Stopping the leak
Date: 2025-10-19T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Household employees -- Juvenile fiction; Aunts -- Juvenile fiction; Diligence -- Juvenile fiction; Theft -- Juvenile fiction; Marriage -- Juvenile fiction; Home economics -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: Stopping the leak

Author: Madeline Leslie

Release date: October 19, 2025 [eBook #77089]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: Graves and Young, 1865

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/77089

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STOPPING THE LEAK ***

Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

BROOKSIDE SERIES.

STOPPING THE LEAK.

BY

AUNT HATTIE.

[Madeline Leslie]

BOSTON

PUBLISHED BY GRAVES AND YOUNG

No. 24 Cornhill.

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

DEDICATION

——————

TO

HARRY AND GEORGE COLVIN,

SONS OF MY ESTEEMED FRIENDS IN BALTIMORE,

I dedicate this Volume,

TRUSTING IT MAY HELP THEM TO AVOID THE FOIBLES AND

EXCESSES WHICH DESTROY FORTUNE AND CHARACTER,

AND TO CULTIVATE INDUSTRY, ECONOMY, AND

THOSE KINDRED VIRTUES

WHICH DISTINGUISH THE WISE AND GOOD.

THE AUTHOR.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

LADY-BIRD

CHAPTER II.

THE RECONNOISANCE

CHAPTER III.

DAYS OF YORE

CHAPTER IV.

WHO IS MISTRESS?

CHAPTER V.

FARM VERSUS RUM

CHAPTER VI.

A RAY OF SUNSHINE

CHAPTER VII.

POLICE AND CRIMINALS

CHAPTER VIII.

DETECTION AND ARREST

CHAPTER IX.

A PLUG IN THE LEAK

CHAPTER X.

A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION

CHAPTER XI.

ONE LEAK STOPPED

CHAPTER XII.

A SECOND LEAK STOPPED

CHAPTER XIII.

FAILURE FROM LEAKS

CHAPTER XIV.

HOME VERSUS OYSTER SALOON

CHAPTER XV.

AFFIDAVIT

CHAPTER XVI.

THE RESTORED HOME

CHAPTER XVII.

DANGER AND COURAGE

CHAPTER XVIII.

LEAKS ALL STOPPED

STOPPING THE LEAK.

CHAPTER I.

LADY-BIRD.

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

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

"There's a leak somewhere!"

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

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

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

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

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

The young bride laughed merrily.

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

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

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

"And who is Tom?"

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

"Have you any more servants?"

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

"A woman! What for, pray?"

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

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

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

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

Lily colored a very little as she answered,—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I suppose you carry the keys."

"What keys, Aunt Mercy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER II.

THE RECONNOISANCE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rang the bell with a quick jerk.

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

Ann came at once to lay the table.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He answered by ringing the bell.

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

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

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

"Aunt Mercy, come up here!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The old lady's dim eyes answered him sufficiently.

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

He colored a little as he said, hurriedly,—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER III.

DAYS OF YORE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you ever see such a man?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IV.

WHO IS MISTRESS?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER V.

FARM VERSUS RUM.

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

"They seem happy notwithstanding our misfortunes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This is your work!"

CHAPTER VI.

A RAY OF SUNSHINE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BRIGHTER DAYS.

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

"I like milk!" exclaimed Jamie, warmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yours most gratefully,

"LAWRENCE EVERETT."

CHAPTER VII.

POLICE AND CRIMINALS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I will write a note asking her."

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

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

"LILY."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you examined your jewel-box lately?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lawrence started angrily toward the door.

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

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

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

CHAPTER VIII.

DETECTION AND ARREST.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IX.

A PLUG IN THE LEAK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He smiled pleasantly.

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

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

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

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

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

"'I never could bear partial teachers.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your affectionate daughter,

"LIZZIE."

CHAPTER X.

A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, how much—ten cents a week?"

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Allen laughed heartily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robert did consent, though not very graciously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XI.

ONE LEAK STOPPED.

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

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

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

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

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

"But it does seem so very small!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRUE HAPPINESS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what does mamma say to all this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XII.

