THE GREEN SATIN GOWN

BY LAURA E. RICHARDS

Author of "Captain January," "Melody,""Three Margarets," "Peggy," "QueenHildegarde," etc., etc.

Illustrated by Etheldred B. Barry

THE GREEN SATIN GOWN

Published May, 1903

TO THE GIRLS OF The Friday Clubof Gardiner, Maine THIS VOLUMEIS AFFECTIONATELYDEDICATED

CONTENTS

THE GREEN SATIN GOWN

BLUE EGYPTIANS

LITTLE BENJAMIN

DON ALONZO

THE SHED CHAMBER

MAINE TO THE RESCUE

THE SCARLET LEAVES

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"THE FIRST TITTER PUT A FIREIN MY VEINS THAT KEPT MEWARM ALL THE EVENING"

"GREGORY POLISHED IT ON HISSLEEVE, AND HELD IT UPAGAIN"

"'A LONG BASKET WITH

SOMETHING WHITE INSIDE;AND IT'S CRYING!'"

"'FATHER SAYS THE LORD SENTYOU. DID HE '"

"MAINE HAILED HIM FROM THETOP OF A GREAT DRIFT"

THE CONFERENCE

THE GREEN SATIN GOWN

Who ever wore such a queer-lookingthing I wore it myself, dear, once upona time; yes, I did! Perhaps you would

like to hear about it, while you mendthat tear in your muslin. Sit down, then,and let us be cosy.

I was making a visit in Hillton once,when I was seventeen years old, justyour age; staying with dear old MissPersis Elderby, who is now dead. I havetold you about her, and it is strange thatI have never told you the story of thegreen satin gown; but, indeed, it is yearssince I looked at it. We were greatfriends, Miss Persis and I; and we neverthought much about the difference inour ages, for she was young for heryears, and I was old for mine. In ourdaily walk through the pretty, sleepyHillton street we always went for the

mail, together, for though Miss Persisseldom received letters, she always likedto see mine, and it was quite the eventof the day my good friend seldomfailed to point out to me a statelymansion that stood by itself on a littleheight, and to say in a tone of pride,"The Le Baron place, my dear; thefinest place in the county. Madam LeBaron, who lives there alone now, is asgreat a lady as any in Europe, thoughshe wears no coronet to her name."

I never knew exactly what Miss Persismeant by this last remark, but itsounded magnificent, and I alwaysgazed respectfully at the gray stonehouse which sheltered so grand a

personage. Madam Le Baron, itappeared, never left the house in winter,and this was January. Her friends calledon her at stated intervals, and, to judgefrom Miss Persis, never failed to comeaway in a state of reverentialenthusiasm. I could not help picturingto myself the great lady as about sixfeet tall, clad in purple velvet, andwaving a peacock-feather fan; but Inever confided my imaginings even tothe sympathetic Miss Persis.

One day my friend returned from avisit to the stone house, quitebreathless, her pretty old face pink withexcitement. She sat down on the chairnearest the door, and gazed at me with,

speechless emotion.

"Dear Miss Persis!" I cried. "What hashappened Have you had bad news "

Miss Persis shook her head. "Bad newsI should think not, indeed! Child,Madam Le Baron wishes to see you.More I cannot say at present. Not aword! Put on your best hat, and comewith me. Madam Le Baron waits forus!"

It was as if she had said, "The Sultan ison the front door-step." I flew up-stairs, and made myself as smart as Icould in such a hurry. My cheeks wereas pink as Miss Persis's own, and

though I had not the faintest idea whatwas the matter, I felt that it must besomething of vital import. On the way,I begged my companion to explainmatters to me, but she only shook herhead and trotted on the faster. "Notime!" she panted. "Speech delays me,my dear! All will be explained; onlymake haste."

We made such haste, that by the timewe rang at the door of the stone houseneither of us could speak, and MissPersis could only make a mute gestureto the dignified maid who opened thedoor, and who looked amazed, as wellshe might, at our burning cheeks anddisordered appearance. Fortunately, she

knew Miss Persis well, and lost no timein ushering us into a cool, dimly lightedparlor, hung with family portraits. Herewe sat, and fanned ourselves with ourpocket-handkerchiefs, while I tried tofind breath for a question; but therewas not time! A door opened at thefurther end of the room; there was asoft rustle, a smell of sandal-wood inthe air. The next moment Madam LeBaron stood before us. A slenderfigure, about my own height, in aquaint, old-fashioned dress; snowy hair,arranged in puff on puff, withexquisite nicety; the darkest, softest eyesI ever saw, and a general air of havingleft her crown in the next room; thiswas the great lady.

We rose, and I made my best courtesy,we courtesied then, my dear, instead ofbowing like pump-handles, and shespoke to us in a soft old voice, thatrustled like the silk she wore, though ithad a clear sound, too. "So this is thechild!" she said. "I trust you are verywell, my dear! And has Miss Elderbytold you of the small particular inwhich you can oblige me "

Miss Persis hastened to say that shewasted no time on explanations, buthad brought me as quickly as might be,thinking that the main thing. Madam LeBaron nodded, and smiled a little; thenshe turned to me; a few quiet words,

and I knew all about it. She hadreceived that morning a note from hergrandniece, "a young and giddyperson," who lived in B , some twentymiles away, announcing that she and aparty of friends were about to driveover to Hillton to see the old house.She felt sure that her dear aunt wouldbe enchanted to see them, as it must be"quite too forlorn for her, all alone inthat great barn;" so she might expectthem the next evening (that is, theevening of this very day), in time forsupper, and no doubt as hungry ashunters. There would be about a dozenof them, probably, but she knew therewas plenty of room at Birchwood, andit would be a good thing to fill up the

empty rooms for once in a way; so,looking forward to a pleasant meeting,the writer remained her dearest aunt's"affectionate niece, Effie Gay."

"The child has no mother," saidMadam Le Baron to Miss Persis; thenturning to me, she said: "I am alone,save for my two maids, who are ofmiddle age, and not accustomed toyouthful visitors. Learning from mygood friend, Miss Elderby, that a younggentlewoman was staying at her house,I conceived the idea of asking you tospend the night with me, and suchportion of the next day as my guestsmay remain. If you are willing to do methis service, my dear, you may put off

your bonnet, and I will send for yourevening dress and your toiletnecessaries."

I had been listening in a dream, hearingwhat was said, but thinking it all like afairy story, chiefly impressed by the factthat the speaker was the most beautifulperson I had ever seen in my life. Thelast sentence, however, brought me tomy senses with a vengeance. Withscarlet cheeks I explained that I hadbrought no evening dress with me; thatI lived a very quiet life at home, andhad expected nothing different here;that, to be quite frank, I had not such athing as an evening dress in the world.Miss Persis turned pale with distress

and mortification; but Madam LeBaron looked at me quietly, with herlovely smile.

"I will provide you with a suitabledress, my child," she said. "I havesomething that will do very well foryou. If you like to go to your roomnow, my maid will attend you, andbring what is necessary. We expect ourguests in time for supper, at eighto'clock."

Decidedly, I had walked into a fairytale, or else I was dreaming! Here I satin a room hung with flowered damask,in a wonderful chair, by a wonderfulfire; and a fairy, little and withered and

brown, dressed in what I knew must beblack bombazine, though I knew itonly from descriptions, was bringingme tea, and plum-cake, on a silver tray.She looked at me with kind, twinklingeyes, and said she would bring the dressat once; then left me to my ownwondering fancies. I hardly knew whatto be thinking of, so much washappening: more, it seemed, in thesefew hours, than in all my life before. Itried to fix my mind on the gay partythat would soon fill the silent housewith life and tumult; I tried to fancyhow Miss Effie Gay would look, andwhat she would say to me; but my mindkept coming back to the dress, theevening dress, that I was to be

privileged to wear. What would it belike Would silk or muslin be prettier Ifonly it were not pink! A red-haired girlin pink was a sad sight!

Looking up, I saw a portrait on thewall, of a beautiful girl, in a curious,old-time costume. The soft dark eyesand regal turn of the head told me thatit was my hostess in her youth; andeven as I looked, I heard the rustleagain, and smelt the faint odor ofsandalwood; and Madam Le Baroncame softly in, followed by the fairymaid, bearing a long parcel.

"Your gown, my dear," she said, "Ithought you would like to be preparing

for the evening. Undo it, Jessop!"

Jessop lifted fold on fold of tissue-paper. I looked, expecting I know notwhat fairy thing of lace and muslin: Isaw the green satin gown!

We were wearing large sleeves then,something like yours at the present day,and high collars; the fashion was at itsheight. This gown had long, tight,wrinkled sleeves, coming down over thehand, and finished with a ruffle ofyellow lace; the neck, rounded and half-low, had a similar ruffle almost deepenough to be called a ruff; the waist, ifit could be called a waist, was up underthe arms: briefly, a costume of my

grandmother's time. Little green satinslippers lay beside it, and a hugefeather-fan hung by a green ribbon.Was this a jest was it I looked up, withburning cheeks and eyes suffused; Imet a glance so kind, so beaming withgood-will, that my eyes fell, and I couldonly hope that my anguish had notbeen visible.

"Shall Jessop help you, my dear " saidMadam Le Baron. "You can do it byyourself Well, I like to see the youngindependent. I think the gown willbecome you; it has been consideredhandsome." She glanced fondly at theshining fabric, and left the room; themaid, after one sharp glance at me, in

which I thought I read an amusedcompassion, followed; and I was leftalone with the green satin gown.

Cry No, I did not cry: I had beenbrought up not to cry; but I suffered,my dear, as one does suffer atseventeen. I thought of jumping out ofthe window and running away, back toMiss Persis; I thought of going to bed,and saying I was ill. It was true, I saidto myself, with feverish violence: I wasill, sick with shame and mortificationand disappointment. Appear beforethis gay party, dressed like my owngreat-grandmother I would rather die!A person might easily die of suchdistress as this and so on, and so on!

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

"Endeavor, my dear, to maintain a senseof proportion!"

The words fell with weight on mydistracted mind. I sat up straight in thearmchair into which I had flung myself,face downward. Was there anyproportion in this horror I shookmyself, then put the two sides together,and looked at them. On one side, twolovely old ladies, one of whom I couldperhaps help a little, both of whom I

could gratify; on the other, my owndear me! was it vanity I thought of thetwo sweet old faces, shining withkindness; I fancied the distress, thedisappointment, that might come intothem, if I

"Yes, dear uncle," I said aloud, "I havefound the proportion!" I shook myselfagain, and began to dress. And now ahappy thought struck me. Glancing atthe portrait on the wall, I saw that thefair girl was dressed in green. Was itYes, it must be it was the very samedress! Quickly, and as neatly as I could,I arranged my hair in two great puffs,with a butterfly knot on the top of myhead, in the style of the picture; if only

I had the high comb! I slipped on thegown, which fitted me well enough. Iput on the slippers, and tied the greenribbons round and round my ankles;then I lighted all the candles, andlooked at myself. A perfect guy Well,perhaps and yet

At this moment Jessop entered,bringing a pair of yellow gloves; shelooked me over critically, sayingnothing; glanced at the portrait,withdrew, and presently reappeared,with the high tortoise-shell comb in herhand. She placed it carefully in my hair,surveyed me again, and again looked atthe picture. Yes, it was true, the necklacewas wanting; but of course

Really, Jessop was behaving like a jack-in-the-box! She had disappeared again,and now here she was for the thirdtime; but this time Madam Le Baronwas with her. The old lady looked at mesilently, at my hair, then up at thepicture. The sight of the pleasure in herlovely face trampled under foot, putout of existence, the last remnant ofmy foolish pride.

She turned to Jessop and nodded. "Yes,by all means!" she said. The maid putinto her hand a long morocco box;Madam kissed me, and with soft,trembling fingers clasped the necklaceround my neck. "It is a graceful

compliment you pay me, my child," shesaid, glancing at the picture again, witheyes a little dimmed. "Oblige me bywearing this, to complete the vision ofmy past youth."

Ten stars of chrysoprase, the purestand tenderest green in the world, set indelicately wrought gold. I need notdescribe the necklace to you. You thinkit the most beautiful jewel in the world,and so do I; and I have promised thatyou shall wear it on your eighteenthbirthday.

Madam Le Baron saw nothing singularin my appearance. She never changedthe fashion of her dress, being of the

opinion, as she told me afterward, thata gentlewoman's dress is her own affair,not her mantua-maker's; and her grayand silver brocade went very well withthe green satin. We stood side by sidefor a moment, gazing into the long,dim mirror; then she patted myshoulder and gave a little sigh.

"Your auburn hair looks well with thegreen," she said. "My hair was dark, butotherwise Shall we go down, my dear "

I will not say much about the evening.It was painful, of course; but Effie Gayhad no mother, and much must bepardoned in such a case. No doubt Imade a quaint figure enough among the

six or eight gay girls, all dressed in thelatest fashion; but the first moment wasthe worst, and the first titter put a firein my veins that kept me warm all theevening. An occasional glance atMadam Le Baron's placid face enabledme to preserve my sense of proportion,and I remembered that two wise men,Solomon and my Uncle John, hadcompared the laughter of fools to thecrackling of thorns under a pot. Andand there were some who did notlaugh.

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

I can tell you the rest of the story in a

few words.

A year from that time Madam Le Barondied; and a few weeks after her death, aparcel came for me from Hillton.

Opening it in great wonder, what did Ifind but the gown, the green satingown, with the slippers and fan, andthe tortoise-shell comb in a leather case!Lifting it reverently from the box, thedress felt singularly heavy on my arm,and a moment's search revealed astrange matter. The pocket was full ofgold pieces, shining half-eagles, whichfell about me in a golden shower, andmade me cry out with amazement; butthis was not all! The tears sprang to my

eyes as I opened the morocco box andtook out the chrysoprase necklace: tearspartly of gratitude and pleasure, partlyof sheer kindness and love and sorrowfor the sweet, stately lady who hadthought of me in her closing days, andhad found (they told me afterward) oneof her last pleasures in planning thissurprise for me.

There is something more that I mightsay, my dear. Your dear father was oneof that gay sleighing party; and heoften speaks of the first time he sawme when I was coming down the stairsin the green satin gown.

BLUE EGYPTIANS [1]

A PAPER-MILL STORY

"I wouldn't, Lena!"

"Well, I guess I shall!"

"Don't, Lena! please don't! you will besorry, I am sure, if you do it. It cannotbring good, I know it cannot!"

"The idea! Mary Denison, you are tooold-fashioned for anything. I'd like toknow what harm it can do."

The rag-room was nearly deserted. The

whistle had blown, and most of thegirls had hurried away to their dinner.Two only lingered behind, deep inconversation; Mary Denison and LenaLaxen.

Mary was sitting by her sorting-table,busily sorting rags as she talked. Shewas a fair, slender girl, and lookedwonderfully fresh and trim in her grayprint gown, with a cap of the samematerial fitting close to her head, andhiding her pretty hair. The other girlwas dark and vivacious, with laughingblack eyes and a careless mouth. Shewas picturesque enough in her bluedress, with the scarlet handkerchief tiedloosely over her hair; but both kerchief

and dress showed the dust plainly, andthe dark locks that escaped here andthere were dusty too, showing little ofthe care that may keep one neat even ina rag-room.

