There is scarcely a doubt that I shall accept the latter proposition,
which I consider a very generous one. I like the locality, and am so
confident of success that I am willing to give my whole attention
to raising cranberries for the market. As I am making provision for
flooding the meadow in case of sudden frost, I can hardly fail to make
it very profitable."

"I shall be most happy to have you for a neighbor," was the pleased
reply.

"Till June, then, I continue here, as if nothing had occurred?"

"Of course, it would be better for me to take the farm earlier, but I
reckoned on giving you time enough."

"Just so. I agree, then, to plough and plant as if I expected to get in
a harvest."

"Yes, sir. I may, perhaps, suggest some slight changes in the crops, or
I may not. If you can vacate in April or May, so much the better for
me."

"That is scarcely possible. I must be busy after this. I little
expected to build a house this year. Now we will take a walk around the
farm. I will draw the paper, after you leave, and send them to you for
signing."

The last year's experience had enabled Mr. Allen to judge of good
farming as he had never done before. He was delighted with everything,
and did not hesitate to express his approval in the warmest terms.
As he went through one field after another, his heart swelled with
gratitude to his heavenly Father, who had ordered his path in so
much mercy. He left for home in the noon train, after having made
arrangements with one of the executors of Mr. Fish's will, to send him
a check for money due the estate.

When he reached G—, and came in sight of the pretty cottage, where
the last year or two had been so happily passed, his emotions almost
overpowered him.

"I can ask Mary to forgive me then for all the trials I have brought on
her," he said to himself, "when I can take her to that beautiful home."

The children had just returned from school, and at the sound of his
voice came flocking around him, eager to hear the news.

Trying to speak calmly, he called the whole family to his side and gave
them a brief detail of the facts as I have related them, Mary's face
growing whiter and whiter with the excitement of the story, until her
head sunk on her husband's shoulder, and she faintly whispered,—

"How good God is! I felt sure it was not for evil that you were called
so suddenly away."

"Lizzie wanted to come home with me, to help you bear the joy," the
father said, "but she couldn't leave her school, and Matilda can
scarcely bear her out of sight."

"Oh, husband! Did you find out what Matilda was crying for?"

"Yes; and we owe the poor girl a great debt, but I must tell you.

"Matilda, who is an only child, slept in the next room to her father.
He has no wife, you know, and he often used to call out to her to
come in and drive out the devils that were dancing about the chamber.
This was the effect of his drinking, and is one of the terrible evils
resulting from it. She told Lizzie one morning that she used often to
hear my name, like this:—

"'Joseph Allen, go away! I wont have you here tormenting me before the
time!'

"At last, one night he raved so, she did not sleep a minute. The
wretched man thought I was there upbraiding him, and kept shrieking
out,—

"'You shall have it back! I know I ruined you! Go away; you'll have it
when I die!'

"Lizzie consulted the doctor who was his physician, and he bade her
tell Matilda to ask him if he would confess what he had done to injure
me.

"'No,' he screamed, 'I never, never will.'

"But she continually urged him, saying,—

"'He will forgive you; and then you will not have these dreadful
visions.'

"Dr. Greenough told her one day that her father could live but a short
time, when she again urged him to confess, from which moment he never
ceased calling,—

"'Joseph Allen! Come quick, or it will be too late!'

"Lizzie was at his side through his last night, and sent for Mr.
Greenough and Squire Harwood to come and receive his deposition, as the
doctor feared his patient would not be alive when I reached G—."

"I shall always love Matilda," said Bell, earnestly. "I wouldn't speak
to her when I lived in our dear old home."

"Who will take care of the poor girl?" inquired Mrs. Allen.

"Lizzie is with her now, and will do all she can."

"Tell about the house, father," cried Bell, pressing closer to him.
"What is it like?"

"There is not a place in town to compare with it."

"What, pa, not the great house where Mr. Burrel lives?" asked Jamie.

"No; it is handsomer and more modern than that."

"Oh, goody, goody!" screamed the child, dancing and clapping his hands
with delight.

"Can't I learn to play on the piano, father, when we get there?" asked
Carrie, coaxingly.