A SECOND LEAK STOPPED.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"TO MRS. MERCY LOVELL:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your affectionate nephew,

"JOSEPH ALLEN."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIII.

FAILURE FROM LEAKS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dr. Greenough laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'HORACE STORM.'"

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

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

"Oh, yes, indeed!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is he now?" eagerly asked Lizzie.

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

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

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

"Where are his parents now?"

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

"And the pretty young lady?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIV.

HOME VERSUS OYSTER SALOON.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A mortgage, I suppose."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XV.

AFFIDAVIT.

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

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

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

The next week Lizzie wrote, among other events,—

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

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

"'You are ill, Matilda?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"LIZZIE."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is Mr. Fish living?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mr. Fish is dead I hear."

"Yes. Did you learn nothing more?"

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

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

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

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

"Was he perfectly conscious?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Before me,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is he, Horace?"

He turned and caught her in his arms.

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XVI.

THE RESTORED HOME.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turning to the table, Mr. Greenough said,—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But she continually urged him, saying,—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is his name?"

"Robert Carter."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. Burrel paused, and then said,—

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

"I pledge my word that Mary will teach her to make good butter and cheese."

The gentleman smiled. "Since you are so determined," he said, "I suppose I must consent, but I dread to tell my wife of the change."

CHAPTER XVII.

DANGER AND COURAGE.

WE must now pass over three years in the history of our friends. Harry Everett is four years old, a bright, beautiful boy, of whom any mother might be proud. Words fail me when I attempt to describe this child. With perfect boyish instincts,—indeed, quite a romp at outdoor frolics,—there is a maturity and precociousness about him which impresses every one with the feeling "he has not long for this world."

"I do not believe," said a visitor at Mr. Everett's, "the doctrine I learned when a child from the numerous biographies of boys and girls, that all the good children die young, and that only wicked ones live to grow up. But I do believe that often our heavenly Father sees a plant in his earthly garden of such peculiar beauty and grace that he determined to transplant it to his celestial garden. Upon this lovely nursling he bestows such degrees of care and tenderness as bring it forward to an early maturity, which all who are witnesses thereof wonder at and admire."

Harry was of ordinary height, erect and graceful in figure. His head was of unusual size,—his broad, open brow being shaded by locks of chestnut hair, which fell in a shower of ringlets on his fair neck. His eyes, shaded by long, dark lashes, were hazel, bright, but not flashing, with often a pensive, thoughtful expression unusual in a child of his years. His nose was straight and well formed, while the small mouth, full-parted lips, and dimpled chin were expressive of both sweetness and decision of character. Harry was naturally passionate, energetic, and full of enthusiasm. The first trait was early restrained, or rather he was taught to exercise self-control, so that a stranger would never have imagined him easily moved to anger.

As a foundation for a good character, Lily learned from her Bible she must teach her child obedience,—prompt, unasking, cheerful obedience and perfect truthfulness; and this by the aid of prayer she succeeded in doing at a very early period. When he was only twenty months old, Lily took him with her to call upon a friend who also had a little son. When she rose to leave, the lady asked him to give her a parting kiss, which he readily did.

"Kiss the little boy, too, Harry," said his mother.

The boy shook his shoulders and made no advances.

"Mamma wants you to kiss little Frankey," Lily said, firmly.

Harry looked gravely at the boy, but still refused.

"Never mind," urged the lady, "he'll do it another time."

The mother thought otherwise. "If I allow him to disobey me now," she said, softly, "it will be more difficult next time for him to obey."

She took his hand, led him off a few steps and whispered in his ear, when he instantly walked up to Frankey and gave him a cordial kiss. She appealed to his love for her and his desire to please her, and was successful.

Harry's health, which, though good, was never firm, prevented him from being put to his books, but this want was more than supplied by the eagerness with which he listened to stories of children and animals, and particularly to stories from the Bible. Hour after hour he would sit drinking in the inspired words,—the stories of Abraham, Moses, Joseph, and all the worthies of the Old Testament being as familiar to him as household names. But what moved his tender heart more than all other reading was the story of the God Man, born in a manger, nurtured in a carpenter's shop, visiting the temple, asking questions of the doctors, his mission of love to all men, and, finally, his death on the cross. These sacred truths stole insensibly into his heart, and at a very early age began to influence his whole character.