"It's just as pretty as it can be!" Lenawent on, half-coaxing, half-defiant."You ought to see it, Mame! A silkwaist, every bit as good as new, only ofcourse it's mussed up, lying in the bag;and a skirt, and lots of other things, allas nice as nice! I can't think what thefolks that had them meant, puttingsuch things into the rags: why, thatwaist hadn't much more than come outof the shop, you might say. And do youthink I'm going to let it go through the

duster, and then be thrown out, andsomebody else get it No, sir! and it's nogood for rags, you know it isn't, MaryDenison."

"I know that it is not yours, Lena, normine!" said Mary, steadily. "But I'll tellyou what you might do; go straight toMr. Gordon, and tell him about thepretty waist, very likely it got in bymistake, tell him it is no good for rags,and ask if you may have it. Like as nothe'll let you have it; and if not, you willfind out what his reason is. I think weought to suppose he has some reasonfor what he does."

Lena laughed spitefully.

"Like as not he's going to take it hometo his own girl!" she said. "I saw her inthe street the other day, and I wouldn'thave been seen dead with the hat shehad on; not a flower, nor even a scrapof a feather; just a plain band and agoose-quill stuck in it. Real poorhouse,I thought it looked, and he as rich as aJew. I guess I sha'n't go to Mr. Gordon;he's just as hateful as he can be. Hegave out word that no one was totouch that bag, nor so much as go nearit; and he had it set off in a corner ofthe outer shed, close by the chloridebarrels, so that everything in it willsmell like poison. If that isn't mean, Idon't know what is.

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

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

Lena nodded and went out, shuttingthe door with a defiant swing. Marylooked after her doubtfully, as ifhesitating whether she ought not tofollow and make some stronger plea;but the next moment she bent over herwork again.

"I must hurry!" she said. "I'll see Lenaafter dinner, and try to make herpromise not to touch that bag. I don'tsee what has got into her."

Mary worked away steadily. The ragswere piled in an iron sieve before her;they were mostly the kind called "BlueEgyptians," cotton cloth dyed withindigo, which had come far across thesea from Egypt. Musty and fustyenough they were, and Mary oftenturned her head aside as she sortedthem carefully, putting the good ragsinto a huge basket that stood beside heron the floor, while the bits of woollencloth, of paper and string and otherrefuse, went into different

compartments of the sorting-table,which was something like an old-fashioned box-desk.

Mary was a quick worker, and herbasket was already nearly full of rags.Fastened upright beside her seat was agreat knife, not unlike a scythe-blade,with which she cut off the buttons andhooks and eyes, running the garmentalong the keen edge with a quick andpractised hand. Usually she amusedherself by imagining stories about thebuttons and their former owners, forshe was a fanciful girl, and her child-life, without brothers or sisters, hadbred in her the habit of solitary playand "make-believe," which clung to her

now that she was a tall girl of sixteen.But to-day she was not thinking of theBlue Egyptians. Her thoughts werefollowing Lena on her homeward way,and she was hoping devoutly that herown words might have had some effect,and that Lena might pass by theforbidden bag without lingering to befurther tempted. It was strange that thisone special bundle of rags, comingfrom a village at some distance, shouldhave been kept apart when the day'sallowance was put into the dusters. But"Mother always says we ought tosuppose there is a reason for things!"she said to herself. And she shook herhead resolutely, and tried to make a"button-play."

She pulled from the heap before her adark blue garment, and turned it over,examining it carefully. It seemed to be awoman's jacket. It was of finer materialthan most of the "Egyptians," and thefashion was quaint and graceful. Therewere remnants of embroidery here andthere, and the heavy glass buttons werelike nothing Mary had ever seen before.

"I'll keep these," she said, "for littleJessie Brown; she will be delighted withthem. That child does make so muchout of so little, I'm fairly ashamedsometimes. These will be a fortune toJessie. I'll tell her that I think most likelythey belonged to a princess when they

were new; they were up and down thefront of a dress of gold cloth trimmedwith pearls, and she looked perfectlybeautiful when she had it on, and thePrince of the Fortunate Islands fell inlove with her."

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

Mary cut the buttons off, and slippedthem into her pocket; then she ran herfingers round the edge of the jacket, incase there were any hooks or other hard

substance that had escaped her notice,and that might blunt the knives of thecutter, into which it would next go.

In a corner of the lining, her fingersmet something hard. Here was someobject that had slipped down betweenthe stuff and the lining, and must becut out. Mary ran the jacket along thecutting-knife, and something rolledinto her lap. Not a button this time! sheheld it up to the light, and examined itcuriously. It was a brooch, of glass, orclear stones, in a tarnished silver setting.Dim and dusty, it still seemed full oflight, and glanced in the sun as Maryheld it up.

"What a pretty thing!" she said. "Iwonder if it is glass. I must take this toMr. Gordon, for I never foundanything like it before. Jessie cannothave this."

She laid it carefully aside, and went onwith her sorting, working so quicklythat in a few moments the sieve wasempty, and the basket piled with goodcotton rags, ready for the cutting-machine.

Taking her hat and shawl, Mary passedout, holding the brooch carefully in herhand. There were few people in themill, only the machine-tenders, walkingleisurely up and down beside their

machines, which whirred and dronedon, regardless of dinnertime. The greatrollers went round and round, thebroad white streams flowed on and onover the screens, till the mysteriousmoment came when they ceased to bewet pulp and became paper.

Mary hardly glanced at the wonderfulmachines; they were an old story to her,though in every throb they were tellingover and over the marvellous works ofman. The machine-tenders noddedkindly in return to her modest greeting,and looked after her with approval, andsaid, "Nice gal!" to each other; butMary hurried on until she came to thefinishing-room. Here she hoped to find

a friend whom she could consult abouther discovery; and, sure enough, oldJames Gregory was sitting on hisaccustomed stool, tying bundles ofpaper with the perfection that no oneelse could equal. His back was turnedto the door, and he was crooning afragment of an old paper-mill song,which might have been composed bythe beating engine itself, so rhythmicand monotonous it was.

"'Gene, 'Gene, Made a machine; Joe,Joe, Made it go; Frank, Frank, Turnedthe crank, His mother came out, Andgave him a spank, And knocked himover The garden bank."

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

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

"In just a minute! I want to show yousomething, Mr. Gregory, and to askyour advice, please."

The old finisher turned completelyround this time, and looked his interest.Mary opened her hand, and displayedthe brooch she had found.

James Gregory drew his lips into the

form of a whistle, but made no sound.He looked from the brooch to Mary,and back again.

"Well " he said.

"I found it in the rags; blue Egyptians,you know, Mr. Gregory. It was insidethe lining of a jacket. Do you thinkwhat do you think about it is it glass, orsomething else "

Gregory took the ornament from her,and held it up to the light, screwing hiseyes to little points of light; then hepolished it on his sleeve, and held it upagain.

"Something else!" he said, briefly.

"Is it do you think it might be worthsomething, Mr. Gregory " asked Mary,rather timidly.

"Yes!" roared Gregory, with a suddenexplosion. "I do! I b'lieve them'sdi'monds, sure as here I sit. MaryDenison, you've struck it this time, orI'm a Dutchman."

He got off his stool in greatexcitement, and walked up and downthe room, still holding the brooch inhis hand. Mary looked after him, and

her face was very pale. She said oneword softly, "Mother!" that was all.

Mary Denison and her mother werepoor. Mrs. Denison was far fromstrong, and they had no easy time of it,for there was little save Mary's wages tofeed and clothe the two women and paytheir rent. James Gregory knew all this;his pale old face was lighted withemotion, and he stumped up and downthe room at a rapid pace.

Suddenly he stopped, and faced theanxious girl, who was following himwith bewildered eyes.

"Findin's havin'!" he said, abruptly.

"That's paper-mill law. Some folkswould tell ye to keep this to yourself,and sell it for what you could get."

Mary's face flushed.

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

"No!" roared the old man, with anotherexplosion, stamping violently on thefloor. "No, I don't. You're poor asspring snakes, and your mother's sickly,and you've hard work to get enough tokeep the flesh on your bones; but Idon't tell ye to do that. I tell ye to take itstraight to the Old Man, and tell himwhere ye found it, and all about it. I've

knowed him ever since his mustashgrowed, and before. You go straight tohim! He's in the office now."

"I was going!" said Mary, simply. "Ithought I'd come and see you first, Mr.Gregory, you've always been so good tomother and me. You you couldn'tmanage to come with me, could you Iam afraid of Mr. Gordon; I can't helpit, though he is always pleasant to me."

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

In his eagerness he seized Mary by thearm, and kept his hold on her as theypassed out through the mill. The few

"hands" who were at work here andthere gazed after them in amazement;for the old man was dragging the girlalong as if he had caught her in someoffence, and was going to deliver herup to justice.

The same impression was made in theoffice, when the pair appeared there.The two clerks stared open-mouthed,and judged after their nature; for oneof them said, instantly, to himself, "It'sa mistake!" while the other said, "Ialways knew that Denison girl was toopious to last!"

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

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

Gregory waved his hat excitedly.

"If you'd look here, sir!" he said. "Ifyou would just cast your eye over thatarticle, and tell this gal what you thinkof it! Blue Egyptians, sir! luckiest ragsthat ever come into this mill, I've alwayssaid. Well, sir "

Mr. Gordon was not easily stirred toexcitement. It seemed an age to theanxious girl and the impetuous oldman, as he turned the brooch over and

over, holding it up in every light,polishing it, breathing on it, thenpolishing it again. Gregory's handstwitched with eagerness, and Mary feltalmost faint with suspense.

"You found this in the rags " he askedat length, turning to Mary. He spoke inhis ordinary even tone, and Mary'sheart sank, she could not have toldwhy.

"Yes, sir!" she faltered. "I found it in ablue jacket. It was in between the stuffand the lining. There were glass buttonson the jacket."

She drew them from her pocket and

held them out; but Mr. Gordon, after aglance, waved them back.

"Those are of no value!" he said."About this brooch, I am not so sure.The stones may be real stones I inclineto think they are; but it is possible thatthey may be paste. The imitations aresometimes very perfect; no one but ajeweller can tell positively. I will take itto Boston with me to-morrow, andhave it examined."

He dropped the brooch into a drawerat his side, turned the key and put it inhis pocket, all in his quiet, methodicalway, as if he were in the habit ofexamining diamond brooches every

day; then he nodded kindly to the pair,and bent over his papers again.

Mary went out silently, and Gregoryfollowed her with a dazed look on hisstrong features. He looked back at thedoor two or three times, but saidnothing till they were back in thefinishing-room.

Then "It's one of his days!" he said."I've knowed him ever since hismustash growed, and there's days whenhe's struck with a dumb sperit, just likeScriptur'. Don't you fret, Mary! He'll seeyou righted, or I'll give you my head."

Mary might have thought that Mr.

Gregory's head would be of little useto her without the rest of him. She feltsadly dashed and disappointed. Shehardly knew what she had expected,but it was something very differentfrom this calm, every-day reception, thistotal disregard of her own and hercompanion's excitement.

"I guess he thinks they're nothinggreat!" she said, wearily. "What was thathe said about paste, Mr. Gregory Younever saw any paste like that, did you

"No!" said Gregory, "I've heered ofDi'mond Glue, but 'twan't nothin' likestones nor glass neither. You may runme through the calenders if I know

what he's drivin' at. But I'll trust him!"he added, vehemently. "I done right totell you to go to him. He's in one of hismoods to-day, but you'll hear from him,if there's anything to hear, now markmy words! And now I'd go home, if Iwas you, and see your ma'am, and getyour dinner. And Mary I dono as I'dsay anything about this, if I was you.Things get round so in a mill, ye know."

Mary nodded assurance, and wenthome, trying to feel that nothing ofimportance had happened. Do whatshe would, however, the golden visionswould come dancing before her eyes.Suppose suppose the stones should bereal, after all! and suppose Mr. Gordon

should give her a part, at least, of themoney they might bring in Boston. Itmight she knew diamonds werevaluable it might be thirty or fortydollars. Oh! how rich she would be!The rent could be paid some time inadvance, and her mother could have thenew shawl she needed so badly: orwould a cloak be better cloaks weremore in fashion, but Mother said agood shawl was always good style.

Turning the corner by her mother'shouse, she met one of the clerks whohad been in the office when she wentin there. He looked at her with thesmile she always disliked, she hardlyknew why.

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

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

"You'll never see your diamonds again,nor the money for them!" replied theman. "That's easy guessing. He'll comeback and tell you they're glass or paste,and that's the last you'll hear of them.And the diamonds for they arediamonds, right enough will go into hispocket, or on to his wife's neck. I knowwhat's what! I wasn't born down inthese parts."

"You don't know Mr. Gordon!" saidMary, warmly. "That isn't the way he isthought of by those who do knowhim."

The clerk was a newcomer fromanother State, and was not liked by themill-workers.

"I know his kind!" he said, with a sneer;"and they're no good to your kind,Mary Denison, nor to mine. Mark mywords, you'll hear no more of thatbreastpin."

Mary turned away so decidedly that hesaid no more, but his eyes followed herwith a sinister look.

Next moment he was greeting LenaLaxen cordially, and she was dimplingand smiling all over at his compliments.Lena thought Mr. Hitchcock "justelegant!" and believed that Mary wasjealous when she said she did not likehim. Something now prompted her totell him about the silk waist in theforbidden sack; he took her view atonce and zealously. The boss (for hedid not use the kindly title of "OldMan," by which the other mill-handsdesignated Mr. Gordon, though he wasbarely forty) had his eye on the things,most likely, as he had on the pin MaryDenison found. Hadn't Lena heardabout that Well, it was a burning

shame, he could tell her; he would seethat she, Lena, wasn't fooled that way.And Lena, listening eagerly, heard astory very different from that whichhad been told to Mr. Gordon.

In an hour the whole mill knew thatMary Denison had found a diamondpin in the rags, and that Mr. Gordonhad told her it was nothing but hardglue, and had sold it himself in Bostonfor a thousand dollars, and spent themoney on a new horse.

Nor was this all! Late that evening LenaLaxen stole from her home with ashawl over her head, and met the clerkby the corner of the outer shed. A few

minutes of whispering and giggling,and she stole back, with a bundle underher shawl; while Hitchcock tied a brightsilk handkerchief round his neck, andstrutted off with the air of aconqueror.

Next morning, as Mary Denison wasgoing to her work, Lena rapped on thewindow, and called her attention bysigns to the bodice she had on. It was agay striped silk, little worn, but stillshowing, in spite of pressing, the marksof crumpling and tossing. The brightcolors suited Lena's dark skin well, andas she stood there with flushed cheeksand sparkling eyes, Mary thought shehad never seen her look prettier. At first

she nodded and smiled in approval; butthe next moment a thought darted intoher mind that made her clasp herhands, and cry anxiously:

"Oh! Lena, you didn't do it! you neverdid it! it's not that waist you have on "

Lena affected not to hear. She onlynodded and laughed triumphantly, andturned away, leaving Mary standing paleand distressed outside the window.

Mary hesitated. Should she go in andreason further with the wilful girl, andtry to persuade her to restore the stolengarment Something told her it wouldbe useless; but still she was on the

point of going in, when old JamesGregory came by, and asked her to walkon with him.