"Yes, child; you and all the rest shall have every advantage of
education. That was one of my first thoughts. What do you think John
and Aunt Mercy will say?"

"Or Mr. Burrel and all the folks here? Mayn't I go and tell them,
father?"

"No, my child, not at present. I shall tell Mr. Burrel myself soon that
he may look out for another gardener. For the present we shall go on
exactly as we have before."

"Isn't it splendid, Carrie?" exclaimed Bell, when, at her request, her
father had described the parlors, front hall, and dining-room, the only
apartments he had entered. "I can hardly wait till spring."

"I'm not sure that I wouldn't have preferred our home as it was,"
faltered Mary, her eyes glistening. "I'm afraid it will all seem
strange."

"Yes, it did to me at first, but when I went into the fields, by the
big elm-trees, and the willow hedge near the creek, there was a rush
of old memories. I'll tell you what, wife, I seem to be living in a
dream,—a pleasant one, indeed. We must be careful that prosperity does
not turn our hearts from God."

"I'm sure, father," faltered Bell, laughing, "I never felt half so much
like loving him."

"It is well, my daughter, when the goodness of God leads us to
penitence. I remember with deep sorrow that I needed adversity and
trial before my heart acknowledged him as my ruler. Now, children, to
your work. I shall never regret anything but the sins which caused our
poverty since it has led you all to form habits of industry."

"We sha'n't have to work when we get to that handsome house; shall we,
father?" eagerly asked Jamie.

"To be sure we shall; I give you leave to be idle, though, when you
see your mother sit down and fold her hands. If you were all to stop
working, you'd soon be in mischief. Don't you remember your mother's
favorite hymn?—

   "'For Satan finds some mischief still
       For idle hands to do.'

"And pretty soon there'll be another leak in our fortunes. Now we will
have supper, and then I will go and see Mr. Burrel about the work."

"Shall you tell him to-night, father?"

"No, Carrie, I think not, unless he asks me what detained me from home.
We must all remember that, although we have a fine house and extensive
barns, we have little furniture and only one cow to put in them. My
father used to keep two yoke of oxen. I see Mr. Greenough uses both
oxen and mules."

"But you have lots of money, father, that you have earned here," cried
Ned.

"My boy," said the father, sorrowfully, "I am mortified to be obliged
to tell you that the money we have all earned with so much labor
and pains-taking must go to pay a bill I ought not to have run up,
otherwise the house would not be ours."

"No matter, pa; we'll all help you earn more. Boll and Carrie can get
in apples when school is done, and Ned and I will dig potatoes and pull
turnips as fast as we can. Before June we can have time to earn ever so
many dollars."

At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Allen said,—

"I have a plan to propose. It is this: that each of you girls should
try to earn, between this and June, a set of furniture, such as you
would wish in your own chambers. John shall furnish a room, too, which
he shall occupy when he visits us, while the boys may club together and
buy a horse."

"Goody, goody! I'll do it!" shouted Jamie. "We'll buy a black one, and
call him Bucephalus, like Alexander's horse we read about at school."

"And what will ma do with her money? She earns more than any of us,
with her butter and cheese."

"She may furnish one of the parlors if she pleases, Bell. I have a
secret use for the north parlor and the chamber over it, which you will
all know in due time."

Later in the day Mr. Allen sought his employer, who was absent the
previous evening, and informed him of the change in his prospects.

Mr. Burrel listened with profound attention, and when he had done,
said,—

"I congratulate you most heartily; and yet there is a feeling,—a
selfish one, I fear,—that I shall be obliged to give up a gardener who
suits me in every particular."

"It was about that I wish to speak to you, sir. I feel an interest
here, where I and my family have been so kindly treated. I know a
man whom I can recommend as honest and faithful, who has a taste for
nursery business. A few months' experience, with the teaching I can
give him, would, I think, insure you a good hand."

"What is his name?"

"Robert Carter."

"Carter! Why, he is a surly, snappish fellow, whom I always dread to
speak to, whose children have been a torment,—a man I kept more out of
charity to him than from any other motive."

"That was formerly his character, sir. But I think you will agree with
me that there has been a great change in all of them. His wife has
grown neat and ambitious, and the children are as anxious to work as
they were formerly to rob hen-roosts."

"All your influence, Allen. When you and your wife are gone, he'll
relapse into his old way."

"Don't you think he showed a good deal of character when he left off
using tobacco and beer?"

"Yes, I acknowledge that I thought then he was more of a man than I'd
imagined."

"He has a surly way of speaking, but it's more in manner than feeling.
I've had him in the nursery when I was pressed for time, and found he
had a native aptness for the business. I should like to have you try
him, sir."

Mr. Burrel paused, and then said,—

"There is another objection. Betsey knows nothing about dairy work."

"I pledge my word that Mary will teach her to make good butter and
cheese."

The gentleman smiled. "Since you are so determined," he said, "I
suppose I must consent, but I dread to tell my wife of the change."



CHAPTER XVII.

DANGER AND COURAGE.

WE must now pass over three years in the history of our friends.
Harry Everett is four years old, a bright, beautiful boy, of whom
any mother might be proud. Words fail me when I attempt to describe
this child. With perfect boyish instincts,—indeed, quite a romp at
outdoor frolics,—there is a maturity and precociousness about him which
impresses every one with the feeling "he has not long for this world."

"I do not believe," said a visitor at Mr. Everett's, "the doctrine I
learned when a child from the numerous biographies of boys and girls,
that all the good children die young, and that only wicked ones live
to grow up. But I do believe that often our heavenly Father sees a
plant in his earthly garden of such peculiar beauty and grace that he
determined to transplant it to his celestial garden. Upon this lovely
nursling he bestows such degrees of care and tenderness as bring it
forward to an early maturity, which all who are witnesses thereof
wonder at and admire."

Harry was of ordinary height, erect and graceful in figure. His head
was of unusual size,—his broad, open brow being shaded by locks of
chestnut hair, which fell in a shower of ringlets on his fair neck.
His eyes, shaded by long, dark lashes, were hazel, bright, but not
flashing, with often a pensive, thoughtful expression unusual in a
child of his years. His nose was straight and well formed, while the
small mouth, full-parted lips, and dimpled chin were expressive of both
sweetness and decision of character. Harry was naturally passionate,
energetic, and full of enthusiasm. The first trait was early
restrained, or rather he was taught to exercise self-control, so that a
stranger would never have imagined him easily moved to anger.

As a foundation for a good character, Lily learned from her Bible she
must teach her child obedience,—prompt, unasking, cheerful obedience
and perfect truthfulness; and this by the aid of prayer she succeeded
in doing at a very early period. When he was only twenty months old,
Lily took him with her to call upon a friend who also had a little son.
When she rose to leave, the lady asked him to give her a parting kiss,
which he readily did.

"Kiss the little boy, too, Harry," said his mother.

The boy shook his shoulders and made no advances.

"Mamma wants you to kiss little Frankey," Lily said, firmly.

Harry looked gravely at the boy, but still refused.

"Never mind," urged the lady, "he'll do it another time."

The mother thought otherwise. "If I allow him to disobey me now," she
said, softly, "it will be more difficult next time for him to obey."

She took his hand, led him off a few steps and whispered in his ear,
when he instantly walked up to Frankey and gave him a cordial kiss.
She appealed to his love for her and his desire to please her, and was
successful.

Harry's health, which, though good, was never firm, prevented him from
being put to his books, but this want was more than supplied by the
eagerness with which he listened to stories of children and animals,
and particularly to stories from the Bible. Hour after hour he would
sit drinking in the inspired words,—the stories of Abraham, Moses,
Joseph, and all the worthies of the Old Testament being as familiar to
him as household names. But what moved his tender heart more than all
other reading was the story of the God Man, born in a manger, nurtured
in a carpenter's shop, visiting the temple, asking questions of the
doctors, his mission of love to all men, and, finally, his death on the
cross. These sacred truths stole insensibly into his heart, and at a
very early age began to influence his whole character.

"You need not tell me to say my prayers," he often said as his mother
was unrobing him for the night. "I always remember." And running to his
little chair, he would pour out his heart in childish petitions to his
heavenly Father, a being he had been taught to love and not to fear.

Harry was not now an only child. In his fourth year, a little sister
came to share his parents' love; and never was there a more tender,
affectionate brother. Sweet little Paulina gave him her first smile,
and learned before she was three months old to recognize his voice in
the hall, and would turn her dainty head to catch the first glimpse of
him as he entered the room.

Contrary to the opinion of most of her friends, Lily proved to be a
firm, judicious mother. Though so young when married, yet she had
witnessed too often the anxious care which mothers brought upon
themselves by neglecting to train their children according to the
Scripture rules, and she made it her earnest prayer that she might be
guided in the right course. What was wanting in experience was made up
from the fountain of wisdom, from which all are permitted to draw. Can
we wonder that the result was as nearly a model of perfection as is
ever seen among depraved humanity?

Mr. Everett does not now live in the stone cottage where we last saw
him. Three years ago, he removed a mile nearer to his business in the
city, to a house he had purchased on a new street, with an ornamental
park in front. The house was in a block built of brick, with a granite
front, and iron railings to the nicely-cut steps. It had large, airy
rooms, well, but not expensively, furnished, and containing every
modern improvement. A few well-chosen pictures adorned the walls, and
some choice articles of "bijouterie," tastefully arranged by Lily's
skilful hands, gave an air of refinement to the dwelling.

The young matron herself is changed, and yet the same. There is still
the fresh, beaming face and sweet smile, sometimes breaking out into a
musical laugh, as light and "abandon" as ever; but there is a deeper,
holier light in her eye, an expression of thoughtfulness at times on
her features which is very becoming. One trait has been discovered in
her which even those who loved her best did not imagine her to possess.
Shielded from her infancy from the least semblance of danger, when
she was married, it was natural for her to look to her husband for
guidance and protection. As we have seen, she shrunk from encountering
the servants after their dishonesty had been discovered. But as her
character, especially her Christian character, matured, she grew more
self-possessed and self-reliant. These traits showed themselves in a
degree in her every-day duties, but circumstances were to prove that,
united to her confiding, trusting disposition, there was also firmness
and resolution to meet the emergencies of the hour.

Mr. and Mrs. Percival had been returned from Paris nearly three years,
he having been far more successful than he had at first expected in
saving his fortune. Taught by experience, however, they never again
entered on such a life of fashion and display, but took a house similar
to Mr. Everett's, only two squares distant.

Aunt Mercy divided her time between her own home and her nephew's, but
was at this period in N—.


One afternoon Mr. Everett returned to dinner an hour earlier than
common, having received a telegram from his aunt, who had been
suddenly taken ill, and wished to see him. His plan was to take the
early afternoon train, which would leave him at his destination about
half-past three, and return, if possible, at eight, reaching home a
little before midnight.

He brought from his store a large packet of bank-notes, which he asked
her to put carefully away, remarking that he had just taken them from
the bank in order to pay a bill, when the telegram was given to him.

Lily reached out her hand doubtfully, which led him to say, with a
laugh,—"If you are afraid to have so much money in the house, send
Maggie with it over to your father."

"No, I'm not afraid," was her quiet answer. "How much is there?"

"Twenty-one hundred dollars."

"I'll put it in the closet in my room with the silver," she answered.
"It will be perfectly safe there."

It was quite cool weather; and Mr. Everett had scarcely buttoned on his
outside coat, and bade her a hasty adieu, before Lily was summoned to
the kitchen to see a poor man, who wanted food.

Taking Harry by the hand, she went below, and found, sitting near the
kitchen fire, one of the most repulsive-looking men she had ever seen.
His cap was torn, revealing hair grizzled and matted; his eyes were
bloodshot, his face red and bloated; while his whole features wore a
look of cunning painful to witness.

He told a pitiful story of suffering, which completely conquered Lily's
repugnance, notwithstanding the glances and signs of caution made by
the shrewder Maggie.

Bidding the girl prepare a bowl of tea as quickly as possible, with
her own hands, this delicate, high-born lady, dressed the wounded hand
which he exhibited, expressing words of sympathy and encouragement
which might have softened the heart of a brute.

When she had done this, and had seen him engaged in eating a hearty
meal, she told him to sit near the fire till he was thoroughly warmed,
and was leaving the kitchen, when she noticed a glance of triumph shoot
from his eyes, for which she could not account.

Maggie ran to the stairs after her.

"I wish you'd bid him go at once," she said, earnestly. "There's an ill
look about him,—a look which makes me think of murder and stealing."

"Hush, Maggie! He'll hear you. I think he'll go presently."

"But, ma'am, I'm afraid to stay alone with him, and I'm afraid to leave
him. He might set the house on fire over our heads."

"You're nervous, Maggie," the lady said, laughing, at the same time her
thoughts recurring to the large sum of money she had in the house. She
returned to the sitting-room followed by Harry, and, engaged with him
and the baby, soon forgot her late visitor.

Being alone, she retired to her room earlier than common, where,
sitting before the bright fire, she hummed a soft air to Paulina, who
was restless in her crib.

As she sat there gently rocking the little sleeper, a sudden turn of
her head led her to look toward the wall at the farther end of the
chamber. The fire was burning brightly, but beside this there was
little light, the nurse having turned the gas down when she went below.
But there she saw, just above the canopy over her bed, the top of the
soiled cap the beggar had worn, with the matted gray hair sticking
through it.

For a moment her breath stopped; the blood seemed frozen in her veins.
But she was alone, and in the power of this brute, whose object, she
could not doubt, was to obtain possession of the silver in her closet.
Thoughts flew like lightning through her brain.

"He must have stolen up here from the kitchen, and seen Maggie put
the tray in the closet. But oh, the money! Why didn't I send it away?
Perhaps he knew it was here. Yes, it was just after Lawrence went that
he came. I took it from my husband in the hall, and he heard me say
I should keep it here. Now what is to be done? Maggie and nurse have
both gone to bed; and if they were here, what could three weak women do
against such a brute as this? First of all, I must be calm, and appear
calm." And with that, she began again to hum the rest of the verse:—

   "Hush, my child, lie still in slumber,
      Holy angels guard thy bed,
    Heavenly blessings without number
      Gently falling on thy head."

Even during the singing, a plan was suggested to her. She ascribed it
to her Father in heaven, who was even now watching over her and her
little ones.

"Yes," she said to herself, "he must have heard Lawrence tell me there
was twenty-one hundred dollars; that was the reason of his triumphant
smile. Maggie distrusted him from the first. How did he get in here
unseen?"

She glanced timidly toward the bed. There the figure stood immovable as
a statue.

With a silent prayer for strength, and a countenance from which every
shade of color had vanished, but with a look of noble resolve in her
eye, she arose and began to prepare for bed.

But first she turned up the gas, filling the room with light. And then,
bringing the tray from the closet, she set it on the table and began
to count the forks, spoons, and napkin-rings, to all appearances as
unmoved as if nothing had occurred to terrify her.

Taking them up in her hand, she went on: "Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen—I
wonder what Maggie has done with the others! Oh, here they are among
the forks! Twenty-three, twenty-four; that's all right!"

Making as much display as possible of the coffee-urn, salver, and
tea-set, she carried the whole back to the closet, taking the
opportunity to slip the money into a high drawer, and pull out the key.

After this, she slowly took off one garment after another. Her heart
sometimes almost failed her, and then, being reassured by a short
petition for strength, she put on her embroidered night-dress, and
knelt down for her evening prayer.

In a voice low, but perfectly distinct, she said,—

   "Father, unto thy kind care I commit myself and those so dear to me.
Protect me from all harm and danger. Let thy holy angels watch around
my bed. Help all those who are in distress, and particularly those who
are driven by their poverty into crime. Forgive all my many sins, for
the sake of thy Son, my Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen."

She arose, calmed by the exercise, without one glance toward the
intruder, drew the crib across the floor near the bed, and then lay
herself down, but not to rest.

She feigned sleep, however, and soon heard a stealthy movement behind
the couch. It was evident the robber thought his opportunity had come.

Stealthily as a cat creeps toward his prey, he moved across the carpet
toward the closet. Once only poor Lily dared to open her eyes; he was
just entering the door.

"Now is my time," she said to herself, and springing softly from her
couch, she darted after him, shut the door with a bound, and locked it
upon him.

Then her strength all left her, and she sank almost fainting into a
chair. But realizing that the danger was not yet over, she tried to
rally, and, crawling to the window, raised the sash and screamed,
"Murder! Murder!!" with all the strength her lungs would permit.

The next step was to ring the chamber-bell for nurse, who soon appeared
terrified beyond measure, and gave a more decided call for help. Maggie
came and opened the door for the watch, who secured the villain, and,
having put on handcuffs, carried him off to the station house, to await
his trial.



CHAPTER XVIII.

LEAKS ALL STOPPED.

MRS. LOVELL was not relieved from her sudden attack till the third day
after her seizure, during which time her nephew did not leave her.
Mrs. Allen and her daughter were also unwearied in their attentions.
Mr. Everett had written two letters home, and was wondering he had not
heard in return, when, on taking up a daily paper, he discovered the
cause, with what mingled emotions of gratitude, pride, and horror the
reader can easily imagine. The item was headed REMARKABLE PRESENCE OF
MIND, and proceeded with a tolerably correct statement of facts, with
names in full.

"Well done, Lily!" he said aloud, in a tone of exultation, little
realizing that her courage and self-possession had been followed by
continued swoons, which had completely prostrated her nervous system.

Aunt Mercy was better, however, and urged his immediate return to his
family.

Lily's languid frame revived when she saw her husband standing by her
bedside, and heard the words of fond praise which overflowed from his
full heart.

It was a week, however, before she recovered, and even then the sudden
mention of her escape, with which every mouth was filled, caused her to
tremble with excitement. One fact connected with the incident I must
not forget to mention. During his trial the robber confessed that he
had listened to the conversation between husband and wife, and watched
his opportunity, while the family were at supper and Maggie waiting on
them, to steal to the chamber and conceal himself. But so greatly was
he affected by her simple prayer, trusting herself so fully to the care
of God, that he resolved, whatever happened, not to injure her. If it
had not been for this circumstance, connected with her kindness to him
in the kitchen, his plan was to thrust a dagger into her heart as she
lay sleeping, and then escape with his booty.

And now, dear reader, in drawing this story to a close, I have only
space to tell you in brief that, the leak in Mr. Everett's family being
effectually stopped by prudent foresight and economy, he found himself
at the end of ten years a rich man, owning ships and sending them to
every sea. But, with all his riches, he never again launched into
extravagance.

Both he and Lily dreaded the dangers through which they had passed.
Much of his time and money was spent in furthering the great benevolent
objects of the day; while his lovely wife disbursed her charities on a
more limited scale, often making Harry the almoner of her bounty.

Aunt Mercy, after her illness, was persuaded to break up housekeeping
and make her home with her nephew, though she furnished a room in Mr.
Allen's commodious house, and in the summer made long visits there,
usually accompanied by one or both of the children.

Mr. Allen's prediction concerning Robert Carter was fulfilled.
Encouragement and judicious praise acts like a charm on some men, and
he was one of them. When his friend related the circumstances which
would lead to his own removal to his native town, and hinted that he
might, if he wished, have the situation of gardener then to be vacant,
he listened with a stupid stare of astonishment, while Betsey, with a
flushed face, exclaimed,—"It's the first unkind thing I ever knew of
you, Mr. Allen, to put thoughts in Robert's mind to unsettle him just
as he was getting easy like."

But when the other explained that he had already spoken to Mr. Burrel,
who had consented that he should make a trial of his skill,—that he was
immediately to leave the fall ploughing and go into the nursery, and
that he should have all the advice necessary to get an insight into the
business, his face lighted up with pleasure, and he expressed himself
with great earnestness.

"It's what I never thought of, and Betsey can testify to the same,
but I'll do my best, you may be sure of that; and if there's anything
in the world that I own, saving Betsey, that ye'd like, I'll make ye
welcome to it with all my heart."

"I didn't tell you all," resumed Mr. Allen, with a smile. "You're to
live in the cottage, and Betsey is to go over there every day for a
time to learn to make butter and cheese for the great house."

"I daren't undertake it," modestly suggested the wife, blushing like a
peony. "I'd neither get leave to eat or sleep with the worry."

But she did undertake it after the necessary apprenticeship, and
succeeded so well that Mrs. Burrel, in a letter she wrote Mrs. Allen a
few months after their removal, said,—

   "I never expected to eat such sweet butter as yours again until I
accepted your invitation to visit you. But Betsey has proved so good a
scholar that I cannot tell the difference, especially as she uses the
same stamps that you did."

Mr. Burrel bought the cottage once so earnestly desired by the Carters
for the use of his farmer, but advised his new gardener to leave the
hundred dollars in his hands, where it would be earning interest, and
make it the beginning of a sum for his old age.

Before she left, Mrs. Allen impressed upon Bobby and the other children
the duties that would be expected of them; and I am happy to say their
time was so constantly occupied in showing Mr. Burrel that they could
work as well as the young Allens that they found no opportunity for
mischief.


Early in June following the death of Mr. Fish, Mr. Allen returned to
the old homestead, but Mr. Greenough was not ready to vacate the house.
His new buildings would not be completed until autumn, and he urged
Mrs. Allen to allow his furniture to remain as it was, and take them
all to board. This was at last agreed upon, and in July Dr. Greenough
with his new wife also joined them, Lizzie's father having offered to
give the young couple a start by boarding them for six months. Mrs.
Greenough had two excellent servants who remained with Mary, so that
she had ample time to revisit the old haunts about the farm, and make
criticisms, if she wished, on the improvements.

The cranberry season came on before the new house was ready, and a
merry time it proved to be. Day after day the whole family—parents,
children, and servants—were out in the meadow, their feet well guarded
with india-rubber boots, picking, sorting, and gathering the fruit for
market. The yield was enormous, and the profit turned out so great that
Mr. Allen resolved before another year came round to have the adjoining
piece of meadow drained and set over with plants.

In the winter, Dr. Greenough received a visit from his friend, Horace
Storm, who had married a pupil in the asylum with which he was
connected, a lady with a large fortune, quite as pretty and fair more
fascinating with her signs and demonstrative gestures, than the young
miss who formerly lived at his father's.

Matilda Fish, who had been the means, under Providence, of restoring
Mr. Allen to his old home, inherited a fortune from her father. Soon
after Lizzie went to housekeeping, she consented to take the young girl
as a boarder, or rather to assume the care of her education, as her
husband had of the fortune.

Mr. Allen, by his sound judgment and his high Christian character,
rose high in the estimation of his townsmen. Once more he consented
to become a candidate for town offices, but only that he might
reform abuses in them, especially in the law relating to license for
selling liquor. In the forty-third year of his age, he was the chosen
representative to the Legislature of the State, and succeeded so well
in securing respect to himself in that office that his townsmen wished
to send him again, but he declined, being unwilling to leave his family
for so long a period.

As he had promised, he gave his children every advantage which he could
afford, though he often told them that the discipline through which
they had passed was of more value to them than any book learning.

John Allen succeeded so well in business that he rose to be
confidential clerk of the firm,—a position which brought him a good
support and great respect. He continued to live with Mr. Everett, where
he was regarded as a dear friend. Bell married a son of Mr. Burrel,
and returned to G—, while Carrie became a music-teacher in a large
school, and was greatly admired for her energy, sweetness of temper,
and persevering industry.

And now, dear reader, having shown you how a leak in your fortune may
be stopped by prudence, economy, foresight, and industry, I must leave
you with the hope that you will so learn to conduct your affairs that
there will be no leak in your fortune.






*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77089 ***