"You need not tell me to say my prayers," he often said as his mother was unrobing him for the night. "I always remember." And running to his little chair, he would pour out his heart in childish petitions to his heavenly Father, a being he had been taught to love and not to fear.

Harry was not now an only child. In his fourth year, a little sister came to share his parents' love; and never was there a more tender, affectionate brother. Sweet little Paulina gave him her first smile, and learned before she was three months old to recognize his voice in the hall, and would turn her dainty head to catch the first glimpse of him as he entered the room.

Contrary to the opinion of most of her friends, Lily proved to be a firm, judicious mother. Though so young when married, yet she had witnessed too often the anxious care which mothers brought upon themselves by neglecting to train their children according to the Scripture rules, and she made it her earnest prayer that she might be guided in the right course. What was wanting in experience was made up from the fountain of wisdom, from which all are permitted to draw. Can we wonder that the result was as nearly a model of perfection as is ever seen among depraved humanity?

Mr. Everett does not now live in the stone cottage where we last saw him. Three years ago, he removed a mile nearer to his business in the city, to a house he had purchased on a new street, with an ornamental park in front. The house was in a block built of brick, with a granite front, and iron railings to the nicely-cut steps. It had large, airy rooms, well, but not expensively, furnished, and containing every modern improvement. A few well-chosen pictures adorned the walls, and some choice articles of "bijouterie," tastefully arranged by Lily's skilful hands, gave an air of refinement to the dwelling.

The young matron herself is changed, and yet the same. There is still the fresh, beaming face and sweet smile, sometimes breaking out into a musical laugh, as light and "abandon" as ever; but there is a deeper, holier light in her eye, an expression of thoughtfulness at times on her features which is very becoming. One trait has been discovered in her which even those who loved her best did not imagine her to possess. Shielded from her infancy from the least semblance of danger, when she was married, it was natural for her to look to her husband for guidance and protection. As we have seen, she shrunk from encountering the servants after their dishonesty had been discovered. But as her character, especially her Christian character, matured, she grew more self-possessed and self-reliant. These traits showed themselves in a degree in her every-day duties, but circumstances were to prove that, united to her confiding, trusting disposition, there was also firmness and resolution to meet the emergencies of the hour.

Mr. and Mrs. Percival had been returned from Paris nearly three years, he having been far more successful than he had at first expected in saving his fortune. Taught by experience, however, they never again entered on such a life of fashion and display, but took a house similar to Mr. Everett's, only two squares distant.

Aunt Mercy divided her time between her own home and her nephew's, but was at this period in N—.

One afternoon Mr. Everett returned to dinner an hour earlier than common, having received a telegram from his aunt, who had been suddenly taken ill, and wished to see him. His plan was to take the early afternoon train, which would leave him at his destination about half-past three, and return, if possible, at eight, reaching home a little before midnight.

He brought from his store a large packet of bank-notes, which he asked her to put carefully away, remarking that he had just taken them from the bank in order to pay a bill, when the telegram was given to him.

Lily reached out her hand doubtfully, which led him to say, with a laugh,—"If you are afraid to have so much money in the house, send Maggie with it over to your father."

"No, I'm not afraid," was her quiet answer. "How much is there?"

"Twenty-one hundred dollars."

"I'll put it in the closet in my room with the silver," she answered. "It will be perfectly safe there."

It was quite cool weather; and Mr. Everett had scarcely buttoned on his outside coat, and bade her a hasty adieu, before Lily was summoned to the kitchen to see a poor man, who wanted food.

Taking Harry by the hand, she went below, and found, sitting near the kitchen fire, one of the most repulsive-looking men she had ever seen. His cap was torn, revealing hair grizzled and matted; his eyes were bloodshot, his face red and bloated; while his whole features wore a look of cunning painful to witness.