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

"Well, May," said Gregory, "how're yefeelin' to-day hearty that's clever! I hopeyou wasn't frettin' about that pin any.Most girls would, but you ain't the foolkind."

"I don't know, Mr. Gregory!" said Mary,laughing. "I'm afraid I have thoughtabout it more or less, but I haven't beenfretting. Where's the use "

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

"And I didn't say anything to Mother,"Mary went on. "I didn't want her toknow about it unless something wasreally coming of it. Poor Mother! shehas enough to think about."

"She has so!" said Gregory. "A sight o'thinkin' your mother doos, Mary, andgood thoughts, every one of 'em, I'llbet my next pay. She's a good woman,your mother; I guess likely you know itwithout me sayin' so. I call SusanDenison the best woman I know, andI've told my wife so, more times than

she says she has any occasion for. Idon't say she's an angel, but she's agood woman, and that's as fur as we'relikely to get in this world.

"But that ain't what I wanted to say toyou, May! Somehow or 'nother, thestory's got round about your findin'that pin yesterday. You didn't saynothin' "

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

"'Twas that pison Hitchcock, I expect!"said Gregory. "I see him lookin' upwith his little eyes, as red as a ferret, andas ugly. I bet he started the hull thing;

and he's tacked on a passel of lies, andthe endurin' place is hummin' with it.Thought I'd tell ye before ye went in,so's ye could fix up a little what to say."

Mary thanked him cordially, and passedon into the mill: the old man lookedafter her with a very friendly glance inhis keen blue eyes.

"She's good stuff, May is!" hemurmured. "Good stuff, like hermother.

"Folks is like rags, however you look at'em. Take a good linen rag, no matterhow black it is, and put it through thewashers, and the bleachers, and the

cutters, and all the time it's gettin'whiter and whiter, and sweeter andsweeter, the more you bang it round; tillat last you have bank-note paper, andwrite to the Queen of England on it, ifyou're a mind to, and she won't havenone better. And take jute or shoddy,and the minute you touch to wash it, itcockles up, or drops to pieces, and itain't no good to mortal man. Jest likefolks, I tell ye! and May and hermother's pure linen clippin's, if ever Isee 'em."

Forewarned is forearmed, and Marymet quietly the buzz of inquiry thatgreeted her when she entered the rag-room. The girls crowded round her, the

men were not far behind. To each andall Mary told the simple truth, tryingnot to say a word too much. "Thetongue is a fire!" her mother's favoritetext, was constantly in her mind, andshe was determined that no ill wordshould be spoken of Mr. Gordon, ifshe could help it. Almost every one inthe mill liked and respected the "OldMan;" but the human mind loves asensation, and Lena and Hitchcock hadtold their story so vividly the daybefore that Mary's account seemedtame and dull beside it; and some ofthe hands preferred to think that"Mame Denison was a sly one, andwarn't goin' to let on, fear some one'dgit ahead of her."

Lena, who came shortly, in her usualdress, fostered this feeling, not frommalice, but from sheer love ofexcitement and gossip. In spite ofMary's efforts, the excitement increased,and when, late in the afternoon, wordcame that Mary Denison was wanted inthe office, the rag-room was left fairlybubbling with wild surmise.

Mr. Gordon did not see Mary when shecame in. He was standing at his desk,with an open letter in his hand, and hisface was disturbed as he spoke to thesenior clerk.

"Myers, it is as I feared about that bag

of rags from Blankton. You have keptit carefully tied up, and close by thechlorides, as I told you "

Myers, a clear-eyed, honest-browedman, looked troubled.

"I did, sir!" he said. "I have looked atthe bag every time I passed that way,and have cautioned every one in themill not to go near it, besides keepingthe shed-gate locked; but this morningI found that it had been tampered with,and evidently something taken out. Ihope there is nothing wrong, sir!"

George Gordon struck his hand heavilyon the desk. "Wrong!" he repeated.

"There have been two fatal cases ofsmallpox in Blankton, and that bag hasbeen traced to the house where theywere."

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

"I suspected something wrong, themoment you told me of things thatlooked new and good; but I did notwant to raise a panic in the mill, whenthere might be some other explanation.I thought I had taken every precautionwhat is that "

He turned quickly, hearing a low crybehind him. Mary Denison was

standing with clasped hands, her facewhite with terror.

"Mary!" said Mr. Gordon, inamazement. "You surely you have hadnothing to do with this "

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

Then, with an impulse she could notexplain, she turned suddenly uponHitchcock.

"Who let Lena Laxen into the yard lastnight " she cried. "She could not have

got in without help. You had a key youwere talking to her after I left heryesterday. Oh! look at him, Mr. Gordon!Mr. Myers, look at that man!"

But Hitchcock did not seem to hear orheed her. He sat crouched over hisdesk, his face a greenish-gray color, hiseyes staring, his hands clutching thewoodwork convulsively; an awfulfigure of terror, that gasped andcowered before them. Then suddenly,with a cry that rattled in his throat, hedashed from his seat and ranbareheaded out of the door.

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

"Let him go!" he said, sternly. "It maybe that he carries his punishment withhim. In any case we shall see him nomore."

Quickly and quietly he gave Myers hisorders; to take Lena Laxen to her home,notify the physician, and proclaim astrict quarantine; to burn the infectedrags without loss of time; to have everypart of the shed where the fatal baghad stood thoroughly disinfected.When the man had hastened away, Mr.Gordon turned to Mary, and his sternface lightened.

"Do not distress yourself, Mary," he

said, kindly. "It may be that Lena willescape the infection; it seems that sheonly had the garment on a few minutes;and you did all you could, I am sure, todissuade her from this piece of fataland dishonest folly."

"Oh! I might have said more!" criedMary, in an agony of self-reproach. "Imeant to go into her house thismorning, and try to make her hearreason; it might not have been too latethen."

"Thank Heaven you did not!" said Mr.Gordon, gravely. "The air of the housewas probably already infected. No onesave the doctor must go near that

house till all danger of the diseasedeveloping is over."

He then told Mary briefly why he hadsent for her. Finding that he could notgo to Boston himself at present, as hehad planned, he had sent the brooch byexpress to a jeweller whom he knew,and would be able to tell her in a fewdays whether it was of real value ornot. Mary thanked him, but his wordsfell almost unheeded on her ears. Whatwere jewels or money, in the face of adanger so awful as that which nowthreatened her friend, and, through her,the whole village

Days of suspense followed. From the

moment when the weeping, agonizedLena was taken home and put, tenderly,pityingly, in her mother's hands (it wasMr. Gordon himself who had donethis, refusing to let any other performthe duty), an invisible line was drawnabout the Laxen cottage, which fewdared pass. The doctor came and went,reporting all well to the eagerquestioners. Mr. Gordon called daily toinquire, and every evening MaryDenison stole to the door with a paperor magazine for Lena and her mother,or some home-made delicacy thatmight please the imprisoned girl. Lenawas usually at the window, sometimesdefiant and blustering, sometimes wildwith fright, sometimes again crying for

sheer loneliness and vexation; butalways behind her was her mother'spale face of dread, and her thin voicesaying that Lena was "as well ascommon, thank ye," and she and Marywould exchange glances, and Marywould go away drawing breath, andthanking the Lord that another day wasgone.

So on, for nine anxious days; but onthe tenth, when Mary looked up at thewindow, the mother stood there alone,crying; and the doctor, coming out ofthe house at the moment, told Maryharshly to keep away from him, and notto come so near the house.

In the dreadful days that followed, hispeople learned to know GeorgeGordon as they had never known himbefore. The grave, silent man, whonever spoke save when speech wasnecessary, was now among them everyday, going from room to room withcheerful greetings, encouraging,heartening, raising the drooping spirits,and rebuking sharply the croakers, whoforetold with dismal unction a generalepidemic. While taking every possibleprecaution, he made light of the actualdanger, and by his presence andinfluence warded off the panic whichmight have brought about the dreadedresult.

As a matter of fact, there were no morecases in the mill; and Lena herself hadthe terrible disease more lightly thanany one had dared to hope. The doctor,hurrying through back ways and alleysto change his clothes and take his bathof disinfectants, was hailed from backgates and windows at every step; and henever failed to return a cheery "Doingwell! out of it soon now! No, not muchmarked, only a few spots here andthere."

This was when he left the quarantinedhouse; but when he sought it, he mightbe seen to stop at one gate and another,picking up here a jar, there a bowl, hereagain a paper bag; till by the time he

reached the Laxen gate he stood out allover with packages like a summer SantaClaus.

"There ain't anybody goin' to starveround here, if they have got thesmallpox!" was the general verdict,voiced by James Gregory, and when headded, for the benefit of the mill-yard,that he had heard Mr. Gordon orderice-cream, oranges, and oysters, all atonce, for Lena, a growl of pleasurewent round, which deepened into ahearty "What's the matter with the OldMan he's all right!"

At length, one happy day, MaryDenison met Mr. Gordon at the Laxens'

gate, and heard the good news thatLena was sitting up; that in a day or twonow the quarantine would be taken off,the house disinfected, and Lena back inher place at the mill. The managerlooked with satisfaction at Mary'sbeaming face of happiness; then, as shewas turning away to spread the goodtidings, he said:

"Wait a moment, Mary! I have someother news for you. Have you forgottenthe brooch that you found in the BlueEgyptians "

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

"Because," he added, "I have notforgotten, though you might well thinkI had done so. All this sad business hasdelayed matters, but now I have it allarranged. I am ready to-day, Mary, togive you either the brooch itself, orwhat I think will be better five hundreddollars, the sum I find it to be worth.Yes, my child, I am speaking the truth!The stones are fine ones, and theBoston jeweller offers you that sum forthem. Well, Mary, have you nothing tosay What, crying this will never do!"

But Mary had nothing to say, and shewas crying, because she could not helpit. Presently she managed to murmursomething about "Too much! too great

kindness not fair for her to have it all!"but Mr. Gordon cut her short.

"Certainly you are to have it all, everypenny of it! Finding's having! that ispaper-mill law; ask James Gregory if itis not! There comes James this moment;go and tell him of your good fortune,and let him bring you up to my housethis evening to get the money.

"But, Mary," he glanced at a letter in hishand, and his face, which had beenbright with kindness and pleasure, grewvery grave, "there is something else foryou to tell James, and all the hands.James Hitchcock died yesterday, ofmalignant smallpox!"

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

LITTLE BENJAMIN

"Then is little Benjamin their ruler."

"I THINK the kitty wants to come in,"said Mother Golden. "I hear him cryingsomewhere. Won't you go and let himin, Adam "

Adam laid down his book and wentout; the whole family looked upcheerfully, expecting to see Aladdin, the

great Maltese cat, enter with his statelyport. There was a pause; then Adamcame back with a white, scared face,and looked at his father withoutspeaking.

"What is the matter, my son " askedFather Golden.

"Is Kitty hurt " asked Mother Golden,anxiously.

"Was it that dog of Jackson's " criedLemuel, Mary, Ruth, and Joseph.

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

"A basket What does the boy mean "

"A long basket, with something whiteinside; and it's crying!"

The boy had left the door open, and atthis moment a sound came through it, along, low, plaintive cry.

"My heart!" said Mother Golden; andshe was out of the door in a flash.

"See there now!" said Father Golden,reprovingly. "Your mother's smarterthan any of you to-day. Go and helpher, some of you!"

The children tumbled headlong toward

the door, but were met by MotherGolden returning, bearing in her strongarms a long basket, in which wasindeed something white and fluffy thatcried.

"A baby!" exclaimed Father Golden.

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

"Well, I knew it was a baby," protestedAdam; "but I didn't like to say so."

Mother Golden lifted the child out andheld it in a certain way; the cries ceased,

and the little creature nestled closeagainst her and looked up in her face.

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

The girls pressed forward eagerly; theboys hung back, and glanced at theirfather; these were women's matters.

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

"Look at its little hands!" murmuredMary. "They're like pink shells, onlysoft. Oh! see it move them, Ruth!" Shecaught her sister's arm in a sudden

movement of delight.

"Oh, mother, mayn't we keep it " criedboth girls at once.

Mother Golden was examining thebaby's clothes.

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

She opened a folded paper, and read afew words, written in a carefully roughhand.

"His mother is dead, his father a waif.Ask the woman with the kind eyes to

take care of him, for Christ's sake."

"My heart!" said Mother Golden, again.

"It's a boy, then!" said Father Golden,brightening perceptibly. He cameforward, the boys edging forward too,encouraged by another masculinepresence.

"It's a boy, and a beauty!" said MotherGolden, wiping her eyes. "I never see aprettier child. Poor mother, to have togo and leave him. Father, what do yousay "

"It's for you to say, mother;" said FatherGolden. "It's to you the child was sent."

"Do you suppose 'twas me that wasmeant They might have mistaken thehouse."

"Don't talk foolishness!" said FatherGolden. "The question is, what shall wedo with it There's places, a plenty,where foundlings have the best ofbringing up; and you've got careenough, as it is, mother, without takingon any more."

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

"So could I!" said twelve-year-old Ruth.

"We'd take turns, Mary and I. Do let'skeep it, mother!"

"It's a great responsibility!" said FatherGolden.

"Great Jemima!" said Mother Golden,with a sniff. "If I couldn't take theresponsibility of a baby, I'd give up."

Father Golden's mind moved slowly,and while he was meditating a reply, hiswife issued various commands, andwent through some intricate femininemanoeuvres, with the effect ofincreased fluffiness on the baby's part.In five minutes she was feeding thechild with warm milk from a spoon,

and proclaiming that he ate "like aMajor!"

The boys, gaining more and moreconfidence, were now close at her knee,and watched the process with eagereyes.

"He's swallering like anything!" criedLemuel. "I can see him do it with histhroat, same as anybody."

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

"Joe, you chuckle-head!" said Adam,who was sixteen, and knew most

things. "How can he talk, when hehasn't got any teeth "

"Uncle 'Rastus hasn't got any teeth,"retorted Joseph, "and he talks like abuzz-saw."

"Hush, Joseph!" said Mother Golden,reprovingly. "Your Uncle 'Rastus is aman of years."

"Yes, mother!" said Joseph, meekly.

"Baby has got a tooth, too, Adam!"Mother Golden continued,triumphantly. "I feel it pricking throughthe gum this minute. And he so good,and laughing like a sunflower! Did it

hurt him, then, a little precious man heshall have a nice ring to-morrow day, tobitey on, so he shall!"

"I suppose, then, he must be as muchas a week old," hazarded Adam, in anoffhand tone. "They are never bornwith teeth, are they, unless they aregoing to be Richard the Thirds, orsomething wonderful "

"Perhaps he is!" said Ruth. "He lookswonderful enough for Richard theTwentieth, or anything."

But "A week old!" said Mother Golden."It's time there was a baby in thishouse, if you don't know better than

that, Adam. About six months old I callhim, and as pretty a child as ever I saw,even my own."

She looked half-defiantly at FatherGolden, who returned the look withone of mild deprecation.

"I was only thinking of the care'twould be to you, mother," he said."We're bound to make inquiries, andreport the case, and so forth; but ifnothing comes of that, we might keepthe child for a spell, and see how thingsturn out."