He told a pitiful story of suffering, which completely conquered Lily's repugnance, notwithstanding the glances and signs of caution made by the shrewder Maggie.

Bidding the girl prepare a bowl of tea as quickly as possible, with her own hands, this delicate, high-born lady, dressed the wounded hand which he exhibited, expressing words of sympathy and encouragement which might have softened the heart of a brute.

When she had done this, and had seen him engaged in eating a hearty meal, she told him to sit near the fire till he was thoroughly warmed, and was leaving the kitchen, when she noticed a glance of triumph shoot from his eyes, for which she could not account.

Maggie ran to the stairs after her.

"I wish you'd bid him go at once," she said, earnestly. "There's an ill look about him,—a look which makes me think of murder and stealing."

"Hush, Maggie! He'll hear you. I think he'll go presently."

"But, ma'am, I'm afraid to stay alone with him, and I'm afraid to leave him. He might set the house on fire over our heads."

"You're nervous, Maggie," the lady said, laughing, at the same time her thoughts recurring to the large sum of money she had in the house. She returned to the sitting-room followed by Harry, and, engaged with him and the baby, soon forgot her late visitor.

Being alone, she retired to her room earlier than common, where, sitting before the bright fire, she hummed a soft air to Paulina, who was restless in her crib.

As she sat there gently rocking the little sleeper, a sudden turn of her head led her to look toward the wall at the farther end of the chamber. The fire was burning brightly, but beside this there was little light, the nurse having turned the gas down when she went below. But there she saw, just above the canopy over her bed, the top of the soiled cap the beggar had worn, with the matted gray hair sticking through it.

For a moment her breath stopped; the blood seemed frozen in her veins. But she was alone, and in the power of this brute, whose object, she could not doubt, was to obtain possession of the silver in her closet. Thoughts flew like lightning through her brain.

"He must have stolen up here from the kitchen, and seen Maggie put the tray in the closet. But oh, the money! Why didn't I send it away? Perhaps he knew it was here. Yes, it was just after Lawrence went that he came. I took it from my husband in the hall, and he heard me say I should keep it here. Now what is to be done? Maggie and nurse have both gone to bed; and if they were here, what could three weak women do against such a brute as this? First of all, I must be calm, and appear calm." And with that, she began again to hum the rest of the verse:—

"Hush, my child, lie still in slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed,
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head."

Even during the singing, a plan was suggested to her. She ascribed it to her Father in heaven, who was even now watching over her and her little ones.

"Yes," she said to herself, "he must have heard Lawrence tell me there was twenty-one hundred dollars; that was the reason of his triumphant smile. Maggie distrusted him from the first. How did he get in here unseen?"

She glanced timidly toward the bed. There the figure stood immovable as a statue.

With a silent prayer for strength, and a countenance from which every shade of color had vanished, but with a look of noble resolve in her eye, she arose and began to prepare for bed.

But first she turned up the gas, filling the room with light. And then, bringing the tray from the closet, she set it on the table and began to count the forks, spoons, and napkin-rings, to all appearances as unmoved as if nothing had occurred to terrify her.

Taking them up in her hand, she went on: "Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen—I wonder what Maggie has done with the others! Oh, here they are among the forks! Twenty-three, twenty-four; that's all right!"

Making as much display as possible of the coffee-urn, salver, and tea-set, she carried the whole back to the closet, taking the opportunity to slip the money into a high drawer, and pull out the key.

After this, she slowly took off one garment after another. Her heart sometimes almost failed her, and then, being reassured by a short petition for strength, she put on her embroidered night-dress, and knelt down for her evening prayer.

In a voice low, but perfectly distinct, she said,—

"Father, unto thy kind care I commit myself and those so dear to me. Protect me from all harm and danger. Let thy holy angels watch around my bed. Help all those who are in distress, and particularly those who are driven by their poverty into crime. Forgive all my many sins, for the sake of thy Son, my Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen."

She arose, calmed by the exercise, without one glance toward the intruder, drew the crib across the floor near the bed, and then lay herself down, but not to rest.

She feigned sleep, however, and soon heard a stealthy movement behind the couch. It was evident the robber thought his opportunity had come.

Stealthily as a cat creeps toward his prey, he moved across the carpet toward the closet. Once only poor Lily dared to open her eyes; he was just entering the door.

"Now is my time," she said to herself, and springing softly from her couch, she darted after him, shut the door with a bound, and locked it upon him.

Then her strength all left her, and she sank almost fainting into a chair. But realizing that the danger was not yet over, she tried to rally, and, crawling to the window, raised the sash and screamed, "Murder! Murder!!" with all the strength her lungs would permit.

The next step was to ring the chamber-bell for nurse, who soon appeared terrified beyond measure, and gave a more decided call for help. Maggie came and opened the door for the watch, who secured the villain, and, having put on handcuffs, carried him off to the station house, to await his trial.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LEAKS ALL STOPPED.

MRS. LOVELL was not relieved from her sudden attack till the third day after her seizure, during which time her nephew did not leave her. Mrs. Allen and her daughter were also unwearied in their attentions. Mr. Everett had written two letters home, and was wondering he had not heard in return, when, on taking up a daily paper, he discovered the cause, with what mingled emotions of gratitude, pride, and horror the reader can easily imagine. The item was headed REMARKABLE PRESENCE OF MIND, and proceeded with a tolerably correct statement of facts, with names in full.

"Well done, Lily!" he said aloud, in a tone of exultation, little realizing that her courage and self-possession had been followed by continued swoons, which had completely prostrated her nervous system.

Aunt Mercy was better, however, and urged his immediate return to his family.

Lily's languid frame revived when she saw her husband standing by her bedside, and heard the words of fond praise which overflowed from his full heart.

It was a week, however, before she recovered, and even then the sudden mention of her escape, with which every mouth was filled, caused her to tremble with excitement. One fact connected with the incident I must not forget to mention. During his trial the robber confessed that he had listened to the conversation between husband and wife, and watched his opportunity, while the family were at supper and Maggie waiting on them, to steal to the chamber and conceal himself. But so greatly was he affected by her simple prayer, trusting herself so fully to the care of God, that he resolved, whatever happened, not to injure her. If it had not been for this circumstance, connected with her kindness to him in the kitchen, his plan was to thrust a dagger into her heart as she lay sleeping, and then escape with his booty.

And now, dear reader, in drawing this story to a close, I have only space to tell you in brief that, the leak in Mr. Everett's family being effectually stopped by prudent foresight and economy, he found himself at the end of ten years a rich man, owning ships and sending them to every sea. But, with all his riches, he never again launched into extravagance.

Both he and Lily dreaded the dangers through which they had passed. Much of his time and money was spent in furthering the great benevolent objects of the day; while his lovely wife disbursed her charities on a more limited scale, often making Harry the almoner of her bounty.

Aunt Mercy, after her illness, was persuaded to break up housekeeping and make her home with her nephew, though she furnished a room in Mr. Allen's commodious house, and in the summer made long visits there, usually accompanied by one or both of the children.

Mr. Allen's prediction concerning Robert Carter was fulfilled. Encouragement and judicious praise acts like a charm on some men, and he was one of them. When his friend related the circumstances which would lead to his own removal to his native town, and hinted that he might, if he wished, have the situation of gardener then to be vacant, he listened with a stupid stare of astonishment, while Betsey, with a flushed face, exclaimed,—"It's the first unkind thing I ever knew of you, Mr. Allen, to put thoughts in Robert's mind to unsettle him just as he was getting easy like."

But when the other explained that he had already spoken to Mr. Burrel, who had consented that he should make a trial of his skill,—that he was immediately to leave the fall ploughing and go into the nursery, and that he should have all the advice necessary to get an insight into the business, his face lighted up with pleasure, and he expressed himself with great earnestness.

"It's what I never thought of, and Betsey can testify to the same, but I'll do my best, you may be sure of that; and if there's anything in the world that I own, saving Betsey, that ye'd like, I'll make ye welcome to it with all my heart."

"I didn't tell you all," resumed Mr. Allen, with a smile. "You're to live in the cottage, and Betsey is to go over there every day for a time to learn to make butter and cheese for the great house."