"That's what I was thinking!" saidMother Golden, eagerly. "I was

thinking anyway, Joel, 'twould be bestto keep him through his teething andstomach troubles, and give him a goodstart in the way of proper food andnursing. At them homes and nurseries,they mean well, but the most of them'syoung, and they don't understand achild's stomach. It's experience theyneed, not good-will, I'm well aware. Ofcourse, when Baby begun to be a boy,things might be different. You workhard enough as it is, father, and there'splaces, no doubt, could do better forhim, maybe, than what we could. Butwell, seeing whose name he come in, Ido feel to see him through his teething."

"Children, what do you say " asked

Father Golden. "You're old enough tohave your opinion, even the youngestof you."

"Oh, keep him! keep him!" clamoredthe three younger children.

Adam and Lemuel exchanged a glanceof grave inquiry.

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

"I think so, too!" said Lemuel; and bothgave something like a sigh of relief.

"Then that's settled," said FatherGolden, "saying and supposing that no

objection turns up. Next thing is, whatshall we call this child "

All eyes were fixed on the baby, who,now full of warm milk, sat throned onMother Golden's knee, blinkingcontent.

It was a pretty picture: the rosy, dimpledcreature, the yellow floss ruffled allover his head, his absurd little mouthopen in a beaming smile; beamingabove him, Mother Golden's placidface in its frame of silver hair; frontingthem, Father Golden in his big leatherchair, solid, comfortable, benevolent;and the five children, their honest,sober faces lighted up with unusual

excitement. A pleasant, homelikepicture. Nothing remarkable in the wayof setting; the room, with its stuffedchairs, its tidies, and cabinet organ, wasonly unlike other such rooms from thefact that Mother Golden habitually satin it; she could keep even hairclothfrom being commonplace. But now, allthe light in the room seemed to centreon the yellow flossy curls against herbreast.

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

"He says his name's Goo!" announcedJoseph.

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

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

"Not a Christian name, certainly," saidFather Golden. "Not much of a nameanyhow, 'pears to me. We'd better givethe child a suitable name, mother,saying and supposing no objectionturns up. Coming into a Christianfamily, let him have Christian baptism, Isay."

"Oh, call him Arthur!"

"Bill!"

"Richard!"

"Charlie!"

"Reginald!" cried the children inchorus.

"I do love a Bible name!" said MotherGolden, pensively. "It gives a child agood start, so to say, and makes himthink when he hears himself named, orought so to do. All our own childrenhas Bible names, father; don't let us cutthe little stranger off from his

privilege."

"But Bible names are so ugly!" objectedLemuel, who was sensitive, andsuffered under his own cognomen.

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

"Yes, father!" said Lemuel.

"Lemuel, dear, you was named for aking!" said Mother Golden. "He was agood boy to his mother, and so are you.Bring the Bible, and let us see what itopens at. Joseph, you are the youngest,you shall open it."

Joseph opened the great brown leatherBible, and closing his eyes, laid his handon the page; then looking down, heread:

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

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

"I never knew but one Nephtali, and hesquinted. Benjamin shall be this child'sname. Little Benjamin: the Lord blessand keep him!"

"Amen!" said Father Golden.

PART II.

"Father, may I come in, if you are notbusy "

It was Mary who spoke; Mary, the deareldest daughter, now a woman grown,grave and mild, trying hard to fill theplace left empty these two years, sinceMother Golden went smiling out oflife.

Father Golden looked up from his

book; he was an old man now, but hiseyes were still young and kind.

"What is it, daughter Mary "

"The same old story, father dear; Bennyin mischief again. This time he hasrubbed soot on all the door-handles,and the whole house is black with it. Ihate to trouble you, father, but I expectyou'll have to speak to him. I do lovethe child so, I'm not strict enough I'mashamed to say it, but they all think so,and I know it's true and Adam is toostrict."

"Yes, Adam is too strict," said FatherGolden. He looked at a portrait that

stood on his desk, a framedphotograph of Mother Golden.

"I'll speak to the child, Mary," he said."I'll see that this does not happen again.What is it, Ruthie "

"I was looking for Mary, father. Iwanted oh, Mary! what shall I do withBenny he has tied Rover and the cattogether by their tails, and they arerushing all about the garden almostcrazy. I must finish this work, so I can'tattend to it. He says he is playingSamson. I wish you would speak tohim, father."

"I will do so, Ruth, I will do so. Don't

be distressed, my daughter."

"But he is so naughty, father! he is sodifferent from the other boys. Joe neverused to play such tricks when he waslittle."

"The spring vacation will be over soonnow, Ruth," said Sister Mary. "He isalways better when he is at work, andthere is so little for a boy to do just atthis time of year."

"I left Joe trying to catch the poorcreatures," said Ruth. "Here he comesnow."

Joe, a tall lad of seventeen, entered with

a face of tragedy.

"Any harm done, Joseph " asked FatherGolden, glancing at the portrait on hisdesk.

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

"Father knows about that, Joe!" saidMary, gently.

"Did you get them apart " cried Ruth.

"Yes, I did, but not till they hadsmashed most of the glass in thekitchen windows, and trampled all overMary's geraniums. Something has got to

be done about that youngster, father.He's getting to be a perfect nuisance."

"I am thinking of doing somethingabout him, son Joseph," said FatherGolden. "Are your brothers in thehouse "

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

Apparently Adam and Lemuel wantedto see their father, for they appeared inthe doorway at this moment: quiet-looking men, with grave, "set" faces; thehair already beginning to edge awayfrom their temples.

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

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

"What message, Adam "

"Didn't you send for us Benny camerunning in, all out of breath, and saidyou wished to see us at once. If he hasbeen playing tricks again "

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

"Something must be done about that

boy, father!" he said. "He is the tormentof the whole family."

"No one can live a day in peace!" saidLemuel.

"No dumb creature's life is safe!" saidJoe.

"He breaks everything he lays handson," said Ruth, "and he won't keep hishands off anything."

"You were all little once, boys!" saidMary.

"We never behaved in this kind ofway!" said the brothers, sedate from

their cradles. "Something must bedone!"

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

Glancing once more at the portrait ofMother Golden, he turned and facedhis children with grave looks.

"Sit down, sons and daughters!" saidthe old man. "I have something to sayto you."

The young people obeyed, wondering,but not questioning. Father Golden washead of the house.

"You all come to me," said FatherGolden, "with complaints of littleBenjamin. It is singular that you shouldcome to-day, for I have been waitingfor this day to speak to you about thechild myself."

He paused for a moment; then added,weighing his words slowly, as was hiswont when much in earnest, "Ten yearsago to-day, that child was left on ourdoor-step."

The brothers and sisters uttered anexclamation, half surprised, halfacquiescent.

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

"It seems longer!" said Mary.

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

"I felt doubtful about taking him in,"Father Golden went on. "But yourmother wished it; you all wished it. Wedecided to keep him for a spell, andgive him a good start in life, and wehave kept him till now."

"Of course we have kept him!" saidRuth.

"Naturally!" said Lemuel.

Adam and Mary said nothing, butlooked earnestly at their father.

"Little Benjamin is now ten years old,more or less," said Father Golden. "Youare men and women grown; evenJoseph is seventeen. Your mother hasentered into the rest that is reserved forthe people of God, and I am lookingforward in the hope that, not throughany merit of mine, but the mercifulgrace of God, I may soon be called tojoin her. Adam and Lemuel, you aresettled in the business, and lookingforward to making homes of your ownwith worthy young women. Joseph isgoing to college, which is a new thingin our family, but one I approve, seeing

his faculty appears to lie that way. Ruthwill make a first-rate dressmaker, I amtold by those who know. Mary "

His quiet voice faltered. Mary took hishand and kissed it passionately; a sobbroke from her, and she turned her faceaway from the brothers and sister wholoved but did not understand her. Theylooked at her with grave compassion,but no one would have thought ofinterrupting Father Golden.

"Mary, you are the home-maker," theold man went on. "I hope that when Iam gone this home will still be here,with you at the head of it. You are yourmother's own daughter; there is no

more to say." He was silent for a time,and then continued.

"There remains little Benjamin, a childof ten years. He is no kin to us; anorphan, or as good as one; no personhas ever claimed him, or ever will. Thetime has come to decide what shall bedone with the child."

Again he paused, and looked around.The serious young faces were all intentupon him; in some, the intentnessseemed deepening into trouble, but noone spoke or moved.

"We have done all that we undertook todo for him, that night we took him in,

and more. We have brought him Ishould say your mother brought himthrough his sickly days; we 'most losthim, you remember, when he was twoyears old, with the croup and he is nowa healthy, hearty child, and will likelymake a strong man. He has been welltreated, well fed and clothed, maybebetter than he would have been by hisown parents if so't had been. He isturning out wild and mischievous,though he has a good heart, nonebetter; and you all, except Mary, cometo me with complaints of him.

"Now, this thing has gone far enough.One of two things: either this boy is tobe sent away to some institution, to

take his place among other orphans andfoundlings, or he must be one of youfor now and always, to share alike withyou while I live, to be bore with andhelped by each and every one of you asif he was your own blood, and to havehis share of the property when I amgone. Sons and daughters, this questionis for you to decide. I shall say nothing.My life is 'most over, yours is justbeginning. I have no great amount toleave you, but 'twill be comfortable sofar as it goes. Benjamin has one-sixthof that, and becomes my own son, tobe received and treated by you as yourown brother, or he goes."

Mary hid her face in her hands. Adam

walked to the window and looked out;but the other three broke out into asudden, hurried clamor, strangely atvariance with their usual staiddemeanor.

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

"Why, father, I can't think what youmean!"

"I'm sure, sir, we never thought of sucha thing as sending him away. Why, he'sour Ben."

"Good enough little kid, onlymischievous."

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

"And the lovingest little soul! theminute he found that Kitty's paw wascut, he sat down and cried "

"I guess if Benny went, I'd go after himpretty quick!" said Joseph, who hadbeen loudest in his complaint againstthe child.

Mary looked up and smiled throughher tears. "Joe, your heart is in the rightplace!" she said. "I finished your shirtsthis morning, dear; I'm going to beginon your slippers to-night."

"Well, but, father "

"Father dear, about little Benny "

"Yes, sir poor little Ben!"

"Go easy!" said Father Golden; and hisface, as he looked from one to theother, was as bright as his name.

"Why, children, you're real excited. Idon't want excitement, nor crying Mary,daughter, I knew how you would feel,anyway. I want a serious word, 'go,' or'stay,' from each one of you; a wordthat will last your lives long. I'll beginwith the youngest, because that was

your mother's way. She always said theyoungest was nearest heaven. Joseph,what is your word about little Benjamin"

"Stay, of course!" cried Joe. "Bennydoes tease me, but I should be nowherewithout him."

"Ruth! you seemed greatly tried justnow. Think what you are going to say."

"Oh, of course he must stay, father.Why, the child is the life of the house.We are all so humdrum and mopy, Idon't know what we should do withoutBenny to keep us moving."

"Mary, daughter not that I need youranswer, my dear."

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

There was silence for a moment, and allthought of the grave where her youngheart had laid its treasure.

"Lemuel!"

"I've been hard on the child, Father!"said Lemuel. "He's so different fromthe rest of us, and he does try me. Butmother loved him, and down at thebottom we all do, I guess. I say 'stay,'too, and I'll try to be more of a brother

to him from now on."

"Son Adam, I have left you the longesttime to reflect," said Father Golden."You are the oldest, and when I amgone it will be on you and Mary thatthe heft of the care will come. Take allthe time you want, and then give usyour word!"

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

"I have had time enough, Father," hesaid. "I was the first that heard that littlevoice, ten years ago, and the first, exceptmother, that saw the child; 'twould bestrange if I were the one to send him

away. He came in Christ's name, and inthat name I bid him stay."

"Amen!" said Father Golden.

A silence followed; but it was brokensoon by a lively whistle, shrilling out arollicking tune; the next moment a boycame running into the room. Curly,rosy, dirty, ragged, laughing, panting,little Benjamin stood still and lookedround on all the earnest, serious faces.

"What's the matter, all you folks " heasked. "I should think you was all inmeeting, and sermon just beginning.Ruth, I tied up Kitty's leg all right; andI'll dig greens to pay for the glass, Joe.

Say, Bro'rer-Adam-an'-Lem (Bennypronounced this as if it were oneword), did you forget it was AprilFool's Day Didn't I fool you good Andsay! there's a fierce breeze and my newkite's a buster. Who'll come out and flyher with me "

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

DON ALONZO

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

There was no answer.

"Don Alonzo! Deacon Bassett's here,and wishful to see you. Don AlonzoPit-kin!"

Mrs. Joe Pitkin stood at the door amoment, waiting; then she shook hershoulders with a despairing gesture,and went back into the sitting-room. "Idon't know where he is, DeaconBassett," she said. "There! I'm sorry; buthe's so bashful, Don Alonzo is, he'llcreep off and hide anywheres soonerthan see folks. I do feel mortified, but Ican't seem to help it, no way in theworld."

"No need to, Mis' Pitkin," said DeaconBassett, rising slowly and reaching forhis hat. "No need to. I should havebeen pleased to see Don 'Lonzo, andask if he got benefit from those pills Ileft for him last time I called; what hewants is to doctor reg'lar, and keepstraight on doctorin'. But I can callagain; and I felt it a duty to let youknow what's goin' on at your own yard-gate, I may say. Mis' Pegrum's houseain't but a stone's throw from yourn, isit Well, I'll be wishing you good day,and I hope Joseph will be home beforethere's any trouble. I don't supposeyou've noticed whether Don Alonzohas growed any, sence he took thosepills "

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

"Yes, you can call again," she added,mentally, as she watched the deaconmaking his way slowly down thegarden walk, stopping the while toinspect every plant that lookedpromising. "You can call again, but youwill not see him, if you come every day.It does beat all, the way folks can't letthat boy alone. Talk about his beingcranky! I'd be ten times as cranky as heis, if I was pestered by every oldpodogger that's got stuff to sell."

She closed the door, and addressed the

house, apparently empty and still. "He'sgone!" she said, speaking rather loudly,"Don 'Lonzo, he's gone, and you cancome out. I expect you're hidsomewheres about here, for I didn'thear you go out."

There was no sound. She opened thedoor of the ground-floor bedroomand looked in. All was tidy and pleasantas usual. Every mat lay in its place; thechairs were set against the wall as sheloved to see them; the rows of books,the shelves of chemicals, at which shehardly dared to look, and which shenever dared to touch for fear somethingwould "go off" and kill her instantly,the specimens in their tall glass jars, the

case of butterflies, all were in theirplace; but there was no sign of life inthe room, save the canary in thewindow.

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

There was a scuffling sound fromunder the bed; the valance was lifted,and a head emerged cautiously.

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

The head came out, followed by a

figure. The figure was that of a boy oftwelve, but the head belonged to ayouth of seventeen. The roundedshoulders, the sharp features, the dark,sunken eyes, all told a tale of suffering;Don Alonzo Pitkin was a hunchback.

His pretty, silly mother had given himthe foolish name which seemed aperpetual mockery of his feeble person.She had found it in an old romance,and had only wavered between it andSenor Gonzalez, which shepronounced Seener Gon-zallies, theother dark-eyed hero of the book.Perhaps she pictured to herself herbaby growing up into such anotherlofty, black-plumed hidalgo as those

whose magnificent language andmustachios had so deeply impressedher. It was true that she herself hadpinkish eyes and white eyelashes, whileher husband was familiarly known as"Carrots," but what of that

But he had a fall, this poor baby, a cruelfall, from the consequences of whichno high-sounding name could savehim; and then presently the littlemother died, and the father marriedagain.

The boy's childhood had been a sadone, and all the happiness he hadknown had been lately, since his elderbrother married. Big, good-natured Joe

Pitkin, marrying the prettiest girl in thevillage, had been sore at heart, even inhis new-wedded happiness, at thethought of leaving the deformed,sensitive boy alone with the carelessfather and the shrewish stepmother.But his young wife had been the first tosay:

"Let Don Alonzo come and live withus, Joe! Where there is room for two,there is room for three, and that boywants to be made of!"

So the strong, cheerful, wholesomeyoung woman took the sickly lad intoher house and heart, and "made ofhim," to use her own quaint phrase;

and she became mother and sister andsweetheart, all in one, to Don Alonzo.

Now she stood looking at him, shakingher head, yet smiling. "Don 'Lonzo,how can you behave so " she asked."This is the third time Deacon Bassetthas been here to see you, and he'scoming again; and what be I to say tohim next time he comes You can't gothrough life without seeing folks, youknow."

Don Alonzo shook his shoulders, andpretended to look for dust on his coat.He would have been deeply mortifiedto find any, for he took care of his ownroom, and prided himself, with reason,

on its neatness. Also, the space beneathhis bedstead was cupboard as well ashiding-place.

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

"Well, he did," Mira admitted. "But Iexpect he didn't mean anything by it."

"He's asked that ever since I canremember," said Don Alonzo; "and I'mweary of it. There! And then he saysthat if I would only take his GreenElixir three times a day for threemonths, I'd grow like a sapling willow.

He hopes to make his living out of me,yet!"

Mrs. Pitkin laughed, comfortably, andsmoothed the lad's hair back with amotherly touch. "All the same," shesaid, "you must quit hiding under thebed when folks come to call, Don'Lonzo. You don't want 'em to think Itreat you bad, and keep you out o'sight, so's they'll not find it out." Then,seeing the boy's face flush with distress,she added, hastily, "Besides, you'regetting to be 'most a man now; I wantstrangers should know there's men-folks about the place, now Joe's away.There's burglars in town, Don 'Lonzo,and we must look out and keep things

shut up close, nights."

"Burglars!" repeated the youth.

"Yes; Deacon Bassett was telling meabout 'em just now. I guess likely halfwhat he came for was to give me agood scare, knowing Joe was away.Now, ain't I uncharitable! 'Twas just aslikely to be a friendly warning. Anyway,he was telling me they came throughfrom Tupham Corner day beforeyesterday, and they've been lurking andspying round."

"Some boys saw them, coming throughGreen Gully, and were scared to deathat their looks; they said they were big,

black-looking men, strangers to theseparts; and they swore at the boys andordered 'em off real ugly. Nobody elsehas seen them in honest daylight, butthey broke into Dan'l Brown's houselast night. He's deaf, you know, anddidn't hear a sound. They came rightinto the room where he slept, DeaconBassett was there the next day, and sawtheir tracks all over the floor, and tookten dollars out of his pants pocket. Thepants was hanging right beside the bed,and they turned them clean inside out,and Dan'l never stirred."

"My, oh!" exclaimed Don Alonzo.

"Why, it's terrible!" Mira went on.

"Then, last night, they got into Mis'Pegrum's house, too. She's a lonewoman, you know, same as Dan'l is aman. Seems as if they had took note ofevery house where there wasn't plentyof folks to be stirring and takingnotice. They got into the pantrywindow, and took every living thing shehad to eat. They might do that, and stillgo hungry, Deacon Bassett says; youknow there's always been a little feelingbetween him and Mis' Pegrum; her catand his hens it's an old story. Well, andshe did hear a noise, and came out intothe kitchen, and there sat two great,black men, eating her best peachpreserves, and the cake she'd made forthe Ladies' Aid, to-day. She was so

scare't, she couldn't speak a word; andthey just laughed and told her to goback to bed, and she went. Poor-spirited, it seems, but I don't know as Ishould have done a bit better in herplace. There! I wish Joe'd come back! Ifeel real nervous, hearing about it all.Oh, and her gold watch, too, they got,and three solid silver teaspoons thatbelonged to her mother. She's sickabed, Deacon Bassett says, and I don'twonder. I don't feel as if I should sleepa wink to-night!"

The color came into Don Alonzo's thincheeks. "There sha'n't no one do youany hurt while I'm round, Mira!" hesaid; and for a moment he forgot his

deformity, and straightened his poorshoulders, and held up his head like aman.

There was no shade of amusement inMira Pitkin's honest smile. "I expectyou'd be as brave as a lion, Don'Lonzo," she said. "I expect you'd shoo'em right out of the yard, same as youdid the turkey gobbler when he run atmy red shawl; don't you remember Butall the same, I hope they will not come;and I shall be glad to see Joe backagain."

At that moment the lad caught sight ofhimself in the little looking-glass thathung over his chest of drawers. Mira,

watching him, saw the sparkle go outof his eyes, saw his shoulders droop,and his head sink forward; and shesaid, quickly:

"But there! we've said enough about theburglars, I should think! How's theexperiments, Don 'Lonzo I heard anawful fizzing going on, just beforeDeacon Bassett came in. I expect you'vegot great things hidden under that bed;I expect there's other perils roundbesides burglars! Joe may come backand find us both blown into kindlin'-wood, after all!"

This was a favorite joke of theirs; shehad the pleasure of seeing a smile come

into the boy's sad eyes; then, withanother of those motherly touches onhis hair, she went away, singing, to herwork.

Don Alonzo looked after her. From theway his eyes followed her, she mighthave been a glorified saint in robe andcrown, instead of a rosy-cheekedyoung woman in a calico gown. "Theresha'n't nothing hurt her while I'mround!" he muttered again.

The night fell, dark and cloudy. Mrs.Pitkin went to bed early, after shakingevery door and trying every window tomake sure that all was safe. DonAlonzo went through the same process

twice after she was gone, but he did notfeel like sleeping, himself. He lay downon his bed, but his thoughts seemeddancing from one thing to another, toBrother Joe, travelling homeward now,he hoped, after a week's absence; toMira's goodness, her patience with hiswayward self, her kindness in lettinghim mess with chemicals, and turn theshed into a laboratory, and frighten herwith explosions; to Dan'l Brown andMis' Pegrum and the burglars.

Ah, the burglars! What could he do, ifthey should really come to the houseThey were two men, probably well-grown; he he knew what he was! Howcould he carry out his promise to Mira,

if she should be in actual danger Notby strength, clearly; but there must besome way; bodily strength was not theonly thing in the world. He lookedabout him, seeking for inspiration; hiseyes, wandering here and there, lightedupon something, then remained fixed.The room was dimly lighted by a smalllamp, but the corners were dark, and inone of these dark corners somethingwas shining with a faint, uncertain light.The phosphorescent match-box! Hehad made it himself, and hadornamented it with a grotesque face inluminous paint. This face nowglimmered and glowered at him fromthe darkness; and Don Alonzo lay stilland looked back at it. Lying so and

looking, there crept into his mind anold story that he had once read; and helaughed to himself, and then nodded atthe glimmering face. "Thank you, oldfellow!" said Don Alonzo.

Was there a noise Was it hisimagination, or did a branch snap, atwig rustle down the road Thehunchback had ears like a fox, and inan instant he was at the window,peering out into the darkness. At firsthe could see nothing; but gradually thelilac bushes at the gate came into sight,and the clumps of flowers in the littlegarden plot. Not a breath was stirring,yet hark! Again a twig snapped, abranch crackled; and now again! and

nearer each time. Don Alonzo strainedhis eyes to pierce the darkness. Werethose bushes, those two shapes by thegate They were not there a momentago. Ha! they moved; they were comingnearer. Their feet made no sound onthe soft earth, but his sharp ears caughta new sound, a whisper, faint, yet harsh,like a hiss. Don Alonzo had seen andheard enough. He left the window, andthe next moment was diving under thebed.

* * * * *

Mira Pitkin usually slept like a child,from the moment her head touched thepillow till the precise second when

something woke in her brain and said"Five o'clock!" But to-night her sleepwas broken. She tossed and muttered inher dreams; and suddenly she sat up inbed with eyes wide open and a distinctsense of something wrong. Her firstthought was of fire; she sniffed; the airwas pure and clear. Then, like a cry inher ears, came "The burglars!" She heldher breath and listened; was the night asstill as it was dark No! a faint, steadysound came to her ears. A mouse, wasit, or the sound of a tool

And then, almost noiselessly, a windowwas opened, the window of the upperentry, next her room. Mira was at herown window in an instant, raising it;

that, too, opened silently, for Joe was acarpenter and detested noisy windows.She peered out into the thick darkness.Black, black! Was the blackness deeperthere, just at the front door Surely itwas! Surely something, somebody, wasbusy with the lock of the door; andthen she heard, as Don Alonzo hadheard, a low sound like a hiss, besidethe soft scraping of the tool. Whatshould she do The windows were fast,there was a bar and chain inside thedoor, but what of that Two desperatemen could force an entrance anywherein a moment. What could she do, awoman, with only a sickly boy to helpher And who had opened that upperwindow Was there a third accomplice

for she thought she could see two spotsof deeper blackness by the doorhidden in the house Oh, if only Joehad borrowed his father's old pistol forher, as she had begged him to do!

Mira opened her lips to shout, in thehope of rousing the nearest neighbors,though they were not very near.Opened her lips but no sound camefrom them. For at that instantsomething appeared at the windownext her own; something stepped fromit, out on to the little porch over thefront door. Mira Pitkin gasped, and felther heart fail within her. A skeleton!Every limb outlined in pale fire, thebony fingers points of wavering flame.

What awful portent was this The Thingpaused and turned, a frightful facegazed at her for an instant, a handwaved, then the Thing dropped, silentas a shadow, on that spot of deeperblackness that was stooping at the frontdoor.

Then rose an outcry wild and hideous.The burglar shouted hoarsely, and triedto shake off the Thing that sat on hisshoulders, gripping his neck with handsof iron, digging his sides with bonyknees and feet; but the second thief,who saw by what his comrade wasridden, shrieked in pure animal terror,uttering unearthly sounds that cut theair like a knife. For a moment he could

only stand and shriek; then he turnedand fled through the yard, and theother fled after him, the glimmeringphantom clutching him tight. Downthe road they fled. Mira could now seenothing save the riding Thing,apparently horsed on empty air; butnow she saw it, still clutching closewith its left hand, raise the right,holding what looked like a shiningsnake, and bring it down hissing andcurling. Again, and again! and withevery blow the shrieks grew more andmore hideous, till now they hadreached the cluster of houses at thehead of the street, and every windowwas flung open, and lights appeared,and voices clamored in terror and

amaze. The village was roused; andnow now, the glimmering skeleton wasseen to loose its hold. It dropped fromits perch, and turning that awful facetoward her once more, came lopingback, silent as a shadow. But when shesaw that, Mira Pitkin, for the first andlast time in her sensible life, faintedaway.

When she came to herself, the skeletonwas bending over her anxiously, but itsface was no longer frightful; it waswhite and anxious, and the eyes thatmet hers were piteous with distress.

"My, oh!" cried Don Alonzo. "I vowedno one should do her any hurt, and

now I've done it myself."

There was little sleep in the Pitkinhouse that night. The neighbors cameflocking in with cries and questions;and when all was explained, DonAlonzo found himself the hero of thehour. For once he did not hide underthe bed, but received everybody fromDeacon Bassett down to the smallestboy who came running in shirt andtrousers, half-awake, and athirst formarvels with modest pride, and toldover and over again how it allhappened.

'Twas no great thing, he maintained. Hehad fooled considerable with

phosphorus, and had some of theluminous paint that he had mixed sometime before. Thinking about thesefellows, he remembered a story he readonce, where they painted up a deadbody to scare away some murderingrobbers. He thought a living personwas as good as a dead one, any day; sohe tried it on, and it appeared tosucceed. He didn't think likely thosemen would stop short of the nexttownship, from the way they wererunning when he got down. Oh, thesnake That was Joe's whip. Hepresumed likely it hurt some, from theway they yelled.

But the best of all was when Joe came

home, the very next day, and when, thethree of them sitting about the supper-table, Mira herself told the great story,from the first moment of DeaconBassett's visit down to the triumphantclose "And I see him coming back,shining like a corpse-candle, and I felllike dead on the floor!"

"There!" she continued, beaming acrossthe table at Joe, as she handed him hisfourth cup of coffee, "you may goaway again whenever you're a mind to;I sha'n't be afraid. You ain't half theman Don 'Lonzo is!"

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

It seemed to Don Alonzo that theirsmiles made the kitchen warm as June,though October was falling cold thatyear.

THE SHED CHAMBER

"Well, I once answered anadvertisement in the Farmer's Friend,girls, and I have always been glad I did.It was that summer when father brokehis arm and the potato crop failed, andeverything seemed to be going wrongon the farm. There were plenty of girlsto do the work at home, and I thought

I ought to get something outside to doif I could. I tried here and there, butwithout success; at last my eye caught anotice in the Farmer's Friend, just thesame kind of notice as that you arespeaking of, Lottie: 'Wanted, a capable,steady girl to assist in housework andtake care of children. Address, withreference, A. B. C., Dashville.' I talked itover with mother, and she agreed withme; father didn't take so kindly to theidea, naturally; he likes to have us all athome, especially in summer. However,he said I might do as I pleased; so Ianswered the notice and sent a letterfrom our pastor, saying what hethought of me. I was almost ashamedto send it, too; he has always been more

than kind to me, you know; if I'd beenhis own daughter he couldn't have saidmore. Well, they wrote for me to come,and I went.

"Girls, it was pretty hard when it cameto that part, leaving the house, andmother standing in the doorway tryingnot to look anxious, and father frettingand saying it was all nonsense, and heshouldn't have hands enough to pickthe apples. Of course he knew I knewbetter, but I was glad he didn't want meto go, after all. Sister Nell and SisterMargie had packed my trunk, and theywere as excited as I was, and almostwished they were going instead, but notquite, I think; and so Joe whistled to

old Senator, and I waved myhandkerchief, and mother and the twogirls waved their aprons, and off Iwent.

"I didn't really feel alone till I was in thetrain and had lost sight of Joe standingand smoothing Senator's mane andnodding at me; then the world seemedvery big and Tupham Corner a verysmall corner in it. I will not sayanything more about this part; you'llfind it out soon enough yourselves,when you go away from home the firsttime.

"It was a long journey, or it seemed sothen; but everything comes to an end

some time, and there was plenty ofdaylight left for me to see my newhome when I arrived. It was a pleasant-looking house, long and rambling,painted yellow, too, which made memore homesick than ever. There weretwo children standing in the doorway,and presently Mr. Bowles came out andshook hands with me and helped medown with my things. He was a kind,sensible-looking man, and he made thechildren come and speak to me andshake hands. They were shy then andhung back, and put their fingers in theirmouths; I knew just how they felt. Iwanted to hang back, too, when hetook me into the house to see Mrs.Bowles. She was an invalid, he told me,

and could not leave her room.

"Girls, the minute I saw that sweet, paleface, with the look of pain and patiencein it, I knew what I had come for. I dothink we understood each other fromthe first minute, Mrs. Bowles and I; forshe held my hand a good while,looking into my face and I into hers,and she must have seen how sorry Iwas for her, and how I hoped I couldhelp her; for when I went into thekitchen I heard her say, with a little sigh,as she lay back again, 'O John, I dobelieve this is the right one at last!' Youmay believe I made up my mind that Iwould be the right one, Lottie!

"That kitchen was in a scandalouscondition. It was well I had seen Mrs.Bowles first or I should have wanted torun away that very minute. The eldestlittle girl it seems strange to think thatthere ever was a time when I didn'tknow Barbara's name! followed me out,I think her father told her to, andrubbed along against the wall, justexactly as I used to when I felt shy.When I asked her a little about wherethings were, and so on they wereeverywhere and nowhere; you neversaw such a looking place in your life!she took her finger out of her mouth,and pretty soon I told her about ouryellow coon kittens, and after that wegot on very well. She said they had had

one girl after another, each worse thanthe last. The shoe factory had taken offall the good help and left only theincapable ones. The last one, Barbarasaid, had almost starved them, and beensaucy to Mrs. Bowles, and dirty well,there was no need to tell me that. It wasa shame to see good things sodestroyed; for the things were good,only all dirty and broken, and oh, well!there's no use in telling about that part.

"I asked when her mother had hadanything to eat, and she said not sincenoon; I knew that was no way for aninvalid to be taken care of, so I put thekettle on and hunted about till I founda cup and saucer I liked, and then I

found the bread-box oh, dear! thatbread-box, girls! But the mold scrapedright off, and the bread wasn't reallybad; I made some toast and cut thecrust off, and put just a thin scrape ofbutter on it; then I sent Barbara in witha little tray and told her to see that hermother took it all. I thought she'd feelmore like taking it from the child thanfrom a stranger, if she hadn't muchappetite. My dears, the child came outagain in a few minutes, her face allalight.

"'She drank it all, every drop!' she cried.'And now she's eating the toast. Shesaid how did you know, and she cried,but now she's all right. Father 'most

cried, too, I think. Say!'

"'Yes, dear.'

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

"I nodded, for I couldn't say anythingthat minute. I kissed the little girl andwent on with my cleaning. Girls, don'tever grudge the time you spend inlearning to cook nicely. Food is whatkeeps the breath of life in us, and it alldepends upon us girls now, and later,when we are older women, whether it isgood or bad. No, Sue, I'm not going to

preach, but I shall never forget howthat tired man and those hungrychildren enjoyed their supper. 'Twasmother's supper, every bit of it, fromthe light biscuit down to the hamomelette; I found the ham bone in adark cupboard, all covered with mold,like the bread, but 'twas good andsweet underneath. I only wish motherhad been there to see them eat. Aftersupper Mr. Bowles came and shookhands with me. I didn't know then thathe never used any more words than hehad to; but I was pleased, if I did thinkit funny.

"I was tired enough by the timebedtime came, and after I had put the

children to bed and seen that Mrs.Bowles was comfortable, and had waterand crackers and a candle beside hershe was a very poor sleeper I was gladenough to go to bed myself. Barbarashowed me my room, a pretty littleroom with sloping gables and windowsdown by the floor. There were twodoors, and I asked her where the otherled to. She opened it and said, 'Theshed chamber.' I looked over hershoulder, holding up the candle, andsaw a great bare room, with some largetrunks in it, but no other furnitureexcept a high wardrobe. I liked the lookof the place, for it was a little like ourplay room in the attic at home; but Iwas too tired to explore, and I was

asleep in ten minutes from the time Ihad tucked up Barbara in her bed, andRob and Billy in their double crib.

"I should take a week if I tried to tellyou all about those first days; and, afterall, it is one particular thing that Istarted to tell, only there is so muchthat comes back to me. In a few days Ifelt that I belonged there, almost asmuch as at home; they were that kindof people, and made me feel that theycared about me, and not only aboutwhat I did. Mrs. Bowles has alwaysbeen the best friend I have in the worldafter my own folks; it didn't take us aday to see into each other, and by andby it got to be so that I knew what she

wanted almost before she knew, herself.

"At the end of the week Mr. Bowlessaid he ought to go away on businessfor a few days, and asked her if shewould feel safe to stay with me and thechildren, or if he should ask hisbrother to come and sleep in the house.

"'No, indeed!' said Mrs. Bowles. 'I shallfeel as safe with Nora as if I had aregiment in the house; a good dealsafer!' she added, and laughed.

"So it was settled, and the next day Mr.Bowles went away and I was left in fullcharge. I suppose I rather liked theresponsibility. I asked Mrs. Bowles if I

might go all over the house to see howeverything fastened, and she said, 'Ofcourse.' The front windows were justcommon windows, quite high up fromthe floor; but in the shed chamber, as inmy room, they opened near the floor,and there was no very secure way offastening them, it seemed to me.However, I wasn't going to say anythingto make her nervous, and that was theway they had always had them. If I hadonly known!

"After the children went to bed thatevening I read to Mrs. Bowles for anhour, and then I went to warm up alittle cocoa for her; she slept better ifshe took a drop of something hot the

last thing. It was about nine o'clock. Ihad just got into the kitchen, and wasgoing to light the lamp, when I heardthe door open softly.

"'Who's there ' I asked.

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

"I lighted my lamp, and saw a girl aboutmy own age, pretty, and showilydressed. She said she was the girl whohad left the house a few days ago; shehad forgotten something, and mightshe go up into the shed chamber andget it I told her to wait a minute, andwent and asked Mrs. Bowles. She saidyes, Annie might go up. 'Annie was

careless and saucy,' she said, 'but I thinkshe meant no harm. She can go and gether things.'

"I came back and told the girl, and shesmiled and nodded. I did not like hersmile, I could not tell why. I started togo with her, but she turned on mepretty sharply, and said she had been inthe house three months and didn't needto be shown the way by a stranger. Ididn't want to put myself forward, butno sooner had she run up-stairs, and Iheard her steps in the chamber aboveme, than something seemed to bepushing, pushing me toward thosestairs, whether I would or no. I tried tohold back, and tell myself it was

nonsense, and that I was nervous andfoolish; it made no difference, I had togo up-stairs.

"I went softly, my shoes making nonoise. My own little room was dark, forI had closed the blinds when theafternoon sun was pouring in hot andbright; but a slender line of light layacross the blackness like a long finger,and I knew the moon was shining in atthe windows of the shed chamber. Idid a thing I had never done before inmy life; that silver finger came throughthe keyhole, and it drew me to it. I kneltdown and looked through.

"The big room shone bare and white in

the moonlight; the trunks looked likegreat animals crouching along the walls.Annie stood in the middle of theroom, as if she were waiting orlistening for something. Then sheslipped off her shoes and went to oneof the windows and opened it. I hadfastened it, but the catch was old andshe knew the trick of it, of course. Inanother moment something blackappeared over the low sill; it was aman's head. My heart seemed to standstill. She helped him, and he got inwithout making a sound. He must haveclimbed up the big elm-tree which grewclose against the house. They stoodwhispering together for a few minutes,but I could not hear a word.

"The man was in stocking feet; he hadan evil, coarse face, yet he was good-looking, too, in a way. I thought the girlseemed frightened, and yet pleased, too;and he seemed to be praising her, Ithought, and once he put his armsround her and kissed her. She went tothe wardrobe and opened it, but heshook his head; then she opened thegreat cedar trunk, and he nodded, andmeasured it and got into it and satdown. It was so deep that he could sitquite comfortably with the cover down.Annie shut it and then opened it again.

"I had seen all I wanted to see. I slippeddown-stairs as I heard her move toward

the door; when she came down I wasstirring my cocoa on the stove, with myback to her. She came round andshowed me a bundle she had in herhand, and said she must be going now.I kept my face in the shadow as well asI could, for I was afraid I might not beable to look just as usual; but I spokequietly, and asked her if she had foundeverything, and wished her good nightas pleasantly as I knew how. All thewhile my head was in a whirl and myheart beat so loud I thought she musthave heard it. There was a good deal ofsilver in the house, and I knew that Mr.Bowles had drawn some money fromthe bank only a day or two before, topay a life-insurance premium.

"I never listened to anything as I did tothe sound of her footsteps; even afterthey had died away, after she hadturned the corner, a good way off, Istood still, listening, not stirring handor foot. But when I no longer heardany sound my strength seemed to comeback with a leap, and I knew what I hadto do. I told you my shoes made nonoise. I slipped up-stairs, through myown room, and into the shed chamber.Girls, it lay so peaceful and bare in thewhite moonlight, that for a moment Ithought I must have dreamed it all.

"It seemed half a mile to the fartherend, where the great cedar trunk stood.

As I went a board creaked under myfeet, and I heard or fancied I heard afaint rustle inside the trunk. I began tohum a tune, and moved about amongthe trunks, raising and shutting the lids,as if I were looking for something.Now at last I was beside the dreadfulchest, and in another instant I hadturned the key. Then, girls, I flew! Iknew the lock was a stout one and thewood heavy and hard; it would take theman some time to get it open from theinside, whatever tools he might have. Iwas down-stairs in one breath, prayingthat I might be able to control my voiceso that it would not sound strange tothe sick woman.

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

"She looked surprised, but said in herkind way, yes, certainly I might go, onlyI'd better not go far.

"I thanked her, and walked quietly outto the end of the garden walk; then Iran! Girls, I had no idea I could run so!Strength seemed given me, for I neverfelt my body. I was like a spirit flying ora wind blowing. The road melted awaybefore me, and all the time I saw twothings before my eyes as plain as I see

you now, the evil-faced man workingaway at the lock of the cedar chest, andthe sweet lady sitting in the room belowwith her Bible on her knee. Yes, Ithought of the children, too, but itseemed to me no one, not even thewickedest, could wish to hurt a child.So on I ran!

"I reached the first house, but I knewthere was no man there, only twonervous old ladies. At the next house Ishould find two men, George Brett andhis father.

"Yes, Lottie, my George, but I hadnever seen him then. He had only latelycome back from college. The first I saw

of him was two minutes later, when Iran almost into his arms as he came outof the house. I can see him now, in themoonlight, tall and strong, with hissurprised eyes on me. I must have beena wild figure, I suppose. I could hardlyspeak, but somehow I made himunderstand.

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

"I nodded. I had no breath for wordsbut plenty for running, I thought.

"'Come on, then!'

"Girls, it was twice as easy running withthat strong figure beside me. I noticedin all my hurry and distress how easilyhe ran, and I felt my feet, that hadgrown heavy in the last few steps, lightas air again. Once I sobbed for breath,and he took my hand as we ran, saying,'Courage, brave girl!' We ran on hand inhand, and I never failed again. Weheard Mr. Brett's feet running, not farbehind; he was a strong, active man, butcould not quite keep up with us.

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

He nodded, and we slipped in at the

back door. In an instant his shoes wereoff and he was up the back stairs like acat, and I after him. As we entered theshed chamber the lid of the cedartrunk rose.

I saw the gleam of the evil black eyesand the shine of white, wolfish teeth.Without a sound George Brett sprangpast me; without a sound the robberleaped to meet him. I saw them in thewhite light as they clinched and stoodlocked together; then a mist camebefore my eyes and I saw nothing more.

"I did not actually faint, I think; itcannot have been more than a fewminutes before I came to myself. But

when I looked again George waskneeling with his knee on the man'sbreast, holding him down, and FatherBrett was looking about the chamberand saying, in his dry way, 'Now wherein Tunkett is the clothes-line to tie thisfellow '

"And the girl Annie O girls, she was soyoung! She was just my own age andshe had no mother. I went to see herthe next day, and many days after that.We are fast friends now, and she is agood, steady girl; and no one knows noone except our two selves and twoothers that she was ever in the shedchamber."

MAINE TO THE RESCUE

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

"Hurrah! hurrah! It's snowing!"

Massachusetts looked up from heralgebra. She was the head of theschool. She was rosy and placid as theapple she was generally eating when notin class. Apples and algebra were thethings she cared most about in schoollife.

"Whence come these varying cries " shesaid, taking her feet off the fender and

trying to be interested, though herthoughts went on with "a 1/6 b =" etc.

"Oh, Virginia is grumbling because it issnowing, and Maine is feeling happyover it, that's all!" said Rhode Island,the smallest girl in Miss Wayland'sschool.

"Poor Virginia! It is rather hard on youto have snow in March, when you havejust got your box of spring clothesfrom home."

"It is atrocious!" said Virginia, a tall,graceful, languishing girl. "How couldthey send me to such a place, where it iswinter all the spring Why, at home the

violets are in blossom, the trees arecoming out, the birds singing "

"And at home," broke in Maine, whowas a tall girl, too, but lithe and breezyas a young willow, with flyaway hairand dancing brown eyes, "at home all iswinter white, beautiful, glorious winter,with ice two or three feet thick on therivers, and great fields and fields ofsnow, all sparkling in the sun, and thesky a vast sapphire overhead, without aspeck. Oh, the glory of it, the splendorof it! And here here it is neither fish,flesh, fowl, nor good red herring. Awretched, makeshift season, which theycall winter because they don't knowwhat else to call it."

"Come! come!" said Old New York,who was seventeen years old and hadher own ideas of dignity. "Let us alone,you two outsiders! We are neitherEskimos nor Hindoos, it is true, butthe Empire State would not changeclimates with either of you."

"No, indeed!" chimed in Young NewYork, who always followed her leaderin everything, from opinions down tohair-ribbons.

"No, indeed!" repeated Virginia, withlanguid scorn. "Because you couldn'tget any one to change with you, mydear."

Young New York reddened. "You areso disagreeable, Virginia!" she said. "Iam sure I am glad I don't have to livewith you all the year round "

"Personal remarks!" said Massachusetts,looking up calmly. "One cent, YoungNew York, for the missionary fund.Thank you! Let me give you each halfan apple, and you will feel better."

She solemnly divided a large red apple,and gave the halves to the two scowlinggirls, who took them, laughing in spiteof themselves, and went their separateways.

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

"Slang!" said Massachusetts, looking upagain. "One cent for the missionaryfund. You will clothe the heathen atthis rate, Maine. That is the fourth centto-day."

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

"Vulgar colloquial!" returnedMassachusetts, quietly. "And perhapsyou would go away now, Maine, or elsebe quiet. Have you learned "

"No, I haven't!" said Maine. "I will do itvery soon, dear Saint Apple. I mustlook at the snow a little more."

Maine went dancing off to her room,where she threw the window open andlooked out with delight. The girl caughtup a double handful and tossed itabout, laughing for pure pleasure. Thenshe leaned out to feel the beating of theflakes on her face.

"Really quite a respectable littlesnowstorm!" she said, noddingapproval at the whirling white drift."Go on, and you will be worth while,my dear." She went singing to her

algebra, which she could not have doneif it had not been snowing.

The snow went on increasing fromhour to hour. By noon the wind beganto rise; before night it was blowing afurious gale. Furious blasts clutched atthe windows, and rattled them likecastanets. The wind howled andshrieked and moaned, till it seemed asif the air were filled with angry demonsfighting to possess the square whitehouse.

Many of the pupils of Miss Wayland'sschool came to the tea-table withdisturbed faces; but Massachusetts wasas calm as usual, and Maine was

jubilant.

"Isn't it a glorious storm " she cried,exultingly. "I didn't know there couldbe such a storm in this part of thecountry, Miss Wayland. Will you giveme some milk, please "

"There is no milk, my dear," said MissWayland, who looked rather troubled."The milkman has not come, andprobably will not come to-night. Therehas never been such a storm here in mylifetime!" she added. "Do you havesuch storms at home, my dear "

"Oh, yes, indeed!" Maine said,cheerfully. "I don't know that we often

have so much wind as this, but thesnow is nothing out of the way. Why,on Palm Sunday last year our milkmandug through a drift twenty feet deep toget at his cows. He was the onlymilkman who ventured out, and hetook me and the minister's wife tochurch in his little red pung.

"We were the only women in church, Iremember. Miss Betsy Follansbee, whohad not missed going to church infifteen years, started on foot, afterclimbing out of her bedroom windowto the shed roof and sliding down. Allher doors were blocked up, and shelived alone, so there was no one to digher out. But she got stuck in a drift

about half-way, and had to stay there tillone of the neighbors came by andpulled her out."

All the girls laughed at this, and evenMiss Wayland smiled; but suddenly shelooked grave again.

"Hark!" she said, and listened. "Did younot hear something "

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

At that moment there was a lull in thescreeching of the wind; all listenedintently, and a faint sound was heard

from without which was not that ofthe blast.

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

"I cannot permit it, Alice!" cried MissWayland, in great distress. "I cannotallow you to think of it. You are justrecovering from a severe cold, and I amresponsible to your parents. What shallwe do It certainly sounds like a childcrying out in the pitiless storm. Ofcourse it may be a cat "

Maine had gone to the window at thefirst alarm, and now turned with

shining eyes.

"It is a child!" she said, quietly. "I haveno cold, Miss Wayland. I am going, ofcourse."

Passing by Massachusetts, who hadstarted out of her usual calm and stoodin some perplexity, she whispered, "If itwere freezing, it wouldn't cry. I shall bein time. Get a ball of stout twine."

She disappeared. In three minutes shereturned, dressed in her blanket coat,reaching half-way below her knees,scarlet leggings and gaily wroughtmoccasins; on her head a fur cap, with aband of sea-otter fur projecting over

her eyes. In her hand she held a pair ofsnow-shoes. She had had noopportunity to wear her snow-shoeingsuit all winter, and she was quitedelighted.

"My child!" said Miss Wayland, faintly."How can I let you go My duty to yourparents what are those strange things,and what use are you going to make ofthem "

By way of answer Maine slipped herfeet into the snow-shoes, and, withMassachusetts' aid, quickly fastened thethongs.

"The twine!" she said. "Yes, that will do;

plenty of it. Tie it to the door-handle,square knot, so! I'm all right, dear; don'tworry." Like a flash the girl was goneout into the howling night.

Miss Wayland wrung her hands andwept, and most of the girls wept withher. Virginia, who was curled up in acorner, really sick with fright, beckonedto Massachusetts.

"Is there any chance of her comingback alive " she asked, in a whisper. "Iwish I had made up with her. But wemay all die in this awful storm."

"Nonsense!" said Massachusetts. "Tryto have a little sense, Virginia! Maine is

all right, and can take care of herself;and as for whimpering at the wind,when you have a good roof over yourhead, it is too absurd."

For the first time since she came toschool Massachusetts forgot the studyhour, as did every one else; and in spiteof her brave efforts at cheerfulconversation, it was a sad and ananxious group that sat about the fire inthe pleasant parlor.

Maine went out quickly, and closed thedoor behind her; then stood still amoment, listening for the direction ofthe cry. She did not hear it at first, butpresently it broke out a piteous little

wail, sounding louder now in the openair. The girl bent her head to listen.Where was the child The voice camefrom the right, surely! She would makeher way down to the road, and then shecould tell better.

Grasping the ball of twine firmly, shestepped forward, planting the broadsnow-shoes lightly in the soft, drysnow. As she turned the corner of thehouse an icy blast caught her, as if withfurious hands, shook her like a leaf, andflung her roughly against the wall.

Her forehead struck the corner, and fora moment she was stunned; but theblood trickling down her face quickly

brought her to herself. She set her teeth,folded her arms tightly, and stoopingforward, measured her strength oncemore with that of the gale.

This time it seemed as if she werecleaving a wall of ice, which openedonly to close behind her. On shestruggled, unrolling her twine as shewent.

The child's cry sounded louder, and shetook fresh heart. Pausing, she clappedher hand to her mouth repeatedly,uttering a shrill, long call. It was theIndian whoop, which her father hadtaught her in their woodland rambles athome.

The childish wail stopped; she repeatedthe cry louder and longer; thenshouted, at the top of her lungs, "Holdon! Help is coming!"

Again and again the wind buffeted her,and forced her backward a step or two;but she lowered her head, and wrappedher arms more tightly about her body,and plodded on.

Once she fell, stumbling over a stump;twice she ran against a tree, for thewhite darkness was absolutely blinding,and she saw nothing, felt nothing butsnow, snow. At last her snow-shoestruck something hard. She stretched

out her hands it was the stone wall.And now, as she crept along beside it,the child's wail broke out again close athand.

"Mother! O mother! mother!"

The girl's heart beat fast.

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

She saw nothing, but put her handsdown, and touched a little cold face.She dragged the child out of the snow,

which had almost covered it, and set iton its feet.

"Who are you " she asked, putting herface down close, while by vigorouspatting and rubbing she tried to givelife to the benumbed, cowering littlefigure, which staggered along helplessly,clutching her with half-frozen fingers.

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

"Benny Withers!" cried Maine. "Why,you live close by. Why didn't you gohome, child "

"I can't!" cried the boy. "I can't seenothing. I tried to get to the school, an'I tried to get home, an' I can't getnowhere 'cept against this wall. Let mestay here now! I want to rest me a little."

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

"Here, climb up on my back, Benny!"she said, cheerfully. "Hold on tightround my neck, and you shall rest whileI take you home. So! That's a brave boy!Upsy, now! there you are! Now putyour head on my shoulder close! andhold on!"

Ah! how Maine blessed the heavy littlebrother at home, who would ride on hissister's back, long after mamma said hewas too big. How she blessed thecarryings up and down stairs, the"horsey rides" through the garden anddown the lane, which had made hershoulders strong!

Benny Withers was eight years old, buthe was small and slender, and noheavier than six-year-old Philip. Noneed of telling the child to hold on,once he was up out of the cruel snowbed. He clung desperately round thegirl's neck, and pressed his head closeagainst the woollen stuff.

Maine pulled her ball of twine fromher pocket fortunately it was a largeone, and the twine, though strong, wasfine, so that there seemed to be no endto it and once more lowered her head,and set her teeth, and moved forward,keeping close to the wall, in thedirection of Mrs. Withers's cottage.

For awhile she saw nothing, when shelooked up under the fringe of otter fur,which, long and soft, kept the snowfrom blinding her; nothing but thewhite, whirling drift which beat withicy, stinging blows in her face. But atlast her eyes caught a faint glimmer oflight, and presently a brighter gleamshowed her Mrs. Withers's gray cottage,

now white like the rest of the world.

Bursting open the cottage door, shealmost threw the child into the arms ofhis mother.

The woman, who had been weepingwildly, could hardly believe her eyes.She caught the little boy and smotheredhim with kisses, chafing his cold hands,and crying over him.

"I didn't know!" she said. "I didn'tknow till he was gone. I told him atnoon he was to go, never thinking'twould be like this. I was sure he waslost and dead, but I couldn't leave mysick baby. Bless you, whoever you are,

man or woman! But stay and get warm,and rest ye! You're never going outagain in this awful storm!"

But Maine was gone.

In Miss Wayland's parlor the suspensewas fast becoming unendurable. Theyhad heard Maine's Indian whoop, andsome of them, Miss Wayland herselfamong the number, thought it was a cryof distress; but Massachusetts rightlyinterpreted the call, and assured themthat it was a call of encouragement tothe bewildered child.

Then came silence within the house,and a prolonged clamor a sort of

witches' chorus, with wailing andshrieking without. Once a heavy branchwas torn from one of the great elms,and came thundering down on theroof. This proved the finishing touchfor poor Virginia. She went into violenthysterics, and was carried off to bed byMiss Way land and Old New York.

Massachusetts presently ventured toexplore a little. She hastened throughthe hall to the front door, opened it afew inches, and put her hand on thetwine which was fastened to the handle.What was her horror to find that ithung loose, swinging idly in the wind!Sick at heart, she shut the door, andpressing her hands over her eyes, tried

to think.

Maine must be lost in the howlingstorm! She must find her; but whereand how

Oh! if Miss Wayland had only let hergo at first! She was older; it would nothave mattered so much.

But now, quick! she would wrap herselfwarmly, and slip out without any oneknowing.

The girl was turning to fly up-stairs,when suddenly something fell heavilyagainst the door outside. There was afumbling for the handle; the next

moment it flew open, and somethingwhite stumbled into the hall, shut thedoor, and sat down heavily on thefloor.

"Personal rudeness!" gasped Maine,struggling for breath. "You shut thedoor in my face! One cent for themissionary fund."

The great storm was over. The suncame up, and looked down on astrange, white world. No fences, nowalls; only a smooth ridge where oneof these had been. Trees which the daybefore had been quite tall now lookedlike dwarfs, spreading their broad armsnot far from the snow carpet beneath

them. Road there was none; all wassmooth, save where some huge driftnodded its crest like a billow curling forits downward rush.

Maine, spite of her scarred face, whichshowed as many patches as that of acourt lady in King George's times, wasjubilant. Tired! not a bit of it! A littlestiff, just enough to need "limberingout," as they said at home.

"There is no butter!" she announced atbreakfast. "There is no milk, no meatfor dinner. Therefore, I go a-snow-shoeing. Dear Miss Wayland, let me go!I have learned my algebra, and I shallbe discovering unknown quantities at

every step, which will be just asinstructive."

Miss Wayland could refuse nothing tothe heroine of last night's adventure.Behold Maine, therefore, triumphant,sallying forth, clad once more in herblanket suit, and dragging her sledbehind her.

There was no struggling now no hand-to-hand wrestling with storm-demons.The sun laughed from a sky as blue anddeep as her own sky of Maine, and thegirl laughed with him as she walkedalong, the powdery snow flying in acloud from her snow-shoes at everystep.

Such a sight had never been seen inMentor village before. The people camerunning to their upper windows theirlower ones were for the most partburied in snow and stared with all theireyes at the strange apparition.

In the street, life was beginning to stir.People had found, somewhat to theirown surprise, that they were alive andwell after the blizzard; and knots ofmen were clustered here and there,discussing the storm, while some werealready at work tunnelling through thedrifts.

Mr. Perkins, the butcher, had just got

his door open, and great was hisamazement when Maine hailed himfrom the top of a great drift, anddemanded a quarter of mutton withsome soup meat.

"Yes, miss!" he stammered, open-mouthed with astonishment. "I I've gotthe meat; but I wasn't my team isn't outthis morning. I don't know aboutsending it."

"I have a 'team' here!" said Maine,quietly, pulling her sled alongside."Give me the mutton, Mr. Perkins; youmay charge it to Miss Wayland, please,

and I will take it home."

The butter-man and the grocer werevisited in the same way, and Maine,rather embarrassed by the concentratedobservation of the whole village,turned to pull her laden sled back,when suddenly a window was thrownopen, and a voice exclaimed:

"Young woman! I will give you tendollars for the use of those snow-shoesfor an hour!"

Maine looked up in amazement, andlaughed merrily when she saw the well-known countenance of the villagedoctor.

"What! You, my dear young lady " criedthe good man. "This is 'Maine to theRescue,' indeed! I might have known itwas you. But I repeat my offer. Make itanything you please, only let me havethe snow-shoes. I cannot get a horseout, and have two patients dangerouslyill. What is your price for the magicshoes "

"My price, doctor " repeated Maine,looking up with dancing eyes. "Myprice is one cent. For the MissionaryFund! The snow-shoes are yours, and Iwill get home somehow with my sledand the mutton."

So she did, and Doctor Fowler madehis calls with the snow-shoes, andsaved a life, and brought cheer andcomfort to many. But it was ten dollars,and not one cent, which he gave to theMissionary Fund.

THE SCARLET LEAVES

"The Committee will please come toorder!" said Maine.

"What's up " asked Massachusetts,pausing in her occupation of peelingchestnuts.

"Why, you know well enough,Massachusetts. Here it is Wednesday,and we don't know yet what we aregoing to do on Friday evening. Wemust do something, or go shamed toour graves. Never a senior class hasmissed its Frivolous Friday, since theschool began."

"Absolutely no hope of the play "

"None! Alma's part is too important;no one could possibly take it at twodays' notice. Unless they say Chicagohas a real gift for acting; but somehow,I don't feel as if she were the person."

"I should bar that, positively," put in

Tennessee. "In the first place, Chicagohas not been here long enough to beidentified with the class. She is clever,of course, or she could not haveentered junior last year; but well, it isn'tnecessary to say anything more; she isout of the question."

"It is too exasperating!" saidMassachusetts. "Alma might havewaited another week before comingdown with measles."

"It's harder for her than for any oneelse, Massachusetts," said Maine. "Poordear; she almost cried her eyes outyesterday, when the spots appeared, andthere was no more doubt."

"Yes, I know that; she is a poor,unfortunate Lamb, and I love her, youknow I do; still, a growl may bepermitted, Maine. There's nothingcriminal in a growl. The question is, asyou were saying, what shall we do "

"A dance "

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

"A straw-ride "

"A candy-pull "

"A concert "

"The real question is," said Tennessee,cracking her chestnut leisurely, "whatdoes Maine intend to do If she thinkswe made her Class President becausewe meant to arrange things ourselves,she is more ignorant than I supposedher. Probably she has the whole thingsettled in her Napoleonic mind. Outwith it, Moosetocmaguntic!"

Maine smiled, and looked round her.The Committee was clustered in agroup at the foot of a great chestnut-tree, at the very edge of a wood. Theleaves were still thick on the trees, andthe October sun shone through their

golden masses, pouring a flood ofwarmth and light down on thegreensward, sprinkled with yellowleaves and half-open chestnut burrs.Massachusetts and Tennessee, sturdyand four-square as their own hills; OldNew York and New Jersey, and Maineherself, a tall girl with clear, kind eyes,and a color that came and went as shetalked. This was the Committee.

"Well," said Maine, modestly. "I didhave an idea, girls. I don't knowwhether you will approve or not, butwhat do you say to a fancy ball "

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

"Penobscot is losing her mind. Pity tosee it shattered, for it was once a fineorgan."

"Be quiet, Tennessee! I don't meananything elaborate, of course. But Ithought we might have an informalfrolic, and dress up in oh, anything wehappened to have. Not call it a dance,but have dancing all the same; don'tyou see There are all kinds of costumesthat can be got up with very littletrouble, and no expense to speak of."

"For example!" said Massachusetts."She has it all arranged, girls; all we

have to do is to sit back and let wisdomflow in our ears."

"Massachusetts, if you tease me anymore, I'll sit back, and let you do it allyourself. Well, then let me see!Tennessee to tell the truth, I didn'tsleep very well last night; my headached; and I amused myself byplanning a few costumes, just in caseyou should fancy the idea."

"Quack! quack!" said Massachusetts. "Ididn't mean to interrupt, but you are aduck, and I must just show that I canspeak your language. Go on!"

"Tennessee, I thought you might be an

Indian. You must have something thatwill show your hair. With my stripedshawl for a blanket, and the cock'sfeather out of Jersey's hat what do youthink "

"Perfect!" said Tennessee. "And I cantry effects with my new paint-box, onecheek stripes, the other spots. Hurrah!next!"

"Old New York, you must be a flowerof some kind. Or why not a basket offlowers You could have a basket-workbodice, don't you see and flowerscoming out of it all round your neckyour neck is so pretty, you ought toshow it "

"Or carrots and turnips!" said theirrepressible Massachusetts. "Call her aHarvest Hamper, and braid her lovelylocks with strings of onions!"

"Thank you," laughed Old New York, aslender girl whose flower-like beautymade her a pleasure to look at. "I thinkI'll keep to the posy, Massachusetts. Goon, Maine! what shall Massachusetts be,and what will you be yourself "

"Massachusetts ought by rights to be anapple, a nice fat rosy apple; but I don'tquite know how that can be managed."

"Then I shall be a codfish!" said

Massachusetts, decidedly. "I am notgoing to desert Mr. Micawber I meanthe Bay State. I shall go as a saltcodfish. Dixi! Pass on to the Pine-Tree!"

"Why, so I might be a pine-tree! I didn'tthink of that. But still, I don't think Iwill; I meant to be October. The leavesat home are so glorious in October, andI saw some scarlet leaves yesterday thatwill be lovely for chaplets andgarlands."

"What are they the maples don't turnred here too near the sea, I suppose."

"I don't know what they are. Pointed

leaves, rather long and delicate, and themost splendid color you ever saw.There is just this one little tree, near thecrossroad by the old stone house. Ihaven't seen anything like it about here.I found it yesterday, and just stood andlooked at it, it was so beautiful. Yes, Ishall be October; I'll decide on that.What's that rustling in the wood aren'twe all here I thought I heard somethingmoving among the trees. I do believesome one is in there, Massachusetts."

"I was pulling down a branch; don't beimaginative, my dear. Well, go on! arewe to make out all the characters "

"Why I thought not. Some of the girls

will like better to choose their own,don't you think I thought we, as theCommittee, might make out a list ofsuggestions, though, and then they cando as they please. But now, I wish someof you others would suggestsomething; I don't want to do it all."

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

"Jersey can be a mosquito," said OldNew York; "she's just the figure for it."

"Thank you!" said Jersey, who weighedninety pounds. "Going on that theory,Pennsylvania ought to go as anelephant, and Rhode Island as a

giraffe."

"And Chicago as a snake no! I didn'tmean that!" cried Maine.

"You said it! you said it!" cried severalvoices, in triumph.

"The Charitable Organ has callednames at last!" said Jersey, laughing."And she has hit it exactly. Now, Maine,what is the use of looking pained thegirl is a snake or a sneak, whichamounts to the same thing. Let us havetruth, I say, at all hazards."

"I am sorry!" said Maine, simply. "I amnot fond of Chicago, and that is the

very reason why I should not call hernames behind her back. It slipped outbefore I knew it; I am sorry andashamed, and that is all there is to say.And now, suppose we go home, andtell the other girls about the party."

The Committee trooped off across thehill, laughing and talking, Maine alonegrave and silent. As their voices diedaway, the ferns nodded beside a greatpine-tree that stood just within theborder of the wood, not six yards fromwhere they had been sitting. A slenderdark girl rose from the fern-clump inwhich she had been crouching, andshook the pine-needles from her dress.Very cautiously she parted the screen

of leaves, and looked after theretreating girls.

"That was worth while!" she said; andher voice, though quiet, was full ofugly meaning. "Snakes can hear, MissOracle, and bite, too. We'll see aboutthose scarlet leaves!"

PART II

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

Sang Tennessee, as she ran up-stairs."Oh, Maine, is that you my dear, mycostume is simply too perfect for

anything. I've been out in the woods,practising my war-whoop. Three yelpsand a screech; I flatter myself it is themost blood-curdling screech you everheard. I'm going to have a dress-rehearsal now, all by myself. Come andsee why, what's the matter, Mainesomething is wrong with you. What is it"

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

"Why! what has happened "

"The scarlet leaves are gone."

"Gone! fallen, do you mean "

"No! some one has cut or broken everybranch. There is not one left. The leavesmade the whole costume, you see; itamounts to nothing without them,merely a yellow gown."

"Oh! my dear, what a shame! Whocould have taken them "

"I cannot imagine. I thought I wouldget them to-day, and keep them in waterover night, so as to have them all readyto-morrow. Oh, well, it can't be helped.I can call myself a sunflower, or Black-eyed Susan, or some other yellow thing.

It's absurd to mind, of course, only "

"Only, being human, you do mind,"said Tennessee, putting her arm roundher friend's waist. "I should think so,dear. We don't care about having youcanonized just yet. But, Maine, theremust be more red leaves somewhere.This comes of living near the sea. Now,in my mountains, or in your woods, wecould just go out and fill our arms withglory in five minutes, whichever way weturned. These murmuring pines andwell, I don't know that there are anyhemlocks are all very splendid, and noone loves them better than I do; but fora Harvest festival decoration, 'Ils ne sontpas la dedans,' as the French have it."

"Slang, Tennessee! one cent!"

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

"But come now, and see my war-dance.I didn't mean to let any one see itbefore-hand, but you are a dear oldthing, and you shall. And then, we cantake counsel about your costume. Notthat I have the smallest anxiety aboutthat; I've no doubt you have thoughtof something pretty already. I don't seehow you do it. When any one says'Clothes' to me, I never can think ofanything but red flannel petticoats, ifyou will excuse my mentioning the

article. I think Black-eyed Susan soundsdelightful. How would you dress for ityou have the pretty yellow dress allready."

"I should put brown velveteen with it. Ihave quite a piece left over from myblouse. I'll get some yellow crepe paper,and make a hat, or cap, with a browncrown, you know, and yellow petals forthe brim; and have a brown bodicelaced together over the full yellowwaist, and "

The two girls passed on, talkingcheerfully it is always soothing to talkabout pretty clothes, especially whenone is as clever as Maine was, and can

make, as Massachusetts used to say, acourt train out of a jack-towel.

A few minutes after, Massachusettscame along the same corridor, andtapped at another door. Hearing "Comein!" she opened the door and looked in.

"Busy, Chicago beg pardon! Miss Cramasked me, as I was going by, to showyou the geometry lesson, as you werenot in class yesterday."

"Thanks! come in, won't you " saidChicago, rising ungraciously from herdesk, "I was going to ask Miss Cram,of course, but I'm much obliged."

Massachusetts pointed out the lessonbriefly, and turned to go, when her eyesfell on a jar set on the ground, behindthe door.

"Hallo!" she said, abruptly. "You've gotscarlet leaves, too. Where did you getthem "

"I found them," said Chicago, coldly."They were growing wild, on the publichighway. I had a perfect right to pickthem."

There was a defiant note in her voice,and Massachusetts looked at her withsurprise. The girl's eyes glittered with anuneasy light, and her dark cheek was

flushed.

"I don't question your right," saidMassachusetts, bluntly, "but I doquestion your sense. I may be mistaken,but I don't believe those leaves are verygood to handle. They look to meuncommonly like dogwood. I'm notsure; but if I were you, I would showthem to Miss Flower before I touchedthem again."

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

"Spiteful!" said Chicago, looking afterher sullenly.

"She suspects where I got the leaves,and thinks she can frighten me out ofwearing them. I never saw such ahateful set of girls as there are in thisschool. Never mind, sweet creatures!The 'snake' has got the scarlet leaves,and she knows when she has got agood thing."

She took some of the leaves from thejar, and held them against her blackhair. They were brilliantly beautiful, andbecame her well. She looked in theglass and nodded, well pleased withwhat she saw there; then she carefullyclipped the ends of the branches, andput fresh water in the jar beforereplacing them.

"Indian Summer will take the shine outof Black-eyed Susan, I'm afraid," shesaid to herself. "Poor Susan, I am sorryfor her." She laughed; it was not apleasant laugh; and went back to herbooks.

PART III.

"What a pretty sight!"

It was Miss Wayland who spoke. Sheand the other teachers were seated onthe raised platform at the end of thegymnasium. The long room was

wreathed with garlands and brilliantlylighted, and they were watching thegirls as they flitted by in their gaydresses, to the waltz that good MissFlower was playing.

"How ingenious the children are!" MissWayland continued. "Look at Virginiathere, as Queen Elizabeth! Her train ismy old party cloak turned inside out,and her petticoat you recognize that "

"I, not!" said Mademoiselle, peeringforward. "I am too near of my sight.What ees it "

"The piano cover. That Persian silk, youknow, that my brother sent me. I never

knew how handsome it was before. Theruff, and those wonderful puffedsleeves, are mosquito-netting; the wholeeffect is superb at a little distance."

"I thought Virginie not suffeecientlyclayver for to effect zis!" saidMademoiselle. "Of custome, she showsnot what do you say invention."

"Oh, she simply wears the costume,with her own peculiar little air ofdignity. Maine designed it. Maine iscostumer in chief. The Valiant Three,Maine, Massachusetts, and Tennessee,took all the unpractical girls in hand,and simply dressed them. Entre nous,Mademoiselle, I wish, in some cases,

that they would do it every day."

"Et moi aussi!" exclaimed Mademoiselle,nodding eagerly.

"Maine herself is lovely," said MissCram. "I think hers is really the prettiestcostume in the room; all that softbrown and yellow is really charming,and suits her to perfection."

"Yes; and I am so glad of it, for thechild was sadly disappointed aboutsome other costume she had planned,and got this up almost at the lastmoment. She is a clever child, and agood one. Do look at Massachusetts!Massachusetts, my dear child, what do

you call yourself you are a mostsingular figure."

"The Codfish, Miss Wayland; straightfrom Boston State-House. Admire mytail, please! I got up at five o'clock thismorning to finish it, and I must confessI am proud of it."

She napped her tail, which was a trulyastonishing one, made of newspapersneatly plaited and sewed together, andwriggled her body, clad in well-fittingscales of silver paper. "Quite a fish, Iflatter myself " she said, insinuatingly.

"Very like a whale, if not like acodfish," said Miss Wayland, laughing

heartily. "You certainly are one of thesuccesses of the evening,Massachusetts, and the Mosquito isanother, in that filmy gray. Is thatmosquito-netting, too I congratulateyou both on your skill. By the way,what does Chicago represent she is veryeffective, with all those scarlet leaves.What are they, I wonder!"

Massachusetts turned hastily, and a lowwhistle came from her lips. "Whew! Ibeg pardon, Miss Wayland. It was thecodfish whistled, not I; it's a way theyhave on Friday evenings. I told that girlto ask Miss Flower about those leaves; Iam afraid they are oh, here is MissFlower!" as the good botany teacher

came towards them, rather out ofbreath after her playing.

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

Miss Flower looked, and her cheerfulface grew grave.

"Rhus veneneta" she said; "poisondogwood."

"I was afraid so!" said Massachusetts. "Itold her yesterday that I thought theywere dogwood, and advised her toshow them to you before she touchedthem again."

"Poor child!" said kind Miss Flower."She has them all about her face andneck, too. We must get them off atonce."

She was starting forward, but MissWayland detained her.

"The mischief is done now, is it not "she said. "And after all, dogwood doesnot poison every one. I have had it inmy hands, and never got the smallestinjury. Suppose we let her have herevening, at least till after supper, whichwill be ready now in a few minutes. Ifshe is affected by the poison, this is herlast taste of the Harvest Festivities."

They watched the girl. She wasreceiving compliments on her strikingcostume, from one girl and another,and was in high spirits. She glancedtriumphantly about her, her eyeslighting up when they fell on Maine inher yellow dress. She certainly lookedbrilliantly handsome, the flaming scarletof the leaves setting off her dark skinand flashing eyes to perfection.

Presently she put her hand up to hercheek, and held it there a moment.

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

"In for what " said Maine, who cameup at that moment. Following thedirection of Massachusetts' eyes, shedrew her apart, and spoke in a lowtone. "I shall not say anything,Massachusetts, and I hope you will not.Don't you know " she added, seeingher friend's look of inquiry. "Those aremy scarlet leaves."

"No!"

"Yes. I have found out all about it.Daisy lingered behind the rest of us theother day, when I had been telling youall about the leaves, to pickblackberries. She saw Chicago comeout of the wood a few minutes after we

left, looking black as thunder. Don'tyou remember, I thought I heard arustling in the fern, and you laughed atme She was hidden there, and heardevery word we said. Next day the leaveswere gone, and now they are onChicago's dress instead of mine."

"And a far better place for them!"exclaimed Massachusetts, "though I amawfully sorry for her. Oh! you lucky,lucky girl! and you dear, precious,stupid ignoramus, not to know poisondogwood when you see it."

"Poison dogwood! those beautifulleaves!"

"Those beautiful leaves. That youngwoman is in for about two weeks of aspretty a torture as ever Inquisitor orIroquois could devise. I know all aboutit, though there was a time when I alsowas ignorant. Look! she is feeling ofher cheek already; it begins to sting.Tomorrow she will be all over patches,red and white; itching there is nothingto describe the itching. It is beyondwords. Next day her face will begin toswell, and in two days more the SchoolBirthday, my dear she will be likenothing human, a mere shapeless lumpof pain and horror. She will not sleepby night or rest by day. She will gohome to her parents, and they will notknow her, but will think we have sent

them a smallpox patient by mistake. Hereyes "

"Oh, hush! hush, Massachusetts!" criedMaine. "Oh! poor thing! poor thing!what shall I do I feel as if it were all myfault, somehow."

"Your fault that she sneaked andeavesdropped, and then stole yourdecoration Oh! come, Maine, don't befantastic!"

"No, Massachusetts, I don't mean that.But if I had only known, myself, whatthey were, I should never have spokenof them, and all this would never havehappened."

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

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

* * * * *

"And what is to be the end of thedogwood story, I wonder!" saidTennessee, meeting Massachusetts in abreathless interval between twoexercises on the School Birthday, thecrowning event of the HarvestFestivities at Miss Wayland's. "Have youheard the last chapter "

"No! what is it "

"Maine is in a dark room with themoaning Thing that was Chicago,singing to her, and telling her about thespeeches and things last night. Shevows she will not come out again to-day, just because she was at chapel andheard the singing this morning; saysthat was the best of it, and she doesn'tcare much about dancing. Maine! andMiss Wayland will not let us break inthe door and carry her off bodily; saysshe will be happier where she is, andwill always be glad of this day. I'll tellyou what it is, Massachusetts, if this isthe New England conscience I hear somuch about, I'm precious glad I wasborn in Tennessee."

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

"Well, perhaps I do!" said Tennessee.

THE END.