"I daren't undertake it," modestly suggested the wife, blushing like a peony. "I'd neither get leave to eat or sleep with the worry."

But she did undertake it after the necessary apprenticeship, and succeeded so well that Mrs. Burrel, in a letter she wrote Mrs. Allen a few months after their removal, said,—

"I never expected to eat such sweet butter as yours again until I accepted your invitation to visit you. But Betsey has proved so good a scholar that I cannot tell the difference, especially as she uses the same stamps that you did."

Mr. Burrel bought the cottage once so earnestly desired by the Carters for the use of his farmer, but advised his new gardener to leave the hundred dollars in his hands, where it would be earning interest, and make it the beginning of a sum for his old age.

Before she left, Mrs. Allen impressed upon Bobby and the other children the duties that would be expected of them; and I am happy to say their time was so constantly occupied in showing Mr. Burrel that they could work as well as the young Allens that they found no opportunity for mischief.

Early in June following the death of Mr. Fish, Mr. Allen returned to the old homestead, but Mr. Greenough was not ready to vacate the house. His new buildings would not be completed until autumn, and he urged Mrs. Allen to allow his furniture to remain as it was, and take them all to board. This was at last agreed upon, and in July Dr. Greenough with his new wife also joined them, Lizzie's father having offered to give the young couple a start by boarding them for six months. Mrs. Greenough had two excellent servants who remained with Mary, so that she had ample time to revisit the old haunts about the farm, and make criticisms, if she wished, on the improvements.

The cranberry season came on before the new house was ready, and a merry time it proved to be. Day after day the whole family—parents, children, and servants—were out in the meadow, their feet well guarded with india-rubber boots, picking, sorting, and gathering the fruit for market. The yield was enormous, and the profit turned out so great that Mr. Allen resolved before another year came round to have the adjoining piece of meadow drained and set over with plants.

In the winter, Dr. Greenough received a visit from his friend, Horace Storm, who had married a pupil in the asylum with which he was connected, a lady with a large fortune, quite as pretty and fair more fascinating with her signs and demonstrative gestures, than the young miss who formerly lived at his father's.

Matilda Fish, who had been the means, under Providence, of restoring Mr. Allen to his old home, inherited a fortune from her father. Soon after Lizzie went to housekeeping, she consented to take the young girl as a boarder, or rather to assume the care of her education, as her husband had of the fortune.

Mr. Allen, by his sound judgment and his high Christian character, rose high in the estimation of his townsmen. Once more he consented to become a candidate for town offices, but only that he might reform abuses in them, especially in the law relating to license for selling liquor. In the forty-third year of his age, he was the chosen representative to the Legislature of the State, and succeeded so well in securing respect to himself in that office that his townsmen wished to send him again, but he declined, being unwilling to leave his family for so long a period.

As he had promised, he gave his children every advantage which he could afford, though he often told them that the discipline through which they had passed was of more value to them than any book learning.

John Allen succeeded so well in business that he rose to be confidential clerk of the firm,—a position which brought him a good support and great respect. He continued to live with Mr. Everett, where he was regarded as a dear friend. Bell married a son of Mr. Burrel, and returned to G—, while Carrie became a music-teacher in a large school, and was greatly admired for her energy, sweetness of temper, and persevering industry.

And now, dear reader, having shown you how a leak in your fortune may be stopped by prudence, economy, foresight, and industry, I must leave you with the hope that you will so learn to conduct your affairs that there will be no leak in your fortune.

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Table of Contents

- STOPPING THE LEAK.

- CHAPTER I.

- CHAPTER II.

- CHAPTER III.

- CHAPTER IV.

- CHAPTER V.

- CHAPTER VI.

- CHAPTER VII.

- CHAPTER VIII.

- CHAPTER IX.

- CHAPTER X.

- CHAPTER XI.

- CHAPTER XII.

- CHAPTER XIII.

- CHAPTER XIV.

- CHAPTER XV.

- CHAPTER XVI.

- CHAPTER XVII.

- CHAPTER XVIII.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE