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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
VERSE AND STORY 
 
 > .,..^' 
 
 A 
 
 FLORENCE V,^ BRITTINGH AM 
 
 CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 
 BUFFALO 
 
 189? 
 
 79 
 
 3/^ 
 

 Copyright, 1892, 
 !y JACOB BRITTINGHAM. 
 
 Printed By C, W. Moulton, Buffalo, N. Y. 
 
THIS LITTLE WORK 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 
 TO MY SON 
 
 Philip Shearer Brittingham 
 
 FOR WHOM I can ASK NO GREATER BLESSING 
 
 THAN 
 
 THAT THESE PAGES 
 
 MAY HELP HIM TO BE WHAT HIS MOTHER WAS: 
 
 PURE, GENTLE and DILIGENT 
 
 IN THE SERVICE OF 
 
 GOD 
 
 AND MAN. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This volume is compiled at the solicitation of friends 
 and for a dear little son, who will highly appreciate in 
 future years the words of his devoted mother. He 
 will also value, as will all her friends, the glimpse of a 
 noble life and the tribute to a blessed memory, which 
 the Bishop of West Virginia has added to its pages. 
 The book makes no special pretentions and hence its 
 title Verse and Story. It was written as a recrea- 
 tion and a reHef for an active mind, and it is but 
 just to add that such of her work as has not been pre- 
 viously published is taken direcdy from the original 
 draft of the author without alteration or correction. 
 
 Mrs. Brittingham took particular delight in literature 
 and met with some success in writing for various 
 periodicals, yet she was too much occupied with the 
 "Father's business " and the pressing duties of home- 
 life to do full justice to her literary efforts. She loved 
 song well, but souls better, and her feet were too often 
 turned toward the home of the humble to visit fre- 
 quently that of the muses. The "Old, Old Story" 
 
VI Preface. 
 
 was so real in her life that she seemed to have little 
 time to write mere words of fiction. She made up in 
 intensity of life for length of days. 
 
 "God breathed a soul into a human form, 
 Endowed it richly with rare gifts; 
 The artist's touch, the poet's song, 
 The power to wake sweet melody — 
 
 All these were hers. 
 Thus fit to shine in Fashion's realm. 
 She meekly chose the ' better part, ' 
 And passed all undefiled along the way. 
 To soothe and cheer the desolate. 
 And help to higher, nobler life 
 
 By her own spotless purity. 
 Death touched her and she slept 
 To wake in deathless joy 
 
 In Paradise." 
 
 Jacob Brittingham. 
 
 St. Luke's Rectory, Wheeling, W. Va. 
 Eastertide, 18^2. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Memoir, i 
 
 Poems, 17 
 
 Berwick's Mistake, 79 
 
 Agnes, 167 
 
 A Bona Fide Ghost, 183 
 
 Tiie Paradise of Pins, 193 
 
 My First Investment, 203 
 
 King and Queen Days, 215 
 
MEMOIR, 
 
FLORENCE SHEARER BRITTINGHAM. 
 
 IT was in the summer of 1878, on the occasion of my 
 first official visit to Emmanuel Church, Moorefield, 
 Va., that I met Florence Shearer then in her 22nd 
 year. 
 
 In the busy life I have since led, it has been a 
 constant pleasure to me to meet her when I made my 
 annual visits to Moorefield, and to Clarksburg and 
 Wheeling, W. Va., where she afterwards lived. But 
 I cherish, with special feelings of interest and tender- 
 ness, the recollection of how she passed the first year 
 of her married life, as a member of my own household, 
 in Parkersburg, W. Va. And yet, notwithstanding 
 the long, and I may say familiar intercourse of these 
 years, of which I have a very distinct impression and 
 a most fragrant memory, it is with great hesitation 
 that I put my pen to paper to attempt to convey in 
 anywise to others what are my own thoughts about 
 this dear woman, who we believe now rests in the 
 Paradise of God. In our long association with our 
 friends we are not accustomed to formulate our 
 
4 Memoir. 
 
 thoughts and feelings about them, and so, when in the 
 providence of God they are taken from us, we are not, 
 at once, ready to tell to others what they have been 
 to us and what we believe they have been in their own 
 distinct personality, and in their work for, and associa- 
 tion with, other people. 
 
 After we have said all that comes in our minds to 
 say, we feel that the picture we present is a very 
 imperfect one ; we realize its defects though we may 
 not be able to supply what is lacking. We can state 
 the main facts of the life, and draw the general features 
 of the character, but the subtle charm of the presence 
 and of the expression is often still wanting. No one 
 else can read between the lines of what we have writ- 
 ten, and therefore our words do not convey to others 
 just what is in our own minds. After all our efforts, 
 therefore, we have to be satisfied with an incomplete, 
 partial and defective sketch, and we may well hesitate 
 to put it before the public as a fair expression of our 
 own appreciation. 
 
 Florence Virginia, daughter of Philip T. and Susan 
 M. Shearer, was the eldest of five children, and was 
 born in Moorefield, Va., on the 15th of November, 
 1856. 
 
 Mr. Shearer came from Winchester, Va., nearly 
 forty years ago, and settled in Moorefield, where he 
 still lives a highly respected citizen and a successful 
 merchant. Mrs. Shearer's maiden name was Harness, 
 
Memoir. 5 
 
 a family well known from the earliest settlement of the 
 South- Branch Valley. 
 
 There is not much incident to be looked for during 
 the first years of a child's life in a quiet little inland 
 town like Moorefield, which nestling under the moun- 
 tains in its beautiful valley, seems shut out from the 
 restlessness and turmoil of the great, busy world. 
 
 Here Florence was reared with such surroundings 
 and associations as marked a quiet Christian home. 
 But her friends now delight to recall how, even in her 
 early childhood, she showed the marked character- 
 istics which adorned her after life. Her affectionate 
 disposition in her family and to her little friends, and 
 her cheerful obedience to all in authority, are grate- 
 fully remembered by everyone who knew her as a 
 child. 
 
 No doubt, like other children, she must have had 
 her trials, but it is not too much to say that, even 
 then, her character was marked by a singular sweet- 
 ness of temper, in the exercise of which she constantly 
 showed herself kind and generous to her playmates 
 and more than usually ready to pass over any unkind 
 word or action. 
 
 As a complement to this temper of singular sweet- 
 ness, was her simple and transparent truthfulness, not 
 only in word but in deed; what we may call the beau- 
 tiful integrity of her character, which, showing itself 
 from the time that she could know right from wrong, 
 
6 Metnoir. 
 
 inspired the utmost confidence in all who came to 
 know her. 
 
 Another marked characteristic which distinguished 
 her through life appeared also in these early years, 
 the spirit of helpfulness for others. When only in her 
 fourth year, she taught the little colored children, who 
 were about her own home, the Lord's Prayer, and the 
 ' * Now I lay me down to sleep, ' ' and when a little 
 older, being between nine and ten years of age, and 
 able to read correctly and easily, she used to make 
 long visits to her grandmother's in the country, and 
 read the Bible to such of the old servants as remained 
 after the war. When other children would have been 
 occupied in play, she would teach these willing schol- 
 ars hymns and instruct them in the Bible. It is no 
 wonder they loved the dear child, who thus tried to 
 help them to a higher life, with a sincere and simple 
 devotion, and this they expressed by calling her ''their 
 little angel." 
 
 To recall even these few simple things from her early 
 childhood, is a grateful task to her friends, and to 
 those who did not know her may serve as some guide 
 to the appreciation of her subsequent life. 
 
 In the fall of 1871, when nearly fourteen years of 
 age, Florence Shearer was entered as a pupil in the 
 Eclectic Institute, Baltimore, Md., where she remained 
 for three years under the care and tuition of Mrs. Leti- 
 tia Tyler Semple, the principal. During these years 
 
Memoir. 7 
 
 she enjoyed the full confidence and affection of Mrs. 
 Semple and her assistant teachers. As the result of 
 her school career, she returned to her home in Moore- 
 field ''with a necklace of medals around her throat 
 and a diploma in her hand." 
 
 Mrs. Semple says of her that she set ' ' an example 
 of obedience, fidelity and earnestness of purpose to all 
 around her, ' ' and that * ' in all the three years, she 
 received but one demerit from any of her teachers." 
 
 While at school in Baltimore, Florence attended 
 Emmanuel Church, then under charge of Dr. Ran- 
 dolph, now Bishop Randolph, of Virginia. She was 
 presented by him for confirmation during her last 
 year at school, and always spoke gratefully of his careful 
 and thorough instruction and of the help she received 
 from him as her pastor. Under such training she 
 became not only a staunch but an unusually well in- 
 formed Episcopalian, showing wonderful familiarity 
 with the History, Doctrine, Discipline and Worship of 
 the Church she so dearly loved. 
 
 This ardent and intelligent attachment to the Church 
 of her choice, received abundant illustration in her life 
 in Moorefield, from 1874, on her return from school, 
 to 1882, the date of her marriage, a period of eight 
 years. 
 
 The story of these years of quiet, patient, judicious 
 and earnest work for Christ and the Church, remain 
 yet to be told. I am not sufficiently familiar with the 
 
8 Memoir. 
 
 details to attempt it myself; suffice it here to say that 
 by the gift of a considerable body of land, our few 
 church people in Moorefield were encouraged to orga- 
 nize a parish and to undertake to build a Church. 
 
 The difficulties in the way, however, were very 
 great ; and in all fairness and charity it must also be 
 said that the prejudices against the Episcopal Church 
 were very strong. The little band of our church people, 
 some of whom have now gone to their rest, labored on 
 with zeal and perseverance and by the blessing of God 
 were enabled at last to have a home of their own, and 
 worship in a beautiful church, which I consecrated for 
 them, free of all debt, to the service and worship of 
 Almighty God. Much might be said and much ought 
 to be said of that small but devoted band, but I always 
 found that by common consent, the foremost place of 
 influence and effective power was given to the gentle 
 and earnest spirit of Florence Shearer. In the choir, 
 in the Sunday school, in every department of church 
 work in which her service would tell, it was freely 
 given, and her pure and sweet influence throughout 
 the community was in every movement felt to be the 
 power behind the throne. 
 
 On the 5th of September, 1882, it was my privilege to 
 officiate at the wedding of Florence with the Rev. Jacob 
 Brittingham, a Presbyter of the Diocese of West Vir- 
 ginia, having charge of various churches and missions 
 in the neighborhood of Parkersburg and resident at 
 
Memoir. 9 
 
 my own house in that city. Here she lived about a 
 year and from this time my closer acquaintance with 
 Mrs. Brittingham dates. She quickly won her way 
 to the hearts of everyone of my household and we all 
 felt her loss very keenly when Mr. Brittingham moved 
 to Clarksburg, having been placed in charge of Christ 
 Church. While in Parkersburg, Mrs. Brittingham 
 was a very active member of the congregation. In the 
 Sunday School, the Industrial Mission School and the 
 Mother's Mission, she found objects for sympathy and 
 room for work and the parish has long felt the inspir- 
 ation of her example. The dates of her poems show 
 that her literary activity begun while living at my 
 house. We were not aware at the time that she was 
 doing such work, though we could not but recognize 
 her rare and graceful culture ; for her writing, whether 
 of prose or verse, was with her rather a rest and pas- 
 time. The main purpose of her life was ever her 
 *■ ' Master' s business. ' ' 
 
 It was thus during the busy days of her married 
 life, when many household and parish duties claimed 
 her thought and energies, and especially during the 
 short visits that she would make to the old home in 
 Moorefield, that she found recreation and relief for an 
 active mind in writing short stories and poems, and 
 articles of one sort or another. Some of these have 
 already found their way into print and some are now 
 published, for the first time, in this volume. 
 
lo Memoir. 
 
 The pastorate of Mr. Brittingham in Clarksburg, 
 extended over a period of about six years and was a 
 time of steady growth — a marked epoch in its history. 
 To this faithful and successful work of my dear 
 Brother, his wife, who was in every way a help-meet 
 for him, contributed very largely. The church in 
 Clarksburg owes a great deal to Mrs. Brittingham. 
 To labors similar to those of which I have spoken as 
 employing her time in Parkersburg, she added the 
 work of a Bible class for young men which afterwards 
 developed into a large class of both sexes — married 
 or single. For this, her qualifications both of head 
 and heart were exceptional. Those whose privilege it 
 was to attend this class gratefully remember her clear 
 and faithful Bible teaching, and recall with constant 
 pleasure the charm of her gracious presence. In addi- 
 tion to church work and Bible-teaching, she also 
 instructed a class of young ladies in English Literature 
 and French, and was always active in advancing liter- 
 ary culture in this and other communities in which 
 she lived. But it ought to be said that Mrs. Britting- 
 ham was not one of those persons whose energies are 
 altogether expended outside of her own home. On 
 the contrary, in that house as in the parish, her 
 thoughtfulness and helpfulness were apparent. Nat- 
 urally self-reliant she had after graduation preferred to 
 make her own pocket and church money ; this she did 
 by teaching and other work. The experience she 
 
Memoir. 1 1 
 
 thus gained was invaluable to her in her married life. 
 Not only did she manage her household affairs with 
 wise discretion, with due regard to a limited salary- 
 paid her husband by the church in Clarksburg, but by 
 her indefatigable industry she made it possible to fur- 
 nish for the most part the Rectory of St. Luke's 
 Church, Wheeling, (where Mr. Brittingham moved in 
 1889) and to put it in its present comfortable condi- 
 tion. Her idea was to make it "parish-worthy" to 
 use her own words. 
 
 In St. Luke's parish she organized a circle of 
 King's Daughters, and also had a Bible class for young 
 ladies which met at the Rectory every Saturday night. 
 
 To be an organizer and leader in such work she was 
 eminently fitted, because, to use the words applied to 
 Frances Ridley Havergal, "she had such transparent 
 candor, such delicacy of conscience, such strength of 
 affection and will, such thoughtfulness of others, such 
 forgetfulness of self. ' ' 
 
 We are not, however, to suppose that Mrs. Britting- 
 ham' s energies were limited by the bounds of the par- 
 ish where she lived. As an illustration of her wider 
 sympathy, it deserves to be mentioned that she organ- 
 ized a branch of the Woman's Auxiliary in Clarksburg, 
 certainly among the first in the Dioceses. In St. 
 Luke's, Wheeling, she effected such an organization, 
 the first of its kind in the city. 
 
 Miss Emory writes of her: "We, in the Woman's 
 
12 Memoir. 
 
 Auxiliary, are great losers by the death of Mrs. Britt- 
 ingham. It was always a pleasure to hear from her; 
 her interest was so true an4 her wish to help so ready. 
 I cannot but feel that, even beyond her own home and 
 the limits of the parish, she must be missed indeed. 
 But if the loss is felt, the influence must be felt too, 
 and when such are taken it seems as though it must 
 remain with those who are left to do better service 
 than heretofore." 
 
 It was the very earnest desire of myself, and of my 
 household, to have Mrs. Brittingham come to Park- 
 ersburg on the occasion of the meeting of the Four- 
 teenth Annual Council, which was fixed for Wednes- 
 day, June, 3rd, 1 89 1. 
 
 To make sure of it I began to make arrangements 
 long before and it was understood that both she and 
 her little son Philip would come with Mr. Brittingham 
 and stay with me at the old home. So we planned, 
 and for months looked forward to what we all thought 
 would be a happy reunion; but it was not to be. On 
 Sunday April 26th, 1891, at half-past eleven at night, 
 her pure spirit took its flight from this world. ' ' The 
 silver chord was loosed, the golden bowl was broken," 
 the precious dust was ready to return to the earth as it 
 was, while the spirit sprang unto God who gave it. 
 
 On Sunday March 22nd, being the Sunday before 
 Easter, I visited St. Luke's Church in the evening and 
 took tea at the Rectory. I did not, however, see Mrs. 
 
Memoir. 13 
 
 Brittingham as she was reported indisposed for several 
 days. It was thought that she might be entering 
 upon an attack of the prevalent ' ' Grippe ' ' and it was 
 hoped in a few days she would be better. It turned 
 out to be the beginning of the typhoid fever, 
 which after thirty-nine long and weary days did its 
 fatal work. Throughout her sickness she was calm 
 and patient and up to the last two days her mind was 
 perfectly clear. She realized that she was seriously 
 sick and calmly spoke of the probability of death and 
 said she had no fears. It was because * * she knew 
 whom she had believed and was persuaded that He 
 was able to keep that she had committed to Him." 
 
 When, on the afternoon of the thirty-seventh day 
 delirium seized her, there was nothing distressing 
 about it. Her mind naturally wandered through 
 scenes and among subjects most familiar to her. She 
 went through some of the Evening Prayer and then re- 
 peated the first lines of several of the familiar evening 
 hymns. She then breathed out her desires and aspi- 
 rations to God in words of her own choosing. On 
 Sunday morning, her last day on earth, she seemed to 
 be a little better and her mind was clear enough to 
 recognize all the members of the family who were 
 gathered around her, making cheerful and even play- 
 ful recognition of their presence. At eleven o'clock 
 she listened attentively to the prayers her husband 
 read by her bed-side, distinctly joining in repeating the 
 
14 , Memoir. 
 
 Lord's Prayer. From this time on she had little to 
 say; indeed she soon dropped into an unconscious con- 
 dition which continued to the end. 
 
 I need not say that everything that loving friends 
 and skillful physicians could do for her, was done. 
 Her faithful and devoted brother, Dr. Philip T. Shearer 
 (who was Health Officer of the City of Wheeling, and 
 died of the same terrible disease six weeks later)and an- 
 other physician were in constant attendance. But, He 
 who is too wise to err and too good to be unkind, see- 
 ing all with a clearer vision than that granted to our 
 dim eyes, found that it was ' ' better for her to depart 
 and to be with Christ." Shall we not say "even so 
 Father for so it seemed good in thy sight. " 
 
 And now my grateful task is done. I have attempted 
 to write a brief sketch and not a eulogy of my dear friend. 
 These few lines may serve to recall her gracious pres- 
 ence to those who knew her and give to others some 
 idea of what they can never, in this way, fully know, 
 how sweet, pure, gentle and full of blessing was the 
 life we have lost for a little while from our more active 
 fellowship. 
 
 It will not be thought improper I trust for me to say 
 in conclusion that I count it one of the chief pleas- 
 ures and privileges of these latter days of my life, that 
 I enjoyed the acquaintance and friendship of Florence 
 Brittingham. The remembrance of all our association 
 is sweet and I doubt not will remain green and fragant in 
 
Memoir. 15 
 
 the years that are to* come. I shall always think of 
 
 her as 
 
 "A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
 To warn, to comfort and command, 
 And yet a spirit still, and bright 
 With something of an angel light. " 
 
 Rt. Rev. George W. Peterkin D. D. 
 
 Bishop of West Virginia. 
 
 Parkersbiirgh, W. Va., Feb. 25th, 1892. 
 
POEMS. 
 
MY FRIEND. 
 
 A seedling by the wayside lay^ 
 Escaping notefrofn day to day; 
 Then came a careful hand a7id true 
 Who planted; and there it grew 
 To be a spreading tree^ fiill high^ 
 Dispensing good both far and 7iigh. 
 
 -Parkersburg^-Octobery 1882, 
 
Poems, 19 
 
 EIGHTEEN EIGHTY-SEVEN. 
 
 BY the clock I am told 'tis eleven, 
 And the spirit of this Christmas-even 
 Now enters my heart with its cheer, 
 To retrospect calmly the year 
 Of Eighteen Eighty-Seven. 
 
 However so nobly we've striven. 
 With motives all sanctioned by Heaven, 
 Some lurking and taunting regret 
 Will torture and cumber us yet. 
 Oh Eighteen Eighty-Seven! 
 
 By what e'er our hearts may be riven, 
 One guerdon is never deceiving — 
 To revel in memories of friends 
 Whom prompt recollection now blends 
 With Eighteen Eighty-Seven. 
 
 'Tis wisely and rightfully given 
 That some of this happiness leaven, 
 
20 Poems. 
 
 Should mingle its ' ' couleur de rose ' ' 
 
 With thoughts that hallow the close 
 
 Of Eighteen Eighty- Seven. 
 
 May the Christ whom we both believe in, 
 To have aided our effort at living, 
 That the leaf which is now folded down, 
 May hold in reserve a bright crown 
 For Eighteen Eighty- Seven. 
 
 — Clarksburg, Xmastide, 1887, 
 
 TO N. E. 1888. 
 
 A MERRY, merry bird, 
 A stranger to the bough, 
 Has risen phoenix-like 
 
 From one who died just now. 
 
 His song is rich and clear 
 As any bird of Spring, 
 
 By intuition fine 
 
 I know him swift of wing. 
 
Poems. 21 
 
 A bird of passage he 
 
 Whose coming none could stay, 
 He'll for awhile abide 
 
 Then wing his flight away. 
 
 The secret of his song 
 
 The wisest cannot tell ; 
 A chant for every day, 
 
 And every month as well. 
 
 There'll be some notes of woe, 
 
 And many trills of joy; 
 Dispair will have its tones 
 
 And love, without alloy. 
 
 But as the hours roll by 
 Within the coming year. 
 
 The warbler's mystic chime 
 Deciphered will be clear. 
 
 O birdie! sing for us 
 
 A song of hope renewed. 
 
 Of faith divinely blessed, 
 And sanctifying good. 
 
22 Poems. 
 
 So shall thy notes with ours 
 Harmoniously blend, 
 
 While not a discord mars 
 The year unto its end. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 SOME days there are with happiness inwrought ; 
 Fair nature whispers love, and high o'er-fraught 
 With blessings from her store, the laughing hours 
 Glid gently by and free disburse in showers 
 Such keen delights as mortals never know. 
 Except when rare October's sunsets glow. 
 
 T'is then the river finds its lulling tone; 
 The wind, enfranchised from the dreary moan, 
 Sinks to a zephyr soft, who's guileless play 
 Scarce tips the daisy 'long the king's highway. 
 The flowers the poppy's secret sure have found; 
 T' is natures dream not yet in slumber drowned. 
 
Poems. 23 
 
 The heavens bend nearer, earth is now so fair; 
 
 Vast multitudes of sprites from upper air 
 
 Descend and their sweet ministry intrude; 
 
 They league with frost-elves in the lichened wood, 
 
 Lay fructifying touch on forest grape, 
 
 While glebe-land with discol'ring fringe they drape. 
 
 Heap high the bonfire of Time's gloomy days. 
 
 And with ascending smoke the heavens o'er haze; 
 
 Veil with the same the sun's autumnal heat; 
 
 By river path romantic tales repeat, 
 
 Then join creation in its glad refrain. 
 
 Cheat death of all its semblance, all its pain. 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 THE flowers have whispered a secret 
 Which gossiping winds cannot know; 
 E' en zephyrs were still by vale and hill, 
 As I bent my ear quite low. 
 
 The news joy-giving now slumbered deep. 
 Close locked in my bosom true; 
 
24 Poems. 
 
 There Is not one shall know what was done, 
 I vow, by my troth, save you. 
 
 T'was my lover came for me last night, 
 
 And lingered near the gate; 
 I would not come so he hied him home, 
 
 When the clanging hour spoke late. 
 
 With loitering step and longing eyes. 
 
 He dallied round the place; 
 " He'd wait for hours," he sighed to the flowers, 
 
 ** Just to see her bonny face." 
 
 Now that I know my lover is true, 
 
 I shall saunter down to-night. 
 And if he be near the gate-way tree, 
 
 I to him my faith will plight. 
 
 If all transpire as I'm sure It will, 
 
 The happiest maid I'll be; 
 I'll build some bowers to honor the flowers. 
 
 Who the secret kept for me. 
 
 —June, 1888. 
 
Poems. 55 
 
 GAUDEAMUS IGITUR, 
 
 THERE are those who grow prosaic 
 Mid this fleeting life of ours, 
 As they trace a dull mosaic 
 Unrelieved by glint of flowers. 
 
 I, mayhap, some gleesome spirit, 
 Dowered with a brighter range. 
 
 Do but cross their path, or near it ; 
 From without the fret and change 
 
 Of the bounding life around them, 
 They will stop to sneer and frown, 
 
 And from favored heights beyond them 
 Seek to drag the blest one down. 
 
 But we thank our God devoutly, 
 There are others in the race 
 
 Who will wield the cudgel stoutly 
 For the higher-up in place. 
 
26 Poems. 
 
 Those who will promote the welfare 
 Of the neighbor living by, 
 
 Tho' it be no prime advantage 
 To the potentate called I. 
 
 Then just let the gruesome shadows, 
 Journey on abreast the clay, 
 
 But we'll join the nobler army — 
 Those who brighten up the way. 
 
 —July 6ih, iS8S. 
 
 AFTER-GLOW. 
 
 BY radiant beams the western hill is aureoled; 
 Dense folds of gray 
 Veil now the form, erstwhile so animate, 
 Of sun-born day. 
 
 From out his glorious, iridescent home, 
 
 He, nature's priest. 
 Sends forth his hallowing, canonizing power 
 
 For day deceased. 
 
Poems. 27 
 
 Afar above the gloaming's darkening tints, 
 
 The sainted one 
 Gleams bright and reassuring glances down 
 
 The earth upon. 
 
 We, down among the shadows, hearts a-throb 
 
 And, trembling so, 
 Forget a restoration till we list 
 
 The after-glow. 
 
 When dies the day within the human soul; 
 
 When clouds of grief 
 Veil from our sight the frail weak frame of clay — 
 
 Nowhere relief. 
 
 We, down among the shadows, sink o'er- whelmed. 
 
 Unless we turn 
 The eye of faith to where the Eternal Son 
 
 Doth ceaseless burn. 
 
 The aureole of good deeds, touched by one ray 
 
 From Source Divine, 
 Transformed, becomes a glorious crown, which shall 
 
 Forever shine. 
 —Juty 26th, 1888. 
 
28 Peems. 
 
 ONLY AN INCIDENT. 
 
 OH! a day of wild merriment, frolic and fun, 
 Was the tournament day, and I think every one 
 In the shade of the grove on the broad-backed plateau, 
 Felt a fine flow of spirits, all faces aglow 
 With those sentiments grand, of love's chivalry born. 
 Which may even the brow of the humblest adorn. 
 
 The excitement of struggle and contest was past, 
 And the trumpeter brash, with stentorian blast, 
 Roused the slumbering echoes anear and afar. 
 As the knights in response to the summons of war, 
 Now forsook the sham battle of lances and steeds 
 To essay an old path which to danger oft leads. 
 
 'Tis the time when each knight who success can 
 
 declare. 
 Must elect a fair partner his honors to share; 
 While most keenly elert and vivacious are they 
 Who are certainly pass^ a year and a day; 
 Those naive little maids, some of whom will be asked. 
 Have their countenances in indiiference masked. 
 
Poems. 29 
 
 The brave Knight o' Gude Luck who crowns Beauty 
 
 as Queen, 
 Is as fine gallant youth as you ever have seen; 
 He directly advances ( not caring who knows ) 
 To a lassie whose cheeks flame with couleur de rose, 
 While quite carelessly toying with ribbon and plume, 
 He manoeuvres a whisper, tones foreign to gloom. 
 
 ** With your consent, the honor on you I'll confer." 
 '* Oh! thank you," she said, ''but I always prefer 
 That I the honor bestow. ' ' Her proud flashing eye 
 His awkwardness fully revealed. Passing on by, 
 'Twas another fair maid by a courtly speech caught, 
 Whom the knight crowned with grace not innate but 
 love-taught. 
 
 Moorefieldy August i^ih, 1S8S. 
 
30 Poems. 
 
 THE COMING OF THE STORM. 
 
 ALL day the errant winds had sped 
 Throughout the valley's length, 
 To summon laggard vapors hence 
 
 To swell the cloud-world's strength. 
 Now grandly marched thro' evening' s gates, 
 
 In panoply of war, 
 The armies of the dread Storm King, 
 Collected from afar. 
 
 The distant boom to earth revealed 
 
 The coming of the foe; 
 The aspen leaves their faces hid 
 
 As overcome with woe; 
 The tallest trees 'gan signalling, 
 
 Nodded the flowers the alarm; 
 T'was telegraphed the valley through 
 
 Those glories couch' d some harm. 
 
 The glittering warriors of the west 
 And sober veterans gray. 
 
Poems, 31 
 
 Who hail'd from eastern homes and haunts 
 
 To mingle In the fray, 
 Their allied forces now combin' d 
 
 Hard by the zenith's throne, 
 And swore a mischlef-brewing pack, 
 
 In surly undertone. 
 
 Now flashed the gleaming pennon forth, 
 
 Standard of all the clan. 
 The sight of whose bright blazonry 
 
 Appals the heart of man. 
 To brave defence and safe retreat 
 
 The leaguered worldlings swarm. 
 In solemn hush, with bated breath 
 
 The earth awaits the storm. 
 
 Moorefieldy August 2^lh^ 1888. 
 
32 Poems, 
 
 CHROMATIC. 
 
 CUPID, the God of Love, was blind, 
 So all ancient legends declare. 
 But time, with miraculous touch, 
 
 Has made him in progress to share 
 By dow'ring his long sightless eyes 
 With vision perceptive and rare. 
 
 Dame Nature, aghast and in rage 
 
 That any should insinuate 
 A defect or a foible in work 
 
 Acknowledged supremely create, 
 Takes ample revenge and afflicts 
 
 With chromatism Cupid elate. 
 
 Now, though he no longer is blind, 
 The crystalline lens, wrong-fashioned, 
 
 Invests with all beautiful hues 
 Each object of love impassioned. 
 
 This most abnormal condition 
 
 Gives rise, oftentimes, to clashing. 
 
Poems, 33 
 
 The friends of a lover mislead, 
 
 For his weal no longer can act, 
 For he, were his sweetheart the worst, 
 
 A very virago, in fact, — 
 He'd think of her angelic- wise, 
 
 And vow her a seraph exact. 
 
 Within this queer chromatic realm, 
 A shrew for a lovely maid goes, 
 
 A girl with no blazon at all 
 Heraldic insignia shows; 
 
 The world topsy-turvy turned is 
 To suit the caprice of the beaux. 
 
 ■Clarksburgh, 1888. 
 
34 Poe^ns 
 
 H 
 
 NATURE'S THIRD HEIRESS. 
 
 IE hither, ye nymphs and ye naiads, 
 Embowered in Summer's green! 
 From the shade of the hill, the sylvan-arched rill. 
 The depths of the pines with the echos a-thrill. 
 From verdure-bound lakes where the wavelets are still, 
 Hie hither! Sweet Autumn has come. 
 
 She came on the beams of the morning. 
 
 Her car by butterflies sped; 
 Her beautiful face with a magical grace 
 Beam'd bright as she regally stepped to the place 
 Where handmaids of nature their trophies enlaced. 
 
 To honor the newly-crowned head. 
 
 Her raiment with color is glowing, 
 Of the filmiest cobwebs spun, 
 Where the rainbow hues of the glittering dews 
 Lie cunningly prisoned, the cleverest ruse, 
 To ensnare those obdurate hearts which refuse 
 Their homage, tho' rightfully won. 
 
Poems. 35 
 
 Her coming all beauty enhances, 
 For far o' er land and o' er sea, 
 There steals a soft haze down the glamouring daze, 
 While the foliaged forest through all of its ways 
 Is waving her colors and setting ablaze 
 The leaves on many a tree. 
 
 The glorious tints on the mountain 
 Atone for the valleys brown; 
 The shimmering screen o'er the meadows dark green, 
 Sifts the changeable light abroad the fair scene; 
 E'en the dropping of nuts the close boughs between 
 Makes music the wide world 'round. 
 
 Then come, let's enthrone the Autumn, 
 And drain the wild cup of mirth; 
 For what do we care for the locust boughs bare. 
 Or the nipping of frost in the ' ' eager air, ' ' 
 When we herald the reign of a queen so fair, 
 Whose bounties enrich the earth. 
 
 —i88S. 
 
36 Poems. 
 
 AN AWAKEING. 
 
 I HAVE honestly tried to love her, 
 But I really never can; 
 The one thing now is to tell her, 
 Let her glances the pages scan 
 That reveal my soul most completely 
 
 In its soberly Plato-guise, 
 Where the fiery zeal of the lover 
 Has never yet had its rise. 
 
 My books and my work and my studies, 
 
 Have crowded completely out 
 Those sentiment shades of feeling. 
 
 Some men cannot do without, 
 ril picture the case so consoling, 
 
 That she through her tears can descry 
 The form of some future adorer, 
 
 A fellow far better than I. 
 
 Of course there'll be weeping — the darling! 
 Well ! Williams, a letter for me ? 
 
Poems, 37 
 
 All daintly perfumed and written 
 
 In characters firm and free. 
 And this ? That she'll faithfully promise 
 
 The same future friend to prove, 
 As of late, where hallowing mem'ries 
 
 Embalm her sisterly love. 
 
 She sends me a card to her wedding — 
 
 Ye saints! that's what I call cool. 
 To think I've been duped by a woman 
 
 Just like any other young fool. 
 No! — I well know the reason she did it, 
 
 (The fact that she loves me is plain,) 
 ' Twas such a temptation to jilt me. 
 
 The truth is, she could' t refrain. 
 
 I dallied too long on the border 
 
 Of Hymen-enchanted land, 
 While she with this other companion 
 
 Has entered hand in hand. 
 Hark ! far thro' the clustering bowers, 
 
 The pealing of marriage-bell ; 
 Ah me! that I ever should write it, 
 
 My heart re-echoes a knell. 
 
 -September 13th, 1888. 
 
38 Poems, 
 
 EQUIPOISE. 
 
 THE rains and the mists never cease, 
 The waters assuage and increase, 
 On earth there is never a day, 
 But moisture is called into play; 
 The dew-sprinkled sod. 
 The spray-leaguered shore, 
 The cloud-hooded mount, 
 The bog-fettered moor, 
 Attest well the vapor king's sway. 
 
 The sun never halts in his course. 
 Light from time can never divorce, 
 On earth there is never a day 
 But brilliance and splendor display; 
 
 The light-nourished plant. 
 
 The ray-crested morn. 
 
 The eve's radiant glow. 
 
 In a sun-castle bom, 
 Are beauties no one would gainsay. 
 
Poems. 39 
 
 This earth is a wonderful home, 
 Where radiance and shadow both roam, 
 The glare by the gloom is toned down, 
 By contrast all beauties abound; 
 
 The picture is made 
 
 By light and by shade, 
 
 The cloud-world must temper 
 
 The sun-burnished blade, 
 Whose fierceness all nature might wound. 
 
 The heart has its sighs and its tears, 
 Poor blighted hopes lie on their biers, 
 Thro' life there is never a year 
 Whose firmament always is clear; 
 
 The sorrow-draped home. 
 
 The envy-pierced name. 
 
 The wreck of a life 
 
 By false lights a-flame, 
 Make wailing disconsolate, drear. 
 
 But happiness surges in power, 
 And mirth crowns a jovial hour. 
 We never live through a whole year 
 But musical chords greet the ear; 
 
40 Poems. 
 
 Sweet smiles tell of joy, 
 And closed finger tips 
 Expand all too eager 
 To press to the lips 
 The full cup of gladness and cheer. 
 
 The heart is a wonderful home, 
 Which God does in mercy o'er-dome 
 With clouds of adversity dark, 
 Gilt-lined by a faith-kindled spark; 
 
 A life of great worth 
 
 An excellence rare, 
 
 Diversified is 
 
 By touches of care. 
 The pleasure-strewn pathway to mark, 
 
 —September 19th, 1888. 
 
Poems. 41 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 UPON the swelling bosom of the lawn, 
 There grew in verdure, beauty, strength and pride. 
 Three stalwart trees, their branches spreading wide 
 To sift the light in many a varied form. 
 
 We revelled in their fresh' ning shade the while 
 
 The shriv'ling grass grew bronzed with summer heat; 
 The merry breezes loved their own to greet 
 
 Amid the leafage rich in pleasure wile. 
 
 Perhaps we loved too well the shade-strewn park. 
 And by it were beguiled from duty's hest ; 
 It may haX^e been here pleasure led her quest 
 
 And failed the nobler things of life to hark. 
 
 For when one morn we trod the olden paths, 
 After a night of storm and lightning glare, 
 'Twas over prostrate forms up-rooted there. 
 
 All cradled like unto the reaper's swaths. 
 
42 ■ Poems. 
 
 No consolation hovered 'round the slain, 
 
 But looking upward whence the bolt had come, 
 We gazed entranced at beauty's unveiled form, 
 
 And nature's self assuaged the recent pain. 
 
 ' Twas full a fortnight later, as we fled 
 The rich effulgence of the noontide glow. 
 We idly stopped to note the copious blow 
 
 Besprinkling deep-hued grass erst well nigh dead. 
 
 Oh! this we felt was compensation meet 
 For loss of what at first we ill could spare, 
 To feast on flowers, to breathe a freer air, 
 
 Find wood and field invite our tardy feet. 
 
 Oh! ye who live o'ershadowed by great love, 
 Who rest all thoughtless of the world beyond, 
 Prepare ye now for when Euroclydon 
 
 Shall from your clinging grasp your guard remove. 
 
 And ye who downcast mourn and hopeless grieve 
 For reason that some treasurs are inurned. 
 Be ye assured sweet lessons can be learned. 
 
 Would ye but now accept the great reprieve. 
 
 — Clarksburgh, October 12th, 1888. 
 
Poems. 43 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 TO-DAY with importance is teeming, 
 The crown-fash' ning hand of the hour 
 Is busy empurpHng the Present, 
 With royal insignia and power. 
 
 Rash mortals mislead by the pageant, 
 
 Vow willing submission to one 
 Who thralls them with witching devices, 
 
 And flits when her mission is done. 
 
 To-morrow, a foe to the Present, 
 
 Appropriates half of its dues, 
 Deceiving with Chateaux en Espagne, 
 
 Who tribute its false iris hues. 
 
 But once in the year is ordained. 
 That Present and Future must yield 
 
 Their rival and oft luckless sceptres 
 To one with the Conqueror's shield. 
 
 'Tis a child of the past, nobly royal, 
 A day ushered in by a star, — 
 
44 Poems. 
 
 The star of earth's hopes and vague longings, 
 In zenith at Bethlehem afar. 
 
 This day all ablaze with the glory, 
 From angelic robes and harps caught, 
 
 Has never forgotten the story 
 Enshrined and faithfully taught. 
 
 To chronicle vict'ry forever. 
 
 The signet on Time's page was set. 
 
 Where Christmas, within the year's margin, 
 Precludes e'en a chance to forget. 
 
 O wonderful, wonderful Christmas! 
 
 Thy glories can never be told. 
 Though Present and Future sway humbly. 
 
 To list *' the sweet story of old." 
 
 As bells ring the music of Heaven, 
 While worshippers echo the strain, 
 
 Why doubt we that listening angels 
 Waft higher the dying refrain ? 
 
 O wonderful, wonderful Christmas! 
 
 The thoughts from thy coming which spring, 
 Can never find perfect fruition. 
 Except in the courts of Our King. 
 — Clarksburg h, 1888. 
 
Poems. 
 
 45 
 
 A NEW YEAR VISION. 
 
 ANOTHER gate to-night op'ning upon 
 The great broad avenue of the glad New Year, 
 Now stands unhinged that there be no feud 
 Unto the rush of countless myraids, 
 That soon will jostle through the severed bars. 
 I tremblingly draw near the mystic space 
 Wherein the mile-stones of man's race are set, 
 And while I search 'mong the fantastic lights — 
 Those future signal-lights swung dim as yet — 
 Search for some answer to my hopes and fears, 
 Lo! man, drawn swift upon the car of time. 
 Whose ponderous bell clangs twelve, enters the track 
 New-laid for Eighteen Hundred Eighty-nine. 
 
 Abreast the head-light, near this swaying train 
 
 Of human life, floats on gilded wing 
 
 Th' impersonation of the new born year. 
 
 Winter, in likeness to our Mother Church, 
 
 Waiting ahke at birth and burial, 
 
 Receives with joy the newly born and crests 
 
46 Poems. 
 
 With icy baptism his glowing brow. 
 Thus, by disciplinary means is he 
 Created nature's doughty warrior; 
 And thus equipped he better able is 
 To cope with all the dalliance of the Spring, 
 The subtler influence of the Summer-time, 
 Or hazy witchery of the Autumn day. 
 Doubtless the veteran Winter broods the time 
 When just a twelve-month hence, this eager one 
 Shall finish an appointed course, and his 
 Must be the hand amid December's snows 
 To give a chaste and honored burial. 
 
 We who have traveled many times the round, 
 The ever circling, age-goaled round of years. 
 Who oft have hushed the requiem of the old 
 To join the chorused antherns of the new. 
 We eyried ones can pierce with magic ken, 
 The shadows of the nearing future life. 
 Before the now impatient train begins 
 Its fast and chequered move from hour to hour 
 Now stationed close throughout the coming year. 
 
 These are the revelations which we claim 
 
 Through pale Experience's glass; note, mark, digest. 
 
Poems. 47 
 
 For future reference. Earth's brightest things 
 
 The favorite targets are for death, disease, 
 
 Decay. Close scrutiny reveals at once 
 
 The piercM heart through which the shaft went home; 
 
 A gleaming whiteness there is but a tomb. 
 
 The marble cut in character of love. 
 
 That distant glimmer wan bespeaks a watch 
 
 By sick or dying, birth or shrouded bier; 
 
 Within the darkest corner of the plain 
 
 Foul envy lurks couchant, to blast by guile 
 
 The reputation of yon passer-by. 
 
 The fairest garlands of the gay 
 
 Are nothing worth the following day; 
 
 Where wanton Pleasure holds her sway 
 
 There Misery casts her shadowy way. 
 
 But does no brightness 'lumine earth? 
 
 Can vast experience find no berth 
 
 For happiness and joy and mirth ? 
 
 Oh! see ye where 
 A white-robed maiden glides thro' air, 
 Her mantle cinctured round with deeds 
 Whose every record calms and speeds 
 Broadcast towards the waiting hand 
 
48 Poems. 
 
 A thousand balms for grief-bound man. 
 
 'Tis Mercy followed close by Truth, 
 
 In semblance to a stalwart youth, 
 
 Whose firm and wrong-o'er- topping tread 
 
 Numbers all errors with the dead. 
 
 Peace, here and there, with sandalled feet. 
 
 Flits tirelessly, a paraclete. 
 
 While Love we meet at every turn. 
 
 By moor or fell, on mount or burn. 
 
 High over all, Hope's rainbow hues 
 
 Make fair the sky of life, where views 
 
 Domed o'er by clouds which erst were dark, 
 
 Now kindled by a vital spark. 
 
 Calm and revive the heart of man 
 
 And harmonize one wondrous plan. 
 
 So years and months and hours and days. 
 
 Each takes its turn and shapes its ways 
 
 To serve one purpose, great and high, 
 
 To be revealed, bye and bye. 
 
Poems. 
 
 49 
 
 A MASTER TRAGEDIAN. 
 
 THE morning dawned on silent, mist- veiled earth, 
 The curtain drawn, to preparation due 
 For the approaching bloodless tragedy, 
 Bloodless, 'tis true, but not less harrowing; 
 For danger is the ruling element 
 In all the conclaves of the powers of air. 
 
 At the appointed time, the bluster wind 
 Rent swift (no time for histrionic art) 
 The low-hung drapery of shielding cloud. 
 Upon the landscape sketch, in black and white. 
 The stormhand came with all its clenched strength; 
 And who may tell the havoc focalized ? 
 Those unresisting ones of nature's school 
 Swayed their lithe forms to let the storm pass by. 
 Or measured out their length upon the wold. 
 But look! Where man's opposing brick and frame 
 Looked vaunting forth but just an hour ago. 
 Now blackened sight and bandages required 
 To swathe them back to usefulness again. 
 
 E 
 
50 Poems. 
 
 No loss of human life! 'tis wonderful! 
 The God of mercy rideth on the storm. 
 But what of man's revenge for labor lost? 
 Ask of the scattered winds that now return 
 To soothe anew the fevered brow to peace. 
 
 O puny man! Thou'rt vanquished by a breath! 
 Thy pride is lowlier now than earth-sprawled vine, 
 Or than the buried grain's unconscious glow. 
 A miserere might' st thou sing each day, 
 Were there not compensations waiting where 
 Man's feeble powers may angels', e'en eclipse, 
 In that bright Future past this Trial Time. 
 
 — Clarksburgh, January loth, i88g. 
 
Poems. 51 
 
 ''THY WILL BE DONE." 
 
 RESIGNED! We say It o'er and o'er; 
 No meaning does it bring, 
 Not e'en when grief, Time has in store, 
 
 Comes with its piercing sting. 
 Transfixing deep on heart and brain 
 A ceaseless, well-nigh blasting pain. 
 
 Resigned! The balm the word contains 
 
 Is granted to God's heroes. 
 Who find the iron mail of pain 
 
 Protects from gasdy foes; 
 Those cunning foes of spirit frame 
 Whom naught can daunt but one dread Name. 
 
 Resigned! O, Jesus make us see 
 
 Thee mirrored in each scene, 
 That, shifting, meets our human sight 
 
 Each act of life between. 
 To blend the will with Thine, O Lord, 
 Attunes man's soul to Heaven's chord, 
 Clarksburgh, January 14th, 1889. 
 
52 Poems. 
 
 RECEPTION. 
 
 THE pattering rain came down in play 
 Gleefully o'er the earth one day, 
 To find outstretched on taut-drawn line 
 A woven fabric, brilliant, fine. 
 With crystal edge and mocking tear 
 It drew the life-blood, darkly clear, 
 Skirmishing down in streaming flood. 
 The dye to seek its native wood. 
 Where color massed in pristine force 
 Learns harmony from nature's source. 
 
 But scarce a stone's cast yon away, 
 A comely blossom, brightly gay. 
 Received with waiting grace the shower. 
 And hurried quick to nuptial bower, 
 The drop whose added strength and power 
 Sustained the life of herb and flower; 
 That life which in the sultry heat. 
 But for the rain, had ceased to beat. 
 
Poems. 53 
 
 Tis thus within the higher realm 
 
 When floods from Heaven do man o'erwhelm, 
 
 The soul deep-dyed in worldly art, 
 
 Which lives estranged from God apart, 
 
 Sends issuing forth a fetid stream 
 
 Where streaks of error darkly gleam; 
 
 Back to the circumstantial world 
 
 That soul's artistic grace is swirled, 
 
 The borrowed good which was its pride 
 
 Sails swiftly out on sorrow's tide. 
 
 But when the showers of grace inpour 
 Through Faith's high-portal' d, opening door, 
 The waiting Christly soul doth speed 
 To receive the draught as God decreed, 
 And send it pulsing thro' each vein 
 Until the quickened life attain 
 A stature, beauty, fragrance, zest, 
 Accounted of earth's good things, — best. 
 
 ■Clarksburgh, Febmary 20th, i88g. 
 
54 Poems. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 RESTING one eve, close wrapped in musing plight, 
 I marked the play of fire on fresh-heaped coal, 
 So toilfuUy the flame-points polished bold 
 The dusky sides, until the glancing light 
 Told forth a master-piece, whose structure bright 
 Spoke bondage by a glowing power controlled. 
 Life's quivering flame-tongues thus at length made 
 gold 
 From crude material mined in earthly night. 
 When fiercest life-heat can achieve no more 
 
 Than send its radiant image through each part. 
 Then slow o'er all there creeps a wid'ning score 
 Where Death writes ' ' Finis ' ' in the dust-lapsed 
 heart. 
 But freed as smoke, from Life's residuum. 
 The soul in heights celestial finds its Home. 
 
 — Clarksburgh, February 24th^ 1889. 
 
Poems. 55 
 
 THE WISDOM OF THE LILY. 
 
 ABUTTTERFLY wooed a blossom, 
 A lily stately and tall, 
 None else would suit the gay rover. 
 But Queen of the flowers all. 
 The twilight wooing was whispered to me 
 By gossiping Vesper from Windy-mere-lee. 
 
 * ' O suitor from regions of air, 
 
 My chosen thou never cans' t be; 
 A clog to thy wings would I prove, 
 Nor yet coulds't thou dwell with me; 
 The union of winglets and rootlets can ne'er 
 Approved stand by any; so, kind friend, forbear.' 
 
 My winglets no hinderance shall be; 
 
 To-night in Butterfly Hall 
 I clip ofl" these vain adornments. 
 In presence of comrades all. 
 If only my bride, O Lily, you'll be, 
 You'll find I can dwell forever with thee. 
 
56 Poems. 
 
 ' ' Surely you know, ' ' said the lily, 
 
 ** The loss of your wings would be death; 
 Bend close, lest Vespers be stirring, 
 I'll whisper you under my breath — 
 A brilliant-winged princess has placed a light 
 In Honey-Moat Tower; so, dear friend, good-night!" 
 
 A rustle of wings thro' the gloaming 
 
 Announced the suitor had fled; 
 A wafting of delicate perfume, 
 
 The bending of pollen-crowned head; 
 Away through the foliage there trembled a gleam 
 Which ended forever a butterfly's dream. 
 
 I pondered me well the lesson 
 
 Carried by eaves-dropping wind. 
 While thinking that maidens and lovers 
 A wholesome rebuke might find; 
 While stripping the wings from ambition and pride 
 They force them with lowlier love to abide. 
 — Clarksburgh, March 6th ^ 1889. 
 
Poems. 57 
 
 ONE NIGHT'S LESSON. 
 
 THE outlined bough sketched dark on star-spiked 
 zone, 
 Writes hieroglyphs, night's presence to condone; 
 The winged tenants of the upper air 
 Couch close in nestled homes, protected there; 
 The mystic rites of Nox are held on high, 
 And living creatures dare not venture nigh; 
 The reckless bat just skirts the hither edge. 
 Then swift his safety seeks by moor and sedge; 
 The drowsy hum of Hfe hugs tight the earth. 
 To sleep hard by the clod whence sprang its birth; 
 Accompaniment to silence great nocturne 
 Finds consonance from peak to lowly bourn; 
 The stone- voiced stream, the sough of stricken air. 
 Feature the rustic night-scene everywhere. 
 The night of Death looms black, despairing, cold. 
 Life shrinks reluctant from the curtain-fold; 
 But cast adrift, beyond the portal light, 
 The spirit finds up in the sombre height. 
 
58 Poems. 
 
 Great gem-like promises glow through the dark, 
 Life's harmonies grow fuller as we mark, 
 'Tis nothing but a mountain crest doth hide 
 The light unfading on the farther side. 
 
 — Moorefield^ June, i88g. 
 
 PYGMALION AND GALATEA. 
 
 PRISONED within the marble's veiling arm, 
 There slumbered long a shape of beauty born; 
 Walled solidly from peering human sight. 
 Until the hand of genius came to smight 
 The stony bonds. 
 
 Deftly and well the chisel's work was done. 
 Swiftly the yielding shackles, mallet-hewn, 
 Fell free, revealing to the artists eye 
 The mocking ideal of his dreams, whose shy 
 Sweet life he'd found. 
 
 But soft! the statue knows not motion, speech; 
 The lowliest man, the poor, the ignoble, each 
 
Poems. 59 
 
 Can boast an essence greater than the form 
 Which all possessing, still lacks one great charm — 
 The gift of soul. 
 
 Pygmalion knelt, his life staked on one hope. 
 His passion's being venting its full scope 
 In eager pleading prayer to mighty Jove 
 T' endow man's handiwork with soul and love, 
 To crown the whole. 
 
 The suit swift gained the ear of heaven's lord; 
 While god and goddess list the potent word, 
 The lovely Galatea blushed to live. 
 Stepped lightly down her wondering tryst to give 
 Pygmalion, joyed. 
 
 Morality the man-carved statue is 
 Prefigured in such olden myth as this; 
 She of the faultless, captivating pose 
 Who thralls her sculptor' s heart, but knows 
 No vibrant chord, 
 
 And unresponsive must she ever be, 
 Unless the builder of her symmetry 
 
6o Poems. 
 
 Pray God to touch her with the spark divine, 
 To speed the Christly nature to combine 
 With human art. 
 
 No thing of greater beauty can be found 
 In all the boundless universe around, 
 Than human virtue blushing in its need. 
 Awaking to show forth by nobler deed. 
 The Christ-now heart 
 
 —Moorefield, July, 1889. 
 
Poems. 6 1 
 
 QUESTIONINGS. 
 
 MYSTERY waits upon life when it comes 
 New from the hand of its God; 
 Mystery veileth the humble head-stone 
 
 Where late the mourner hath trod; 
 Mystery! mystery! anguished we cry, 
 A mystery we live, a mystery we die. 
 
 Thoughtful or careless, as time passes on, 
 
 Questions profound will intrude; 
 Why is the soul uncongenial to mine 
 
 Forced in my shelter to hood? 
 Why must I take in my bosom to warm 
 The serpent whose rousing will do me most harm? 
 
 Why, when my volume of years that are past, 
 
 Sighing but thankful I shelf. 
 Malice must come, and, detaching the leaves. 
 
 Sell out my secrets for pelf? 
 Why should a stone-cast, from alien hand sped 
 Circle my life with an ominous dread? 
 
62 Peenis. 
 
 Why do my plans parasite and entwine 
 
 Close where my enemies stop, 
 So when the fruit of my labor matures, 
 
 Cunning hands loosen the prop, 
 Trailing my honor, my pride, in the dust, 
 Leaving me pennance and suffering unjust? 
 
 Soul! wouldst thou know where the answers are writ? 
 
 Not in the world's puzzling lore; 
 But sealed for thee in the great book of life, 
 
 Awaiting thy coming ashore, 
 Where eons on eons will scarce satisfy 
 Thy questions to meet with God's own reply. 
 
 — Moorefield, July J2th^ i88g. 
 
Poems, 63 
 
 A LONGING. 
 
 OLET me die, before 
 The portals of the mind are clouded o'er, 
 Dimming the once keen vision of the occupant 
 And changing friend to foe in mocking jargonry. 
 
 Yes, let me die, 
 Before I lose the priceless power 
 To send the thrilling spirits of the hour 
 On missions born of thought; ere they 
 In tricksy guile and pageantry 
 Escape to torture me and those I love. 
 
 I fain would die, 
 Before I note the tear 
 Steal to the eye, which watching near, 
 Can naught express but pity, sorrow, fear; 
 And loved ones even flee the darkened tomb. 
 Where not a ray of reason lights the gloom. 
 Nor weeping Hope can aureole the doom. 
 
64 Poems. 
 
 O Father, let me die, 
 Unmarked by trace of earth's decay, 
 Ecstatic thus to pass away, 
 T' expand the spirit, soul and mind 
 In heights of love, now undefined, 
 Where Thou e' er dwellest with Thy ransomed kind. * 
 
 — Wheeling, October ^th^ i88g. 
 
 TO DUTY WED. 
 
 WITH form so wearily drooping, 
 A maiden stood 
 In solitude, 
 Where the brook frets on to the ocean; 
 To false love her hearts been stooping. 
 The memory wakes emotion. 
 
 A formal farewell was resting 
 On bosom true, 
 Full loyal, too. 
 
 *The fourth verse of this poem was rewritten by Mrs. Brittingham two 
 or three days before her serious.and fatal illness. 
 
Poems. 65 
 
 While the writer far was roving; 
 'Tis hard with the heart protesting 
 To cure a wound made by loving. 
 
 Pathos wreathed in 'mong the tresses, 
 
 O'er brow so fair, 
 
 The ringlets there 
 Caress and Madonna the face; 
 Fine lashes conceal the distresses 
 A careless glance never will trace. 
 
 A bright-plumaged soarer swept by, 
 
 A bud of Spring 
 
 Touched by his wing 
 In beautiful curves fell swaying; 
 There was a touch of blossom far and nigh, 
 Where seedlets of Autumn were maying. 
 
 'Tis hardest when Spring is fledging 
 
 Her white winged germs, 
 
 To serve their terms 
 In blade, leaf, flower and fruiting, 
 'Tis hardest then to be wedging 
 In young life sorrow's sharp rooting. 
 
 F 
 
66 Poems. 
 
 But back in her home 'neath the willow, 
 
 To duty wed 
 
 Her life on sped, 
 Not far from the quaint old town, 
 Quite nigh to the stout white pillar, 
 Where they buried the first mile down. 
 
 Whene're now the Spring comes wooing 
 
 Each gossiping gale 
 
 To carry the tale 
 Of love in its thousand caprices; 
 She, pleasure the less persuing, 
 In struggle and toil never ceasing. 
 
 — Moorejleldy August, i88^. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 "HEN light, and heat, and toil, and din, 
 I found so wearying, 
 God's rest my soul o' ershadowing, 
 I sank to sleep therein. 
 
 — WJieeling, 
 
 w 
 
Poems. 67 
 
 THE HIGHER WISDOM. 
 
 I YEARNED to be useful, 
 My quick eager feet 
 Would bound thro' earth's highways 
 
 Each duty to meet. 
 But lo! in the noontide 
 
 Of life I became 
 A burden of burdens; 
 
 O, the grief and the shame! 
 
 I sought in my quenchless 
 
 Ambition to scale 
 Heights which no other 
 
 Dared even assail. 
 Yet God calmed my struggling, 
 
 An humble place gave; 
 Distilled for my comfort 
 
 His grace which saves. 
 
 I longed to o'ershadow 
 
 The children of fame. 
 To make all past toilers 
 
 But carvers of names. 
 
68 Poems. 
 
 Yet God made me follow 
 The lowliest there, 
 
 Then gave for my guerdon 
 The Spirit of prayer. 
 
 'Tis thus in my weakness 
 
 That I am made strong, 
 Born into the Truth, 
 
 Close girdled with song; 
 Glimpsing to wonder-heights 
 
 Undreamed of, unknown. 
 Yea, rising Heavenward, 
 
 Nearer the Throne. 
 
 — Wheeling^ October loth, i88g. 
 
Poems. 69 
 
 LOVE'S WISDOM. 
 
 NO, love, I came in the morning! 
 O, never at night with thee; 
 With stars your bright brow adorning 
 You sparkle but signals of warning 
 To pilot on Love's restless sea. 
 
 I never could bear the scorning 
 Which night's brilliant touches decree; 
 No, never such dire forlorning 
 For me. 
 
 The day is my friend, mad with glee 
 A jest it makes of my mourning; 
 The sunbeams a guard are to free 
 My worshiping heart, sweet, from thee 
 When night comes my soul suborning 
 I flee. 
 
 Wheeling, October 23rd, 188^. 
 
yo Poems. 
 
 'BLESSED ARE THE MERCIFUL." 
 
 TWAS a fearful day in the winter-time 
 The trees were bare and glum, 
 Their branches stretching helplessly 
 In sapless anguish dumb. 
 
 The dash of rain against the. pane 
 At times would cause a start; 
 
 The roaring of the raging wind 
 Sent shivers through my heart. 
 
 In beaver clad there yonder passed 
 
 The rich man of the town, 
 The man whose iron coifers 
 
 With gold were weighted down. 
 
 While just behind with shoes patch-tiled 
 
 Shrank poverty's wan child, 
 She tried to shelter from the storm 
 
 Close to the magnate's screening form. 
 
 I, sash-upraised, called for the child 
 But the mocking tempest wild 
 
Poems. 71 
 
 Caught up my tones and murdered them, 
 And buried them in oblivion. 
 
 How glad I was to learn next morn 
 
 The rich man, mercy great. 
 Had blessed a struggling little life, 
 
 That fell outside his gate. 
 
 V^ VICTIS. 
 
 A SHROUDED Fear came to my gate and knocked; 
 I bade him enter, trembling though I was. 
 Then stood on guard to grapple the dread guest. 
 But when in clearer light I scanned him o'er 
 I saw a conquered foe, slain yester-night. 
 In combat which, my heart's best blood had drawn. 
 I told him what he had not known before; 
 For him there is no resurection power. 
 Nor can he touch again my healed heart, 
 Then driving him afar into the dark, 
 I stood once more, a Freeman, doubly free, 
 A victor over e'en the phantom Fear. 
 
 — Wheeling, November i8th, 1889. 
 
72 
 
 Poems. 
 
 BORN— DIED. 
 
 A winter's day. 
 
 THE Day- God sped a love- tipped lance, 
 Which, quivering,'soug-ht the Snow-Maid's heart; 
 She, glowing from her chill night trance. 
 With love-light set the world advance 
 By tinting gay both dale and mart. 
 
 This bridal of the sun, perchance. 
 In Winter's jewelled dome apart, 
 Forecast the birth of Beauty's glance 
 In prism ic art. 
 
 The snow-birds, festal-missioned, dart, 
 A. vested choir; the thrill enhance. 
 And one where shades of evening start 
 Drank in the last cold tear — a smart 
 Of sorrow o'er Love's vast expanse — 
 Light's broken heart. 
 
 — Wheeling. 
 
Poems. 73 
 
 ONE SUMMER'S STORY. 
 
 ONE little form we laid away to rest, 
 In years but two, 
 'Mid the tall grasses, in a daisy-nest, 
 Fresh pearled with dew. 
 
 Scarce had the anthem died upon the air. 
 
 Earth's cradle song; 
 Scarce had the echoes ceased weird revel there. 
 
 The mounds among. 
 
 When lo! the heart-dirge in Grief's minor key 
 
 Changed quick, to swell 
 Into the sweeping chords of joy, whose tones 
 
 Subduing fell. 
 
 For where a few short hours ago there slept 
 
 Th' eternal sleep, 
 A silent baby form, now lies warm-wrapped 
 
 And breathing deep. 
 
74 Poems. 
 
 A newly born. His coming was well-timed. 
 
 New motherhood 
 Pines not in grief away; all is sublimed 
 
 And understood. 
 
 Yet seldom is it man is soothed, the curse 
 
 So blissful wise; 
 For never yet has eager bud-scale burst 
 
 'Neath deadly skies. 
 
 Just as the leaflets brown on Autumn's breast 
 
 Have sought repose, 
 Their flutter and their duty-shading guessed, 
 
 And solved, who knows ? 
 
 'Twas life supplanting death, so swiftly tho' 
 
 That human thought 
 In wondrous awe forgets the anguish there 
 
 Which sorrow brought. 
 
 — i8go. 
 
Poems. 75 
 
 QUATRAINS. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 MUSIC was born when chaos, darkness bound, 
 Freed by the touch of earth's magician — Light, 
 In melody its gratitude to sound. 
 Struck clear the key of joy in Heaven's height. 
 
 O music, sweet celestial! Pilgrim here, 
 
 We hold thee bound by stings nigh wizzard-skilled, 
 Yet never we thy spirit wed and share 
 
 Except by years of service, freely willed. 
 
 M usic is Life's best wine 
 
 Served in the chalice wrought by toil; 
 The draught elation brings 
 
 Without the woe of base recoil. 
 
76 Poems. 
 
 TO MY HUSBAND. 
 
 OLD Time has been telling a story 
 Of eight long years and a day, 
 When you and I first knew each other, 
 A wearisome time away. 
 
 Fair Gladness has rung out her changes 
 And Sorrow her notes prolonged, 
 
 Amid the years' records and ranges 
 Both sobbing and laughter are songed. 
 
 You miss the soft touch of a mother, 
 While I for a brother mourn; 
 
 Communion transmutes tears to jewels. 
 Loneliness turns them to stone. 
 
 While Christmas bells ring out so holy, 
 Subdued from their gladlier swell, 
 
 We'll rival Old Time in his story; 
 Of Life, not of Death, we will tell. 
 
Poems. 77 
 
 Within the great past-world's embraces 
 Our dead this blest Christmas-tide 
 
 Strike fuller and sweeter their anthems, 
 Not one jangling note to chide. 
 
 I'd fain catch the strain of their voices, 
 
 Will you not listen with me ? 
 They'll teach us the gladness of sorrow, 
 
 They'll aid us Jesus to see. 
 
 -St. Luke's Rectory^ Christmas ^ 1890. 
 
 TRIALS. 
 
 TRIALS must and will befall" 
 But, brother, 'neath the heaviest pall 
 Comfort comes with nobler trend, 
 And peace, when trials have an end. 
 
 Wheeling, November i8th. iSSg. 
 
BERWICK'S MISTAKE. 
 
BERWICK'S MISTAKE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MADELEINE ON THE WAR-PATH. 
 
 •* T TEIGH ! Berwick, wait forme. I'll join you in 
 
 11 a minute." 
 
 The voice proceeded from an up-stairs window, and 
 while the boy on the side-walk lingered waiting, from 
 within, through the open windows, on that bright 
 spring morning, could be heard sounds of a school- 
 boy's hurry. 
 
 Harry Andrews, in his haste of course, snatched the 
 wrong school satchel and did not discover until nearly 
 to the front door that he was carrying off his little sis- 
 ter's property. 
 
 Back again he rushed, this time being more care- 
 ful to secure his own satchel, and with a ringing 
 '^ Good-bye, mamma, I'm off ! " he finally joined Ber- 
 wick in the street. Arm in arm the two boys walked 
 slowly along to school, talking earnestly. 
 
 ' * I wanted to see you particularly this morning. 
 
82 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 Berwick, to ask if you are going to join the military 
 company." 
 
 " I am thinking very seriously of it, ' ' answered 
 Berwick, '' though I have not yet broached the subject 
 at home. You know my mother and sister are fool- 
 ishly nervous about me, and I am afraid to mention 
 my desires in this matter until I have fortified myself 
 to meet all possible objections. 1 want to have my 
 reasons for joining the company so strong that they 
 will overcome all opposition." 
 
 * '■ I don' t see why I always have to blurt out things 
 so suddenly, because I often end by ' making a mess 
 of it.' If I had acted with some deliberation perhaps 
 papa would have given his consent; but as it is, his 
 refusal has made me give up all idea of entering the 
 company. ' ' 
 
 "Oh! Harry, lam so sorry. The more I think 
 over it, the more anxious I am to join, and I had 
 hoped you would be in the ranks too. Is your father's 
 refusal decisive ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Harry, and there was a tinge of keen 
 disappointment in his tone entirely unlike its custom- 
 ary light-hearted ring. 
 
 * ' Perhaps he would change his mind if he knew I 
 was to be one of the number," argued Berwdck. 
 ' ' We have just passed his office. Shall I go back and 
 coax him for you ? ' ' 
 
 "No, no!" Hariy ejaculated with unnecessary haste 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 83 
 
 and emphasis. * ' The captain has pleaded my cause, 
 so has Mary, though Mamma and Ida side with Papa. 
 But when Papa refuses me after he has taken time for 
 consideration, as he has in this matter, I know it is 
 useless to continue to beg. No, my fate is sealed. I 
 shall be an envious looker-on while the other boys 
 enjoy the fun and the glory. ' ' 
 
 * ' But does your father give no reason for denying 
 you this pleasure? " 
 
 ' ' Yes, he has spoken of two, though he says there 
 are others that influence him." 
 
 ' ' What are the two' ' ? asked Berwick. ' * He says, ' ' 
 continued Harry slowly, * ' that an enterprize like this 
 is apt to gather in the roughs of the town and he had 
 rather I wouldn't be thrown with them. Also, that 
 I ought not to enter any organization without being 
 prepared for all its emergencies." "Your father is 
 entirely too particular with you, Hal; suppose the town 
 roughs are in the company, they can't harm us there 
 any more than they can on the streets every day. I 
 tell you boys have got to be tried as well as men, and 
 the sooner we learn to 'hoe our own row,' the better for 
 us." Then happening to think there was another 
 reason given, Berwick continued: "but what duties 
 could arise in the company that you or I could not 
 discharge ? What did he mean by emergencies ? ' ' 
 
 "Why," explained Harry, "he said there might 
 be a sudden call for troops, and after consenting to my 
 
84 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 enjoying the benefits of the company he could not 
 conscientiously hinder me from sharing its dangers." 
 
 ' ' Well ! of all reasons in the world, that is the last 
 I would have thought of I don't suppose the nation 
 can jump into war in a single night, and certainly if 
 any evil of that kind threatens, minors would have 
 plenty of time to withdraw. I am sorry, Harry, that 
 your father's reasons do not influence me. I was 
 hoping that for your sake I might find some creeping- 
 out place." 
 
 Long before the conversation had reached this point, 
 the boys had come to the school-house, but instead of 
 joining the other boys at play, they stood at the gate 
 talking. Any reply that Harry might have made was 
 prevented by the school-bell, at whose first tap both 
 boys bounded through the yard, forgetting all else in 
 their eagerness to be the first in the school-room. 
 While the recitations are in progress we will have time 
 to find out some facts bearing upon the lives of these 
 two boys; facts not deducible from the foregoing 
 conversation. 
 
 Berwick Foster and Harry Andrews had been friends 
 from early childhood, having grown up together in the 
 little mountain village of Madeleine. As is so frequently 
 the case in mutual friendships, the two boys were 
 wholly unlike. Berwick, under proper home training, 
 would have developed a sterling character ; but un- 
 fortunately this essential of a well-balanced life was 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 85 
 
 lacking, for the boy in a measure had his own training 
 in hand. At the time our story opens he was sixteen 
 and phenomenally developed for a boy of that age. 
 Being the only son of his mother, and she a widow — 
 a widow with ample means, it is true, but a woman so 
 weak and dependent that at the death of her husband, 
 four years before, she had thrown all the family 
 responsibility upon her twelve-year-old son — Berwick 
 had matured rapidly, and in him resulted, unfortunately, 
 a man's steadiness of purpose combined with a youth's 
 unreasonableness and recklessness of consequences. 
 Notwithstanding all her puerility of character, Mrs. 
 Foster had gained a strong hold upon her son's 
 affections and could always command his obedience ; 
 Perhaps this influence over him was born of her 
 idolatry, and her extravagant ideas of his abilities, 
 which were no secret to the boy. 
 
 The only other member of the family, except some 
 valuable servants, was a crippled child, Berwick's 
 sister Lucia, five years his junior. If such a thing 
 was possible, the boy's aflection for his afflicted sister 
 exceeded his love for his mother. Whenever Mrs. 
 Foster felt there was any doubt about gaining a 
 cherished point, it might be a wrong one, she had 
 only to ask the boy to do it for his sister's sake, and 
 there was no further trouble. 
 
 Mr. Andrews knew Mrs. Foster well, being the 
 lawyer in charge of her business, and he believed 
 
86 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 that a boy trained, or rather untrained, by such a 
 mother, was not a perfectly safe companion for his 
 only son. In fact, he had always had his doubts 
 about Berwick as a companion for Harry, not alone 
 for the reason above given, but because the boy him- 
 self did not impress him favorably. However, having 
 no good reason to give Harry for severing the intimacy, 
 he could not bring himself to wound his son and take 
 from him a chosen friend because of a mere suspicion. 
 His own intuition might be at fault, he argued, and 
 surely he ought to trust Harry's perceptions somewhat 
 even though often a youth of fifteen may misplace his 
 confidence. Harry knew that his father did not fully 
 approve of Berwick, and he had striven by every 
 means in his power to vindicate his friend's character; 
 nevertheless he had that morning restrained Berwick's 
 impulse to plead for him because he knew such inter- 
 cession would avail him nothing. 
 
 In the midst of a gentle and lovely Christian home, 
 Harry had developed naturally into a merry boy; his 
 home influences were such that under the fun and 
 boyish effervescence there was a solid stratum of 
 genuine morality and Christian principle. While he 
 was an object of devoted love to his mother, father 
 and two sisters, yet they neither flattered nor pam- 
 pered him, and so the moral atmosphere breathed by 
 the two boys was, in most respects, wholly different. 
 Having learned so much, we are now at liberty to 
 
Berwick's Mistake. 87 
 
 return to the village school, where just one incident is 
 of interest as having some deciding influence upon 
 Berwick's wavering resolutions on the military ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Eager as he was to enlist, yet such was his affec- 
 tion for Harry that he shrank from engaging in any- 
 thing so absorbing from which Harry would be 
 excluded, so he determined to weigh the matter well 
 before taking any step. 
 
 During a geometry recitation, a great over-grown 
 lad was sent up to the board to demonstrate a prob- 
 lem. He proved himself but poorly prepared with the 
 lesson, and the more he struggled with his task the 
 more deeply did he compromise himself and display 
 his ignorance of the subject in hand. At last the 
 patience of the teacher was exhausted, and he said 
 sharply : " It is plain, Bergan Warner, that you 
 have been idling. This is the second^ recitation on which 
 you have failed to-day. This morning I heard you 
 boast that you would be the tallest of the new military 
 company now forming and so would over-top all 
 others. I tell you the day is past when brute force 
 and blood and muscle win the day, and there is now 
 no King Frederick to pay a royalty to giants. Brains 
 and intrinsic worth are now the controlling forces, and 
 if you show as great deficiency in your new undertak- 
 ing as you have this morning displayed in your pres- 
 ent field of labor, I can see no chance of promotion for 
 
88 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 you, but only deep and deeper disgrace. Charles 
 Morne will continue the demonstration." 
 
 The tone and words of the teacher had caught all 
 ears, and as the crest-fallen boy retired to his seat, 
 Berwick forgot him in the train of new ideas started 
 by the master's closing words. 
 
 Promotion! The word roused all the ambition of 
 Berwick's soul, and visions of a uniform with epau- 
 lets and badges of authority now presented themselves 
 as among the possible futurities of his connection with 
 the military company. If he had been wavering, he was 
 so no longer ; he determined that very evening to gain 
 his mother's consent and then publicly announce his 
 intentions. So eager was he to know her views and 
 to settle the paramount question that he ' ' cut ' ' a 
 game of foot-ball to which he was pledged after school, 
 and hurried home. 
 
 He found his mother and Lucia together, and div- 
 ing at once into his subject he had soon laid the whole 
 matter before them. Mrs. Foster saw that he had set 
 his heart upon gaining her consent, and being ambi- 
 tious for him and seeing no reason to forbid his being 
 a soldier in a time of peace, she readily yielded to his 
 solicitations. 
 
 Every obstacle removed from his pathway and see- 
 ing only encouragement to go his chosen road, Ber- 
 wick hastened to report his enlistment and was enrolled 
 as a member of the ' ' Madeleine Guards, ' ' the 
 youngest of the company. 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 89 
 
 I do not know whether we are justified in making a 
 "vice versa" of the old saying, 'Marge bodies move 
 slowly," by putting it small corporations move quickly, 
 but certainly it is that this miniature military enterprise 
 had scarcely been fairly discussed by the gossips of 
 Madeleine, before the glint of bright buttons was double- 
 lining the windows with gazers, and the sound of 
 * * order arms ' ' called the ubiquitous small boy to his 
 post of open-mouthed admiration. Being a town 
 without a railroad, hidden away among the mountains 
 of one of our middle states, Madeleine welcomed any 
 novelty and fostered any laudable undertaking ad- 
 vanced by the public-spirited. Therefore during the 
 spring and early summer months of 1877, the 
 ''Guards" drilled and drilled until their proficiency 
 and importance became an acknowledged factor of 
 Madeleine every-day life, and the citizens began to 
 think there could be nothing more cheering than 
 the rat-a-tat-tat of the calling drum. 
 
 July, however, brought unexpected trouble, and the 
 sleepy town opened wide its eyes over news brought 
 by the mail coach of the marshalling of the militia of 
 the Middle States to quell the "strikes" along the 
 line of the B. & O. railroad. 
 
 The consternation in our little mountain fastness was 
 increased when the captain announced to his company 
 that as the ' ' Guards ' ' were regularly organized and 
 supplied with uniforms, rifles and all other military 
 
90 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 accoutrements, it was probable theirs would be the 
 next summons and they must hold themselves in readi- 
 ness for duty. 
 
 Sure enough early one sultry July morning a courier 
 arrived with a dispatch from the Governor ordering 
 ' ' Madeleine Guards ' ' to Lowchester, to assist in 
 quelling a riot there. With the dispatch came the 
 news that one of the militia from a sister town had 
 been killed and four others wounded, so evidently the 
 summons meant there was fighting and danger to 
 face. 
 
 The majority were eager to go, the reluctant ones 
 swallowed their chagrin, and all obeyed the Governor's 
 mandate except four. In one case a substitute was 
 procured whose father was unwilling he should act and 
 raised such serious objections that the substitute was 
 obliged to hide until the marching of the troops, when 
 he came forth proudly and took his assigned place in 
 the ranks. Another was sick, and the surgeon of the 
 company was dispatched to investigate the ' case. He 
 returned saying the man was really unfit for duty and 
 must be excused. In the third case a father substitut- 
 ed his older for his younger son, pleading sickness for 
 the latter. The fourth delinquent was Berwick Foster. 
 Nothing could have surprised the community more 
 than to hear that Berwick was acting a cowardly part. 
 ' ' What Is the meaning of it ? " " Is it true ? ' ' were 
 questions being generally asked, and for answer we will 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 91 
 
 have to repair to the boy's home and see just how 
 matters stood there. 
 
 Berwick was among the first to hear the news, and 
 all excitement he rushed home and into the dining- 
 room where his mother and sister were waiting his 
 coming to begin the morning meal. 
 
 ''Oh! Mother," he exclaimed, ''our company is 
 really going to fight. We have marching orders now. 
 
 "Why, my son," remonstrated Mrs. Foster, incred- 
 ulous yet fearing, ''are you bereft of your senses? 
 You can not mean there is any call for active service. 
 Explain yourself" 
 
 •'You know, mother dear, we have been reading in 
 the late papers of the strikes, and they have become so 
 formidable that the troops are needed. Our special 
 services are to be rendered at Lowchester and parts 
 adjacent; so, mother, you must hurry and get me 
 ready, as I suppose we will start in a few hours." 
 
 '' You surely do not think of leaving us to go into 
 such danger, do you, my son ? " 
 
 •'Why, mamma, there is no question about it. We 
 have been ordered and we must obey." 
 
 "Obedience to parents is God's law, and man-made 
 ordinances take a secondary place. You are a minor 
 and I shall positively forbid your going, and shall also 
 send a satisfactory message to your captain." 
 
 " Oh ! mother, ' ' said Berwick turning pale, ' ' you 
 must not do that. Such a course would mean disgrace 
 for me." 
 
92 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 *' Youths under age are never expected or com- 
 pelled to serve, so no disgrace can attach to my refusal 
 to let you go; and granting your view correct, what is 
 disgrace in a paltry military company compared to your 
 precious life? If my commands have no weight with 
 you, let your afflicted sister's prayers and tears bring 
 you to a right view of the matter. ' ' 
 
 Lucia had been crying silently ever since the conflict 
 between mother and son began, and now her sobs 
 became audible. Berwick thought he would try one 
 last expedient and if that failed, he almost felt he 
 did not care what became of him. Rising, he went to 
 his sister and encircling her with his arm said, "Lucia, 
 you must aid me in this. I can not bear the disgrace 
 of staying behind." 
 
 For one moment the child felt like pleading his 
 cause, but so accustomed was she to depend upon her 
 mother's opinions that she found it impossible to act 
 independently. Anxiety for her brother also helped to 
 banish the momentary yielding, and she replied 
 between her sobs: "No, Berwick, mamma is right 
 and you must not go. I can not, I can not consent to 
 your going to be killed ! ' ' 
 
 Seeing every avenue of hope closed to him, he hast- 
 ily left the room and going into the yard back of the 
 house, paced rapidly back and forth. He could have 
 wept bitter tears, but then it was not manly to cry — 
 no, he would leave that to Lucia. So he rapidly 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 93 
 
 revolved in his mind different plans for action and 
 rejected each as they were presented. Positive diso- 
 bedience, clandestine escape, and appeal to his cap- 
 tain's authority, were all thought out and dismissed. 
 Finally his habit of obedience and his affection for his 
 mother and Lucia caused his decision to be all that 
 either could have desired. ' ' It will not be so hard 
 after all, ' ' he said to himself, ' ' and if any boy twits 
 me for cowardice, I will first knock him down and then 
 I will explain that I am obeying and protecting my 
 mother. And the first thing will be to hunt up Harry 
 Andrews and tell him my trouble. ' ' 
 
 In the meantime Mrs. Foster had dispatched her 
 man servant to the captain, stating by note her refusal 
 to let Berwick go because he was under age. The 
 self-important captain, ' * puffed up with a little brief 
 authority, ' ' had returned answer that there were others 
 under age going, and if her son did not appear at the 
 proper time he would be court-marshalled and expelled 
 from the company. ' ' Her reply to this bravado was 
 a renewed and positive refusal to let the boy go, which 
 so incensed the petty chief that he ordered some of 
 the men to take their rifles and * 'bring the young man 
 dead or alive. ' ' 
 
 When Mrs. Foster saw from her dining-room 
 window her servant running, and followed by a posse 
 of armed men, she became nearly frantic. Running 
 to the back door, she called to Berwick: " Run, 
 
94 Be7"wick' s Mistake. 
 
 Berwick, run. The men are coming to shoot you. 
 Quickly hide! To the cornfield!" 
 
 This bomb-shell came upon the youth just as he 
 begun to feel a little lighter of heart in the resolution 
 to take his special friend into his confidence, and for a 
 moment he was inclined to stay and face this strange 
 turn of affairs, but seeing that his mother became half 
 crazed in her efforts to get him away, and having pre- 
 viously decided on obedience to her, with a bound he 
 cleared a low fence near and was just about to plunge 
 in among the waving corn, when shouts were raised in 
 the street near by and voices reached him yelling: 
 ' * There he goes ! " ' ' Catch him ! " " The deserter ! ' ' 
 ' ' The coward ! ' ' 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 95 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MISUNDERSTOOD. 
 
 THE slight start obtained by Berwick, combined 
 with natural agility, enabled him to outstrip his 
 pursuers. After an hour's search the men returned to 
 report an unavailing pursuit. Later Mrs. Foster had 
 the satisfaction of witnessing the departure of the com- 
 pany without Berwick. They marched out with fife 
 and drum for Lowchester, with flying colors but — low 
 be it spoken — failing hearts. The news brought back 
 by the evening stage was not calculated to quiet 
 anxiety; the driver said there were three hundred 
 strikers at Lowchester waiting for the fifty Madeleinites 
 to "gobble them up." 
 
 Harry very soon heard an exaggerated account of 
 Berwick's defection and listened until tired of the tirade 
 against his friend. He silenced his last informant by 
 saying: '' I shall not judge until I hear the story 
 from Berwick himself Strange, indeed, that Berwick 
 Foster should turn sneak ! ' ' 
 
 As soon as dinner was over he hurried to Mrs. 
 Foster's and there learned that Berwick had not 
 
96 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 returned, and his mother added, ' * I do not expect to 
 see him before night." Harry divined his hiding 
 place at once, and started off for a haunt the two boys 
 had named ' ' Trysting Cave ' ' a retreat known only to 
 themselves. 
 
 Taking the same route chosen by his friend that 
 morning Harry passed swiftly on, as if responsive to 
 some hidden influence among the beckoning corn tas- 
 sels. His rapid pace soon brought him to a babbling 
 brook whose cheery tone spoke encouragingly, as if 
 to assure him of Berwick's rectitude. Why should 
 the brook be so blithe, he thought, if one of its best 
 friends was a coward ? Thus nature's forces minister 
 unconsciously to nature's children. 
 
 Not stopping to define these influences, Harry 
 hurried along the stream until he came to a grand old 
 elm which nearly obstructed the pathway, and whose 
 time-worn trunk told tales of rising waters and tem- 
 pest rivings. A passer-by would never have supposed 
 that a secret lay hidden near the old tree, but the 
 initiated Harry clambered over the trunk by a prac- 
 ticed route, and cautiously peered through a mass of 
 green vines depending from the elm's branches and 
 which seemed to have sought a natural resting-place 
 on the hill near by. The truth was that the boys had 
 trained this luxuriant vine to serve their own purposes, 
 and its rich growth concealed a miniature cavern 
 formed by an opening in the hill side. The cavern 
 
Berwick^ s Mistake. 97 
 
 was about ten feet long and six wide with a height 
 perhaps of seven feet, and It contained several rocky 
 ledges which served the boys for seats and couches. 
 In their private conferences here, their friendship had 
 been so strongly cemented that they fondly thought it 
 could not be broken. 
 
 Harry's intuition guided him aright. As soon as 
 his eyes could penetrate the dimness, he saw Berwick 
 reclining on one of the ledges. But there was some- 
 thing in the boy's attitude unlike the familiar ease of 
 other days; something which sent a chill to Harry's 
 heart and made him hesitate to enter. However, 
 pushing aside the green drapery, with admirable pres- 
 ence of mind he exclaimed, '*It is Harry, Berwick — 
 don't get up." 
 
 The first ray of light had roused the boy and placed 
 him In a defiant posture, but Harry's tone made him 
 sink again upon the ledge and cover his face with his 
 hands. " Of course I knew where to find you, and of 
 course you expected me to come and hear all about 
 your trouble, ' ' said Harry in an apologetic tone. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! Harry, I thought nobody, not even you, 
 would ever come near me again, and I think if there 
 had been a railroad near I would have run off and hid- 
 den my disgrace In some distant place. ' ' 
 
 "You never act hastily, Berwick, and your better 
 judgment will aid you after awhile. But tell me about 
 it, please, I want to hear the whole story." 
 
 H 
 
98 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 " Of course I have been severely criticized, and 
 doubtless you have heard the story told in anything 
 but a complimentary way to me. ' ' The tone evinced 
 a new-born bitterness, and Harry did not aggravate it 
 by saying how he had heard the story. He merely 
 said: "I came to you, Berwick, because I wanted to 
 talk it over; and now, please tell me all." 
 
 Soothed by his friend' s gentleness, Berwick checked 
 his irritation and poured out to Harry the whole story 
 of the events recorded in the last chapter. 
 
 " I have never disobeyed mamma, and I could not 
 bring myself to begin now, though I have never before 
 been so unfortunately placed. Do you think I did 
 right?" 
 
 Feeling that Berwick had been, in a measure, the 
 victim of circumstances, and yet unable to speak 
 commendingly when he felt there was wrong some- 
 where, Harry went back to the first cause and speak- 
 ing frankly, said: 
 
 * * I think the first wrong was in going into the mili- 
 tary company and not being prepared for the 'emer- 
 gencies' of which papa spoke. I see now what he 
 meant." 
 
 *'Yes," Berwick answered, in a dispirited way, 
 ' ' your father was right. I believe he always is. I 
 think if papa had lived this disgrace would not have 
 come." 
 
 "We must let this teach us a lesson," Harry 
 
Berwick! s Mistake, 99 
 
 moralized, '*and make up our minds never to un- 
 dertake anything which may bring duties we can't 
 perform." 
 
 Berwick was sensible and manly enough to acknowl- 
 edge that his foolish ambition had played him a 
 naughty trick, and he was ready to unite with Harry 
 in any number of good resolutions. After some fur- 
 ther talk Harry suggested returning home, as the 
 lengthening shadows betokened evening's approach. 
 
 As they neared Mrs. Foster's, Harry encouraged 
 Berwick to meet all taunts by a frank avowal of motives, 
 and to explain the situation to all who inquired. At 
 parting he said: " This will leave you out of the com- 
 pany ? ' ' 
 
 * ' Yes, they will expel me. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Well, never mind, your friends will understand you 
 and take your part, and in time you will be completely 
 vindicated. " 
 
 Harry took short cuts home that evening , fearing to 
 be plied with questions. That night in thinking the 
 matter over, he was startled by the remembrance of one 
 of Berwick's remarks: *' Your father was right, I be- 
 lieve he always is. " The unwelcome thought would 
 obtrude itself: His father had been proven far-sighted 
 in one instance might it be that his estimate of Ber- 
 wick's character would prove correct also ? The mere 
 presence of the thought was painful, and finally Harry 
 succeeded in banishing it. 
 
100 Berwick^ s Mistake. 
 
 Several days later when the excitement had subsided 
 and Berwick Foster's " escapade " had taken a second- 
 ary place in the calendar of town-gossip, Harry was 
 struck by the ridiculous side of the affair and while 
 writing to his uncle brightened the letter by a rather 
 funny account of it. He was reading the letter to his 
 mother before mailing it, when his little sister Ida en- 
 tered the room. Scarcely waiting for Harry to finish 
 his reading, she ran to Mrs. Andrews and asked per- 
 mission to visit Lucia Foster; Nannie Burns was wait- 
 ing for her at the door. 
 
 * ' No, tell Nannie she must go without you this eve- 
 ning, I have something in view for you. " Easily ap- 
 peased, Ida ran to tell Nannie she could not go. Nan- 
 nie lingered to play awhile and before she left, Ida, 
 in a moment of confidence and with some pride in her 
 big brother's epistolary efforts, said: 
 
 "You just ought to've heard what Harry wrote 
 to Uncle Marce about Berwick Foster's running away 
 from the company. It was the funniest thing. We 
 all laughed, Harry made it so funny. ' ' 
 
 Now little Ida did not mean to tell a falsehood or 
 make mischief, but Nannie carried the account to 
 Lucia and her version made it appear that Harry had 
 written a letter specially to make Berwick an object of 
 derision. Lucia had never liked Harry any too well 
 because he claimed so much of her brother's time, and 
 here was a chance to prove him a traitor and diminish 
 
Berwick! s Mistake. loi 
 
 his influence. As soon, therefore, as she heard Ber- 
 wick's step in the hall, she called and asked him to 
 take her out in the yard under the trees, for she had 
 something to tell him. Berwick felt she had some- 
 thing important to say and hastened to accede to her 
 request. She began very calmly, feeling that she was 
 to deal with a tender subject. 
 
 '* Brother, have n't you always thought Harry was 
 your friend ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Harry Andrews ? Why he is my very best friend, 
 Lucia." 
 
 "Well, I have heard something this evening which 
 makes me think him a very strange friend. ' ' 
 
 * ' Lucia, you must be careful when you speak of 
 Harry, for I love him dearly and he has been my chief 
 friend and supporter through all my late trouble." 
 
 ''What would you say to Harry's making game of 
 you?" 
 
 * ' He would never do it, ' ' confidently exclaimed 
 Berwick, '' no one could make me believe it." 
 
 '' Nannie Burns says Ida Andrews told her that 
 Harry had written their Uncle Marce a funny letter 
 rediculing you so much that it made you a laughing- 
 stock in the family." 
 
 The boy colored violently and struggled to control 
 his emotion. Finally he said, * ' Nannie is not very 
 truthful, is she?" 
 
 ''I don't see why you say that, brother, I never 
 heard her accused of story telling." 
 
I02 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 "Well, she has gotten it wrong this time, certainly; 
 however, I shall speak to Harry and see what found- 
 ation the story has. ' ' He would have gone to Harry 
 right away, but just then the supper-bell rang and he 
 found he would have to restrain his impatience until 
 the next day. Brooding over the story did not help 
 matters, and anxious as he was to exonerate Harry, 
 yet his warped and naturally suspicious nature asserted 
 itself and made him unhappy. The more he thought 
 over Nannie Burns' story, the more plausible it became, 
 and coming to him at a time when he was still sore 
 from the recent wound and conflict, he was hardly 
 capable of judging even his best friend fairly. 
 
 The next morning he rose early and impatiently 
 awaited the stir of rising in the household. He then 
 went down into the front yard and relieved his im- 
 patience by pacing back and forth. Presently a voice 
 broke the monotony and sent the blood over Berwick's 
 neck and face. 
 
 ** Hello! Foster, how goes it, old fellow? " 
 
 It was no other than Louis Burns, a cousin of 
 Nannie's and one of the guards, the company having 
 returned in the night. Willingly would Berwick have 
 retreated, but he knew the only thing now to be done 
 was to face and shame out the ignominy. As Louis 
 drew near, he said: 
 
 ' ' I believe I owe you a grudge. You are one of 
 the five who would have shot me last Tuesday, if you 
 
Berwick^ s Mistake. 103 
 
 had been given half a chance. ' ' The tone was half 
 jesting, half earnest, and Louis chose to accept the first 
 interpretation. His reply was in perfect good faith. 
 
 *' I would give a head of Dutch cabbage to know 
 where you procured your mantle of invisibility, for 
 some uncanny power concealed you. You are not a 
 sufficient mite to hide in a corn husk, the hill is an 
 open pasture and the brook a sworn foe to confiding 
 humanity. Won' t you tell me what good fairy aided 
 you and show me her bower ? ' ' 
 
 " No," replied Berwick, relieved by his companion's 
 pleasantry, *' I shall keep my secret for succor in future 
 perils. Only I trust I may never have the role of 
 coward to play again." 
 
 ' ' Now, Foster, let me tell you that I understand 
 your case and was really on my way this morning to 
 tell you that I sympathize with you, to ask your for- 
 giveness for joining in the chase; also to tell you about 
 the strike if you care to hear." 
 
 Berwick was touched by Louis' words, and heartily 
 extending his hand said: 
 
 "All is forgotten! Come in, I would really like to 
 hear about your experiences. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Well said Louis, plunging at once into the safe 
 subject as they seated themselves, we reached Low- 
 chester after a tedious day's march through the exas- 
 perating heat, and there found an order to come by first 
 train to Ilketon, where the strikers were assembeld in 
 
I04 Berwick! s Mistake, 
 
 force. With quaking hearts we boarded the train, and 
 our courage was not quickened by being landed at like- 
 ton at 2 a. m. , in pitchy darkness and pouring rain. The 
 orders awaiting us were to go into camp near the 
 station until the dawn should bring active service. 
 
 ' * Our camp that night was one heretofore unrecorded 
 in the annals of time. I had some curiosity to see 
 how the fellows were standing it, and being only a 
 raw recruit myself I hoped somebody's courage would 
 inspire my fainting heart. I found Lanty on his 
 knees at prayer, the tears streaming and adding their 
 melancholy part to nature's deluge; Vinky Reed was 
 pale but calm, and his features wore the 'give-me-liberty 
 or-give-me-death' look; Bob Morgan swore more 
 scientifically than ever; Robert cut off a lock of his 
 hair * while it was yet unsoaked in blood ' he said, 
 and wrapping it in a paper containing his name, 
 enclosed the whole in a sealed envelope which found 
 concealment in the bottom of his boot. Our giant, 
 Bergan, was braver than any would have supposed, 
 proving himself better at war than books; while Will 
 Randall showed the white feather. With the first 
 streak of day the most courageous succumbed and our 
 captain had some difficulty to prevent a mutiny. I 
 believe the firing of a gun would have scattered us to 
 the four winds. 
 
 ''After standing in battle array two mortal hours 
 waiting for marching and fighting orders, and having 
 
Berwick! s Mistake. 105 
 
 screwed up our courage to breaking tension, the news 
 came that our services were no longer needed, the 
 'strike' was about over, the strikers were resuming work 
 and at that particular place there would certainly be no 
 further trouble. You may believe we felt like fighting 
 them. We had been duped, betrayed, and our most 
 sacred feelings were outraged and made game of A 
 more sheepish-looking set of men it would have been 
 hard to find when we boarded the train a few hours 
 later to return ingloriously to our homes. But we 
 received comfort from the captain. He said we had 
 the satisfaction of having witnessed and subdued a 
 struggle in the ranks, even though we have no wounds 
 or scars to show for it. What became of Robert's 
 love-lock or Charlie Mason's letter to Miss Nellie, we 
 are all anxious to find out. So our experience has 
 made us all, Captain Burry included, very lenient to- 
 wards you. I happened to hear him say yesterday in 
 reviewing the events: 'Well, boys, I didn't know 
 we had so many cowards in the company. I can tell 
 you one thing, if Berwick Foster had been allowed to 
 come he would have been the bravest here!' " 
 
 ''Did he say that, Louis?" Well, you are good 
 to come and tell me, and I thank you. But I hear 
 the breakfast bell. Come in. ' ' 
 
 "No, I must go. But one thing more. Is there 
 any estrangement between you and Harry ? ' ' Seeing 
 Berwick' s brow darken, Louis hastened to add : ' 'The 
 
io6 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 reason I ask is because Nannie said something this 
 morning to Aunt Etta about Harry exposing you to 
 ridicule. ' ' 
 
 ' * That must be a mistake, Louis, I can' t beheve it. ' ' 
 
 ''Well, pardon my glibness, I expect Nannie has 
 misunderstood somebody, for she is uncomfortably 
 truthful. Goodbye." 
 
 The echoing ' ' goodbye ' ' was sad enough, for Louis' 
 last words had a sting which blotted out the amusing 
 story he had told and destroyed the comfort he had 
 given in delivering the captain's message. Im- 
 mevdiately after breakfast Berwick went to Mr. Andrews, 
 and finding Harry, asked him stiffly if he would come 
 for a walk. "Certainly, I am at your service," was 
 the prompt response, though puzzled not a litde by 
 Berwick's repelling manner. Little was said by either 
 until beyond the range of curious eyes, when Berwick 
 stopped short and said: 
 
 ' * Harry, I have heard something which I am loth 
 to believe, and I want the truth from you. If you 
 have acted as is reported, our friendship is at an end." 
 
 Perfectly astounded, Harry could only look his 
 amazement until he found voice to say, "For mercy's 
 sake, Berwick, explain yourself, I am all in the dark. ' ' 
 
 * * I have heard, ' ' and the tone was measured and cool, 
 "from several parties that you made game of me in a 
 letter to your uncle, and made it so funny that I am 
 the laughing stock of the house. ' ' 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 107 
 
 ''Strange!" said Harry after a pause, biting his lip 
 and meditating, ' ' I wrote that letter yesterday. Who 
 told you, Berwick ? " 
 
 ''You don't deny it ! You wrote such a letter! " 
 
 ' ' I did write to Uncle Marce and I told him in a 
 funny way your adventure" — 
 
 His companion had been growing more haughty 
 and when Harry mentioned the unfortunate word ad- 
 venture, he burst into a torrent of angry words which 
 could not be checked. 
 
 Finally Harry took advantage of a break to say 
 tremulously: "You did not let me finish. I wrote 
 the letter to make it bright for Uncle Marce who is 
 now an invalid, and so innocent was I of all ridicule 
 of you that if you had come along I would have 
 handed it to you to read." 
 
 But the boy's passion was too thoroughly aroused 
 and all Harry's explanations could not patch up a 
 reconciliation. They both felt on separating that the 
 world was darker, they could hardly tell why. 
 
 During the succeeding weeks the two saw less of 
 each other than ever before, though Harry strove to 
 atone for his blunder. Singularly enough towards the 
 beginning of autumn, both Mr. Andrews and Mrs. 
 Foster determined to send their sons to boarding- 
 school, and still more singular was it they were both 
 entered at the same school, Edgerton Hall, in the 
 large town of Conington. 
 
io8 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 Berwick had not yet informed Harry of his mother's 
 intentions, when one morning in early September while 
 Harry was with a crowd playing ball, some one said 
 during a pause in the game: " So Hal, you and 
 Foster are going to be school chums next year. Will 
 you promise to be sweet to each other ? ' ' 
 
 " I think you are mistaken," Harry quietly replied, 
 * ' I am not going to school with Berwick. ' ' 
 
 Louis Burns caught the last clause and treasured 
 it as a fine morsel. He was a smooth-tongued cajoler, 
 and he wanted Berwick's friendship even if Harry had 
 to be sacrificed. The remark was therefore repeated 
 to Berwick, with amplifications. 
 
 When Harry heard that Berwick had been entered 
 at Edgerton, he sought him and plead for a renewal of 
 their friendship, now they were going among strangers. 
 Berwick was so touched by Harry's earnestness that 
 his reserve gave way in part, and he almost felt ready 
 to return to the old days. 
 
 At last the morning for departure came, and Ber- 
 wick stood waiting for the coach and Harry, thinking 
 hopefully of brighter days in store. Down the village 
 street dashed the coach and scarcely waiting for it to 
 stop, Berwick leaped hurriedly in. What was his as- 
 tonishment to find himself the only occupant ? 
 
 *' Why, where is Harry? " he asked the driver. 
 
 * * Message was, he not goin' this morning ? ' ' 
 
 The day grew dark for the poor boy, Louis' words 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 109 
 
 came vividly to memory, and he leaned back in his 
 seat muttering: 
 
 **That ends it. Our friendship is transmuted into 
 enmity on one side at least. The hypocrite ! ' ' 
 
no Berwick^ s Mistake, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE KILLINGBY PRIZE. 
 
 THAT day's ride in the stage-coach was the darkest 
 Berwick had ever spent. The scenes through 
 which the road led were picturesque and beautiful, but 
 they lost half their charm for the boy through their very 
 familiarity. Once only did nature rivet his attention — 
 when the mellow autumn sunlight sifting through the 
 forest's leafy sieve, discovered the first autumnal tinting 
 and gave promise of coming October glory. 
 
 Berwick would willingly have yielded himself cap- 
 tive to the witching influences that one meets at every 
 turn among September woods, but other thoughts and 
 feelings engrossed him. He was trying to steel his 
 heart forever against Harry, and calling to his aid many 
 petty and malignant things which a month before he 
 would have scorned to make use of, before the solitary 
 day's ride was ended he had succeeded in his object 
 quite well. He started with the basis that Harry was 
 a hypocrite, else why should he have made the remark 
 repeated by Louis, then have come with such fair win- 
 ning words, and after all have failed to appear at the 
 
Berwick's Mistake. ill 
 
 proper time ? Even if sickness or anything had de- 
 tained him, could he not have written a note expressive 
 of sorrow at his detention, or at least have sent a mes- 
 sage ? No, there could be no reason or even plausible 
 excuse for such conduct, so the boy argued, and the 
 more he dwelt upon the subject the angrier he became 
 with his friend and the more strenuously did he resolve 
 that for the future their paths should lie in different 
 and ever-widening directions. 
 
 Chemisty tells us that a slight jar will sometimes 
 change the soft yielding amorphite into a hard unim- 
 pressionable crystal. Berwick's friendship for Harry 
 was in the amorphite condition when the last jar 
 shocked it into crystallization, and hereafter a new life 
 was to begin for them both — in one sense, a strange 
 and trying life, inasmuch as they would be in daily in- 
 tercourse and yet so far apart. 
 
 At last the weary day was ended, the rumbling coach 
 exchanged for the gliding sleeper, and the unhappy 
 youth lost consciousness for a while in quiet rest. 
 
 Morning brought Conington and school, and as Ber- 
 wick walked the few squares intervening between the 
 depot and Edgerton Hall he determined to let new 
 friends supply Harry's place, and also to do all in his 
 power to outstrip his late friend even if it brought 
 mortification to his opponent. Error and malice had 
 found the crevice for the entering wedge. Oh ! my 
 lad, beware ! 
 
112 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 The school-house was a large commodious modern 
 building situated on rising ground in the suburbs of 
 the busy manufacturing river town. All around were 
 extensive grounds, extending to within a square of the 
 river Wynne on two sides and on the other two lying 
 side by side with the fairest parts of Conington. From 
 the street in front could be caught glimpses of the skate- 
 ing pond in the rear, while the gymnasium on the right 
 and tennis and base-ball grounds on the left were in 
 full view. Dr. Edgerton, the principal, a genial man 
 devoted to his work and never so happy as when his 
 boys were happy; had lavished his time, taste and 
 fortune to throw around his temporary charge those 
 influences which best foster the natural and healthy 
 growth of a boy's physical and moral nature, and 
 no man deserved success more than he. Responsive 
 to his laudable efforts, came commendations from all 
 parts of the country. Edgerton Hall ranked high 
 among the schools of the land, and many a rising man 
 pointed back to the school as the place where he first 
 started fair and square in life's race. 
 
 The house itself consisted of the main building and 
 a wing on either side, all having some pretensions to 
 architectural beauty. The main building contained 
 the family dwelling rooms and some rooms for the 
 boys. Dr. Edgerton did not believe in dormitories; 
 his effort was to make the boys as comfortable as 
 their own homes were, though there was no chance 
 
Berwick's Mistake. 113 
 
 for luxury or effeminacy among the simple surround- 
 ings. The other rooms for the boys were in the left 
 wing, as were also the professors' apartments ; while 
 the right wing contained the large exhibition hall, 
 where also the daily devotions were held, the recita- 
 tion rooms and an in-door play-room. 
 
 The influence emanating from the Hall was pleasing 
 even to a casual observer, and as Berwick passed 
 through the wide entrance gates he felt the first light- 
 ening of heart since he left home. As the session 
 would open the next day, a great many boys had ar- 
 rived and were now scattered through the grounds vari- 
 ously engaged. Some were lounging or standing in 
 and around the spacious porch, and as Berwick advan- 
 ced up the steps rather slowly, one of a group, a 
 dark-eyed, brown-haired, bronzed but pleasant- faced 
 youth of perhaps seventeen years, came forward 
 graciously and extending his hand said : 
 
 ' ' I see you are a new boy. I am a pupil of three 
 years standing, and if you like I will take you in to 
 Dr. Edgerton. My name is Phipps. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You are most kind. I accept your offer willingly. 
 My name is Foster — Berwick Foster." 
 
 Through a broad passage and into a room at its 
 lower part his new friend conducted Berwick, and he 
 found himself being warmly welcomed by the master. 
 
 Dr. Edgerton might look insignificant to a stranger 
 following him down the street, but get a view of 
 
114 Berwick's Mistake, 
 
 his fine face and you would want to know him at once. 
 The intellectual breadth of forehead was even less 
 attractive than the keen, lustrous, dark blue eyes whose 
 gentleness and love constituted most of the power 
 dwelling in them. A firm mouth, speaking wise and 
 kind words is surely a valuable and enviable posses- 
 sion, and such the master had, fully revealed by his 
 clean shaven face. The good Doctor might be forty, 
 he might be fifty, but not a failing or a gray hair indi- 
 cated advancing years; the short wavy brown hair was 
 still thick on brow and crown. 
 
 Berwick felt his hand grasped warmly and his heart 
 almost yielded to peaceful influences as the Doctor said: 
 * * Welcome among us, my boy. I trust you will 
 find the school truly a home and be benefitted in every 
 way by your experiences here. I will not quiz you to- 
 day, some other time for that. Charlie will now take 
 you and introduce you to your new friends and sur- 
 roundings. Enjoy yourself to-day, to-morrow we begin 
 work, and then play will be only an incident and a rec- 
 reation. ' ' As the boys were leaving he recalled them 
 a moment: "There is another boy from Madeleine 
 due here to-day — Harry Andrews — I thought perhaps 
 you were coming together. " 
 
 * ' I came alone, sir. ' ' 
 
 The tone betrayed slight embarrassment and it 
 flashed through the Doctor's mind that perhaps there 
 was a family feud or something of the kind; however, 
 
Berwick^ s Mistake. 115 
 
 he finally dismissed the boys with a soothing * * Very 
 well, that is all. ' ' 
 
 The next morning a letter came to the principal ex- 
 plaining Harry's delay, but Dr. Edgerton did not again 
 mention the matter to Berwick, fearing he might arouse 
 unpleasant feeling. Several days passed and schoo 
 duties were fairly under way when one morning at re- 
 cess Lloyd Morris, a rather rough boy who had attached 
 himself to Berwick, ran up to the latter and said: 
 
 * ' One of your Madeleine chaps has just come. I 
 saw him handed in to the Doctor not five minutes ago. 
 Waited to find out his hailing place, heard something 
 about Madeleine, and posted straight to you to know 
 more. Who is it that hails from your 'native' ? ' ' 
 
 *' You will have to interrogate the new-comer him- 
 self I have heard of no arrival. ' ' 
 
 ' * You didn' t know any other boy was coming from 
 your place? " 
 
 * ' No, I didn' t say that. But there might have been a 
 dozen coming and I not have known anything of their 
 plans. I am not on intimate terms with every boy in 
 town. " 
 
 ''Well," replied Lloyd, good-naturedly, "I didn't 
 mean to rile you. Ta, ta." And he left Berwick to 
 his irritability. 
 
 The latter carefully avoided Harry all that day and 
 the next, but late in the afternoon of the second day 
 when some sports were in progress, Harry from his 
 
ii6 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 post of observation saw Berwick leave his companions 
 and steal away to a solitary part of the grounds. 
 This was just the opportunity he had been longing for 
 and he at once followed. 
 
 Berwick was leaning over the palings absorbed in 
 thought and started when his name was called. Turn- 
 ing he saw Harry and at once sought a quarrel. 
 
 *'One request I have to make of you Andrews," 
 how grating was the new name, ' ' you observe the 
 boys here only use surnames and you will oblige me 
 by falling into that rule when I am addressed." 
 
 * ' Surely this is but a quibble, you must have some 
 greater cause against me than my style of address. 
 Tell me what it is. Oh, Berwick — I will get used to 
 your new name after awhile — please let us be friends. 
 You have no idea how my heart aches at this coolness. 
 Why do you not believe in my same old friendship ? ' ' 
 
 There was something very pathetic in the pleading 
 tone, but instead of softening it only seemed to infuri- 
 ate the other boy, for he answered with suppressed 
 anger: 
 
 * ' Because I believe you to be a hypocrite. I can' t 
 dissemble and I despise deceit." 
 
 Harry was almost struck dumb . by this accusation 
 but he controlled himself by a violent effort and said : 
 ' ' Have a care, Foster, how you make charges you 
 can't sustain. I don't know what has come over you 
 of late. You are so changed I feel it is some other 
 boy I used to love." 
 
Berwick^ s Mistake. 117 
 
 '* You needn't trouble yourself to hate the present 
 individual, I shall be satisfied with your indifference." 
 
 " One thing I would like to explain, and that is the 
 reason I did not come as we arranged." 
 
 Berwick really wanted to know the reason, but he 
 felt that to listen longer would be a retreat and an 
 acknowledgement that he was in the wrong; so he 
 said disagreeably: 
 
 '' It is quite enough for me to know you are here 
 now, and much better that I came alone. You need 
 not trouble yourself to give me additional information. ' ' 
 
 ''Very well," replied Harry turning pale, ''I take 
 up your gauntlet, but you must remember you have 
 thrown it without cause. It is a satisfection to know 
 that some day you will rue it." 
 
 * * I never expect to deplore truthful discoveries, 
 however unpleasant. ' ' 
 
 Ignoring the taunt lying in the words, Harry could 
 not trust himself to say more, so he turned and walked 
 rapidly away. 
 
 Gaining the privacy of his room, he did what his 
 mother had always taught him to do in trouble, he 
 went on his knees to God. Ah! if Berwick had 
 listened to the reason for Harry's detention, surely 
 their interview had ended differently. 
 
 Harry was about ready to start on the morning in 
 question when the whole household was thrown into 
 consternation by one of Mrs. Andrews' alarming 
 
li§ Berwick^ s Mistake. 
 
 attacks of illness — heart disease, her physician said. 
 It was one of her worst attacks, and just while life 
 seemed almost extinct and all energies were bent upon 
 her relief, the stage coach can>e for Harry, Mr. 
 Andrews sent a servant to deliver the brief message to 
 the driver, and if Harry thought of Berwick at all, it 
 was with the feeling that of course he would hear all 
 about it. It did not occur to him until their quarrel 
 was at its height that perhaps Berwick had never 
 heard why he was detained. 
 
 A terrible sorrow and loneliness gnawed at the poor 
 boy's heart as he rose and threw himself across his 
 bed; all this trouble, combined with homesickness, 
 was almost more than he could bear. He had been 
 misrepresented, misunderstood and accused of hypoc- 
 risy by his best friend, and his one fervent boyish 
 affection was crushed ruthlessly under foot by the very 
 object of it. A violent fit of weeping relieved his 
 over-burdened heart, but left a jerking headache. 
 After he grew calmer some comfort came in the 
 thought that his father was right, his confidence had 
 been misplaced, and now having done all he could to 
 exonerate himself and save Berwick, he would have 
 to regard him ever after with indifference. 
 
 Would any one consider these boys the victims of 
 circumstances ? Nay! the root of the matter extended 
 beyond the boundaries of mere circumstance, far away 
 into the regions of actual sin and among the mountains 
 
Berwick^ s Mistake. 119 
 
 of error. The guilt began in listening to an idle tale, 
 and then led on from bad to worse by allowing sus- 
 picion and passion to assume the mastery. By such 
 leadings had Berwick Foster become equally his own 
 enemy and Harry's. 
 
 Harry was utterly wretched. He was experiencing 
 his first real trouble and it went very hard with him. 
 One of his room-mates coming up before supper he 
 pleaded his headache as an excuse for keeping his room 
 that evening, and the boy kindly carried the message 
 to Dr. Edgerton. After a few days however, Harry 
 seemed to rise superior to the cloud, and news from 
 home of his mother's complete restoration to health 
 cheered him not a little. He soon became a favorite 
 in the school; with the teachers by his diligence in 
 study and deference to constituted authority, and with 
 the boys by his sunny disposition and his abandonment 
 to fun and sport during times of recreation. 
 
 The difference between the standing of the two 
 Madeleine boys at Edgerton was that one was admired 
 for his intellectual qualifications and maturity of thought 
 and expression, and to some degree feared because of 
 his reserve and oft-times sternness; the other was 
 loved and trusted for his genial and solid qualities, and 
 his opinion soon gained great weight in matters of 
 doubt on questions of morality. 
 
 A day or two after his quarrel with Berwick, Harry 
 and Charlie Phipps were seated together in the lower 
 
ISO Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 part of the school grounds, whitthng and talking on 
 various subjects. Presently Harry said: *'Who was 
 the queer person who came to my room the other 
 evening and so effectively cured my headache ? When I 
 waked she was gone, and desirous as I am to thank 
 her I have only had distant glimpses of her since." 
 
 Harry could not have selected a better informant, 
 for Charlie told a story well and was thoroughly com- 
 petent by reason of three years' residence to explain 
 everything connected with Edgerton. 
 
 *' I suppose you mean the housekeeper. Why she 
 is the presiding genius of this abode and all sorts of 
 disorders fly at her approach. We boys all love her 
 to death, as you will in time, and she loves us all, 
 whether we are good, bad or indifferent. Some of us 
 have a superstition that she knows everything that 
 goes on, for the exposure of some very secret things 
 have been traced to Seepie. ' ' 
 
 '' What an odd name," interrupted Harry; '' do tell 
 me all you know of her, Phipps. ' ' 
 
 * * Well, Catherine Prumms is the real name of this 
 spinster, and she came as housekeeper here when the 
 Doctor first married. I have heard hini say often that 
 in a week she became as perfectly identified with the 
 home as part and parcel of the family belongings and 
 nothing would have induced them to give her up. 
 Mrs. Edgerton became an invalid when Lou was about 
 a year old, and now for seventeen years Seepie has 
 had undisputed sway." 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. I2I 
 
 " Didn't'you say her name was Catherine? " 
 * * Yes. The nickname originated with Miss Mamie 
 when she was a baby. You don't know Miss Mamie; 
 she married Doctor Glancy last session. You may 
 have noticed she has a drowsy look caused by a 
 habit of drooping her eye-lids and scanning the world 
 through half-closed eyes. Baby Mamie mistook this 
 trick for a state of chronic somnia and so called her 
 ''Seepie" in her imperfect lingo. The name was 
 caught up by other members of the household and 
 soon passed from a jest to an established fact, so that 
 her real name has been almost obliterated by grim 
 old Time." 
 
 ** Where did she come from ? " *' No one knows. 
 She stands on her own merits and so correct is every- 
 thing connected with her that all are willing to accept 
 her without further testimonials." 
 
 ' ' Then she is not as sleepy as she looks? ' ' 
 * ' Don' t you trust to that, old fellow. She is wide 
 awake, I tell you. One of her characteristics, as I have 
 said, is her all-knowingness in her particular sphere, 
 and you will find her fathom deep in information on 
 household topics, whether the question concerns the 
 whereabouts of a missing lexicon or the peeling of a 
 potato. This knowledge gives her a divine right to 
 command and a human right to be kept posted on all 
 the ins and outs of school and home life; and so rigidly 
 does she maintain these rights that the servants declare 
 
122 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 she is supernaturally aided in her researches. Whether 
 or not she has an attendant Ariel, certain it is, very 
 few things transpire unknown to her. 
 
 ' ' One pecuHarity keeps up the mystery attaching to 
 her from ignorant people. She regards her room as 
 her special sanctum and will not allow any one to 
 enter it, carries the key always with her and neither 
 superiors or subordinates are permitted to profane its 
 sanctity by crossing the threshold. The servants 
 firmly believe it is there she harbors her tale-bearing 
 sprites. In spite of all her oddities we are all devoted 
 to her because she is so good and kind, nurses all our 
 ills away and never lets any boy go hungry if she 
 knows it. It won't be long before you'll vote her a 
 trump. ' ' 
 
 ' * I am ready to do so now if she will only cause the 
 supper bell to ring, for I am growing hungry as a 
 bear." 
 
 Rising, the boys walked to the house and in a few 
 minutes joined the impatient crowd en route for the 
 supper roorh. 
 
 Autumn merged into winter and all was progressing 
 as usual at the school; one day's failures were atoned 
 for by the successes of the next; some boys labored, 
 some plodded^ and some lagged and halted mentally. 
 The school was like all others that gather together one 
 hundred or more boys. 
 
 One morning in early December the Doctor rose 
 
Be7"wick:s Mistake. 123 
 
 belore the assembled school and explained, as had 
 been his wont for two years previous, the * ' Killingby 
 Prize." The boys called it *' Killing-boy" because of 
 the hard work it induced. Every boy, new-comer 
 and all, knew about it of course, but the principal 
 wanted no misunderstanding and he thought best to 
 give lucid explanation himself each year. 
 
 ** Young gentlemen," he said, there will be this 
 year the usual contest for the ' Killingby Prize, ' and it 
 is unnecessary for me to say that I hope the winner 
 will receive his reward through honest merit. The 
 prize is awarded by the interest and generosity of Dr. 
 Killingby, who, as you all know, is professor of 
 mathematics in the State University, and an old friend 
 of mine. The prize consists of a set of books com- 
 prehending the whole mathematical course, and is 
 awarded to one of two boys who after three weeks' 
 extra work passes the best examination in mathematics. 
 Dr. Killingby has made it one of the conditions of 
 bestowing the prize that the two contestants be elected 
 by the vote of the entire school from among their own 
 ranks, the two boys receiving the greatest number of 
 votes being declared contestants. The one qualifica- 
 tion for the competition is that the boy must have 
 some recognized standing in mathematics. Although 
 not approving this plan, yet I have had no fault to 
 find with the two previous contests. While they 
 excite emulation and fair striving, there has been, to 
 
124 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 my knowledge, no wire-pulling, unfair methods or 
 ungenerous feeling. Let me hope that both victor 
 and vanquished in the coming contest will conduct 
 themselves as become gentlemen and Christians. The 
 vote of the school will be taken this afternoon and the 
 result announced to-night at the close of study-hour. ' ' 
 You may be sure every boy was on the qui vive 
 that night as just after the ringing of the nine o'clock 
 bell, Dr. Edgerton entered the school-room and walk- 
 ing to his desk on the platform announced the two 
 names for the coming race. With mingled feelings 
 of surprise, pleasure, disappointment and chagrin, the 
 boys heard the names of Harry Andrews and Berwick 
 Foster! 
 
Berwick's Mistake, 125 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN UNDESIRABLE ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 NONE were more surprised at the result of the 
 voting than the contestants elected, and had it 
 been possible both would have withdrawn from the 
 contest. Berwick was particularly disheartened, and 
 in talking the matter over with the three boys in his 
 room he found cause for anger too. 
 
 * ' It is not fair, ' ' he said, ' 'Andrews is ahead of me 
 in geometry and so has the advantage of a better 
 start. No school has a right to throw two boys into a 
 prize contest, it ought to be open to the whole 
 school." 
 
 *'I agree with you, pard," said Lloyd Morris, ''and 
 indeed none of the boys like this style of thing." 
 
 * ' Why then is it permitted ' ' asked Berwick. 
 
 ''Because," answered an intelligent looking boy 
 named Albert Kenny, ' ' notwithstanding the fact that 
 Doctor Killingby is a musty old professor with cranky 
 notions, yet he is greatly esteemed by Doctor Edger- 
 ton who accepted this prize with its conditions rather 
 than offend his old friend." 
 
 ' ' Well, ' ' answered Berwick as he sprang into bed. 
 
126 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 * ' we must accept our fates gracefully, and if I hope to 
 carry off the ' Killingby ' I must first get one good 
 night's rest. But I predict that Doctor Edgerton will 
 one day have cause to deplore the admission of such 
 a false system into his school." 
 
 ' ' One thing about it ' ' said Harry May, a tall keen- 
 eyed youth who had not yet spoken, ' ' is that it does 
 not come in with the usual school routine or examin- 
 ations. Being entirely independent of the school 
 management it is placed early in the session and made 
 an incident instead of a feature. ' ' 
 
 **An evilly-inclined incident may, however, affect 
 the welfare of the whole," argued Albert. 
 
 ' ' I don' t deny it ' ' returned Harry May, ' ' and I 
 too, am afraid the Killingby prize will some day bring 
 trouble; but Doctor tolerates it because for two years 
 the winning of this prize has been so fair and 
 satisfactory." 
 
 The conversation became rambling and desultory 
 after this and no longer of special interest to us, so we 
 will now turn to Harry Andrews' thoughts and feelings 
 on this special subject. As soon as he found himself 
 thrown into a public contest with Berwick, his first im- 
 pulse was to decline to enter the lists. He actually 
 went to Doctor Edgerton next morning and stated his 
 unwillingness to run for the prize, but he was informed 
 that he was too late and could not be released. 
 Then his pride gained ground and he determined to 
 
Berwick's Mistake, 127 
 
 bend all his energies to come out winner in the coming 
 race. He had been made Berwick's antagonist against 
 his volition, and now come of it what would, he was 
 determined to be best man in the contest. 
 
 Berwick's indifference towards his former friend had 
 by this time intensified into genuine antipathy, and he 
 felt that he could bear to be beaten by anybody rather 
 than by Harry. *' It must not be " he said to himself 
 ' * I will strain every energy and make every minute 
 do double work to take from him this prize." 
 
 The next three weeks were weeks of intense appli- 
 cation for both Berwick and Harry. They were both 
 good mathematicians, but Harry's was undoubtedly 
 the superior mind in this department of learning, so 
 Berwick felt that he had more than ordinary odds to 
 contend against. 
 
 The Edgerton boys had long before this perceived 
 the estrangement between the two Madeleine youths, 
 though they knew not the cause. Boys are ever 
 ready for a fight and as soon as the two were arrayed 
 against each other, the special friends of both parties 
 espoused sides and the prize contest soon began to 
 assume a belligerent and partisan character. Betting 
 was introduced, and some boys would bet on both 
 sides with different parties; the hostile feelings abroad 
 provoked several fights; angry disputes were of daily 
 occurrence, and there was anything but a healthy tone 
 among the boys by the time the three weeks of prep- 
 aration had passed. 
 
128 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 The examination was on the last day of school 
 before the Christmas ten days' holiday, and with most 
 of the pupils thoughts of home and even of coming 
 holiday pleasures seemed to have been lost sight of in 
 the excitement attending the "Killingby" prize con- 
 test. Berwick and Harry were excused from all other 
 recitations on that day and called early to their special 
 examination. The suspense of the succeeding night 
 was almost too great for youthful endurance, but it was 
 not until the next morning before the departure of any 
 of the boys for their respective homes that before the 
 assembled school Harry Andrews was presented with 
 the Killingby Prize. The good old Doctor thought 
 the cheering feebler than on any of the two other 
 occasions, and his complacency was disturbed by detect- 
 ing scowls and angry glances from certain boys. 
 What could be the meaning of it ? The principal felt 
 that he must sift the matter. The examination had 
 been written, it was held in private by an impartial 
 judge, for the questions were prepared each year by 
 Doctor Killingby himself and given out by one of the 
 older professors. But Doctor Edgerton felt misgivings 
 that the school was aggrieved in some way and he was 
 bound to have a full understanding of the matter. 
 
 That evening he sent for Prof Marsh, a man upon 
 whose judgement he relied and one who had once 
 warned him that the Killingby Prize would some day 
 cause dissension. The Professor heard the Doctor's 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 129 
 
 question gravely and then replied: "My dear sir, the 
 evil is even more wide spread than you surmise. The 
 mischief engendered by this contest can not now be 
 repaired, I fear; but you have the power, sir, to prevent 
 a recurrence of this evil by making the whole school 
 eligible to the prize." 
 
 * ' Dr. Killingby alone can do that, my dear Profess- 
 or, but I can refuse to offer the prize in my school 
 unless he withdraws the offensive conditions. And I 
 will do it, now that I find the present plan prejudicial to 
 good at Edgerton Hall." 
 
 " I am sincerely glad to hear you say so. Doctor, 
 for if you had not summoned me it was my intention 
 to seek you and tell you of the deleterious effects of 
 this present contest. ' ' 
 
 "What has been the special trouble this year," 
 asked the Doctor. ' ' Twice before has this prize been 
 given and beyond a passing interest evinced by the 
 school in the triumph of one of its members, after the 
 election of contestants all personal feeling has been 
 merged in the ardor of study and the other boys 
 have been mere friendly spectators." 
 
 "Ah! Doctor, personal feeling strikes the key note 
 of the whole matter. This unfortunate prize system 
 has pitted against each other two boys who, for some 
 cause are at enmity, and this enmity is the cause of the 
 present trouble. ' ' 
 
 "A great pity! A great pity! repeated the Doctor. 
 J 
 
130 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 After conversing a while longer the Professor left, and 
 Dr. Edgerton, turning to his table, indicted a letter to 
 Dr. Killingby embodying the resolution he had 
 announced to Prof. Marsh. He told his old friend 
 kindly but firmly, that he must refuse his prize here- 
 after unless he would remove the conditions for com- 
 petition and throw the contest open to the whole 
 school. As reasons for his action he stated that cir- 
 cumstances attending the winning of the prize this 
 year had shown how unwise the system was. It was 
 not fair for boys to be elected contestants, because 
 their comrades had not sufficient judgment to choose 
 wisely; because a school prize should exclude none 
 from competition for it; because partisanship and all its 
 train of evils were engendered by election, and because 
 boys so arrayed against each other were apt to become 
 unfriendly rivals. All this was couched in the Doctor's 
 choicest language and most graceful rhetoric. 
 
 In a few days he received the old Professor's reply, 
 acceding at once to his friend's suggestions. He was 
 sorry indeed, if his short-sightedness had occasioned 
 any trouble at Edgerton Hall whose best interests were 
 dear to his heart. The slightest whisper of experience 
 should always silence the voice of theory, and he was 
 perfectly satisfied to have his prize awarded as his friend 
 thought best. So the ' ' Killingby Prize ' ' having 
 wrought its mischief, took a humble place among other 
 prizes at the close of the session and no longer as a 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 131 
 
 monopoly endangered the well-being of Edgerton Hall. 
 
 The new year brought a resumption of school work 
 and by the second week in January all the boys were 
 pretty well over holiday demoralization and into serious 
 work again. Seepie, who was more of a matron than 
 a house-keeper, considered that she had the moral 
 training of the boys in hand and could often find ways 
 to manage recalcitrant youths when other authorities 
 failed. She had heard of the late struggle and 
 divined its hidden motives, and having had occasion 
 to render valuable service to Benv'ick several times, she 
 determined to interview him and see if reconciliation 
 could not be effected between him and Harry. An 
 occasion presented ere long when she found Berwick 
 alone in his room, and following her own peculiar 
 tactics she launched straightway into her subject. 
 
 *' Tell me, Berwick, why you hate Harry Andrews! " 
 
 Thus appealed to the boy answered directly but with 
 tremulous voice and paling countenance. * * Because 
 he is a fair-spoken hypocrite and such are not congenial 
 to my nature." 
 
 ' * Isn' t it just possible you may be self-deceived ? The 
 lad does not strike me to be what you represent him 
 and moreover I don't believe he is. You are blinded 
 by passion, and as your good friend I would like to 
 make peace between you." 
 
 '* If you don't want to make an enemy of me, you 
 will drop Andrews' name out of sight in my presence. 
 
132 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 I hate him and would mortifiy him if I could, even as 
 he has recently mortified me." 
 
 Seeing that words were wasted when spoken in 
 Harry's favor, she spent her time in trying to show 
 the boy the terrible danger of yielding to such 
 thoughts and feelings as he was indulging. She found 
 a nature that baffled her, but not by any means giving 
 o'er the battle, she retired until she could study him 
 more and find some vulnerable point. 
 
 One morning in Febuary Berwick was summoned 
 to Dr. Edgerton's study and informed that a letter had 
 come from his mother requesting permission for him 
 to meet a relative at the wharf and see her safely 
 aboard the train. As the time of the boat's arrival 
 was out of school hours and he need not be absent 
 longer than an hour altogether, the master told Ber- 
 wick he would accede to his mother's request. The 
 next evening, therefore, Berwick left the school grounds, 
 and not yet having heard the boat whistle he sauntered 
 along in the direction of the wharf Nearing the place 
 he asked a lounger if the ** Garland " would soon be in, 
 and was told that the boat was late by a half hour. 
 Not knowing exactly what to do with himself he turned 
 and retraced his steps for a short distance, then remem- 
 bering he had seen a hotel near the wharf he thought 
 he would go into the hotel parlor and there await the 
 arrival of the boat. 
 
 In crossing an alley which intersected this street, 
 
Berwick^ s Mistake. 133 
 
 oaths and angry voices fell upon his ear and naturally 
 he turned to see whence they came. A short way down 
 the alley a fight was in progress, though just then there 
 was an intermission in the fray. With a youth's curi- 
 osity to witness a fight and its termination he joined 
 several persons hurrying down to the scene of action, 
 and arrived just as the brawniest fellow levelled a telling 
 blow at his opponent and sent him senseless to the 
 earth. At that moment a policeman's whistle was 
 heard in the distance and the crowd scattered like 
 magic fearing that the officers of the law might find 
 their way to the alley and they be identified with the 
 peace-breakers; so Berwick found himself alone with 
 the unconscious man. 
 
 Something in the quiet features before him, blood- 
 stained and but lately distraught by murderous passion 
 as they were, created an intense pity in the boy's heart. 
 Not knowing what to do, he awaited the coming of the 
 police, not thinking that he might be placed in an em- 
 barrassing situation were he found there. However, 
 he was spared any suspicion, for no policeman or other 
 human being came to his relief The poor man still 
 remained unconscious and at his wit's end how to act, 
 Berwick finally remembered that water was the proper 
 restorative in such cases. 
 
 Going to a hydrant near by he easily detached the 
 cup and chain and returning with the water, freely 
 bathed and sprinkled the unfortunate man's face. The 
 
134 Berwick^ s Mistake. 
 
 blood stains were removed by the boy's charitable 
 actions and their removal discovered a gash in the face 
 near the ear, only surface deep, however, and several 
 already blackening bruises. The man was evidently 
 a rough, but the silken brown hair and certain at- 
 tempts at respectability evident even in the coarse 
 garments, plainly told that he had fallen from a higher 
 estate. 
 
 Gradually the signs of life began to respond to the 
 boy's ministrations and in a few moments the eyes 
 opened and looked bewilderingly around. 
 
 ** It was a hard blow that nearly finished you, " said 
 Berwick. A scowl instantly overspread the counte- 
 nance as the man muttered: " You have it, youngster, 
 I a' most forgot whir I wus." 
 
 "Well, never mind, you are better now. Can I 
 help you to more comfortable quarters ? ' ' 
 
 The man eyed the boy in honest astonishment and 
 rising feebly, disdaining aid, he leaned against the tot- 
 tering fence near by. Then still looking at Berwick he 
 said: "I'd like to know the name of the person as ud 
 do Jock Dean a good turn. ' ' Happening to see the 
 cup and chain on the ground he continued; "I'm 
 everlastin'ly thankful to ye, young feller, I see now 
 if it hadn't a been fur you I'd 'a' been a laying ther' 
 dead now. The fellers all run and lef me, did they ? ' ' 
 
 "They were scared off by a policeman's whistle, 
 and I suppose they thought they could return when 
 the coast was clear." 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 135 
 
 "An' you stuck by me and got the water," with a 
 significant gesture towards the cup. 
 
 ' ' I was glad to be of service. But I must go now, 
 I am expecting a friend on that boat just coming in," 
 and Berwick turned to leave. 
 
 " One minute, young feller, I want the name of that 
 person what saved my life to-day, and I want to give 
 ye a lift sometime when ye need me." 
 
 * ' As to that, ' ' said Berwick hurriedly, ' ' I need no 
 service, thank you. I am a school-boy, Berwick Fos- 
 ter, at Edgerton Hall." He had added his name 
 because the man had caught his sleeve as if deter- 
 mined to have his one request granted, and now upon 
 being released he hurried to the boat just landing her 
 passengers at the wharf. His cousin was among the 
 passengers and it was not long before she was com- 
 fortably aboard her train through Berwick's assistance, 
 and Berwick himself on his homeward route. 
 
 He gave some thought to his day's adventure 
 because it had broken in upon the monotony of school 
 life, but on nearing the Hall, Jock Dean and his prob- 
 able vicissitudes were dismissed from his mind. 
 
 Not so with the object of his compassion, Jock 
 Dean. The poor unfortunate had known better days, 
 but it was in long past years when the name had been 
 spelt with a final e, which vowel had been dropped 
 somewhere among his changing fortunes. It had been 
 so long since Jock had been the recipient of a kind 
 
136 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 action that he exalted Berwick into an object of almost 
 adoring worship. To think that anybody would bring 
 water to restore him, wicked, unlucky Jock Dean, to 
 save his worthless life, why he had thought only that 
 morning that every man's hand was against him. He 
 was just in that frame of mind where a good influence 
 might be his salvation. 
 
 The meeting with Jock Dean was on Wednesday. 
 Saturday afternoon Charlie Phipps called Berwick to 
 go walking with him. Charlie had been thinking 
 matters over as well as Seepie, and relying on his influ- 
 ence with Berwick as an older boy and a friend, he 
 undertook to restore good feeling between Berwick 
 and Harry. 
 
 He broached the subject, however, more guardedly 
 and with greater tact than Seepie had done, and he 
 talked long and earnestly. He found his companion 
 more obstinate than he had supposed possible, and at 
 last he felt that he had exhausted all his arguments 
 and there was no more to be said. After a period of 
 silence Berwick said: 
 
 ''Phipps, I don't want to lose your friendship, but 
 I must say that you have a surface acquaintance with 
 Andrews, as I had for several years. Since I have 
 known him as he really is, I have had cause enough 
 to hate him, and now I feel mean enough to wish to 
 mortify or disgrace him in some way." 
 
 " It is to be hoped no opportunity will present itself 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 137 
 
 while you bear this malice, and in the meantime I shall 
 keep a friendly watch over both you and Harry. I 
 am sure there is some terrible misunderstanding which 
 time alone can set right. ' ' 
 
 So absorbed were the boys that they had not no- 
 ticed the advance of a third party. Their earnest 
 converse had led them to the extreme end of the play- 
 grounds near the river, and now just outside the pal- 
 ings stood a man whom Berwick recognized at once 
 as his alley acquaintance. Thinking of course the 
 man sought him for money's sake, he left Phipps and 
 leaning over the fence held out his hand with a dollar 
 in it. 
 
 ' ' Can I do anything for you to-day ? ' ' Berwick 
 asked this because he was at a loss for something to 
 say. 
 
 Jock at first looked insulted at the supposition that 
 he had come begging and hanging his head doggedly, 
 replied : 
 
 " I didn't come after ye fur money; I come to see if 
 ye needed a sarvice o' any kind." 
 
 " No," answered Berwick without withdrawing his 
 hand, " I am much obliged to you. But you might 
 need this change." 
 
 Sheepishly Jock took it and hastily put it out of 
 sight, and then doffing his well-worn cap said: ' 'Good- 
 day to ye, gentlemen," and in a lower tone to Berwick, 
 ''call on me when ye need me." 
 
138 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 Berwick explained to Phipps as they retraced their 
 steps to the Hall: "■ A vagrant I met the other day 
 at the wharf. I hope he won't be dogging my 
 footsteps continually, its a nuisance! " 
 
 Berwick would not have spoken with such calm dis- 
 missal of the whole matter, could he have heard 
 the muttered malediction pronounced upon the head 
 of some one as Jock hurried along by the water side 
 until he gained a rude shanty, whose shabbiness was in 
 keeping with its out-door surroundings and in-door 
 connections. 
 
 Rushing in through the half-barred door, he ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 "Hurrah, mates! a drink all rodnd, and somethin' 
 left to stake on the next deal. What wouldn' t a body 
 do for the giver o' this ? ' ' 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 139 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE EXCURSION. 
 
 JOCK DEAN sat on a low porch which formed the 
 front of a miserable dwelling overlooking the river. 
 It was a lovely day, such days as late winter can bring 
 to cheat us into believing that spring is among us. 
 
 The early morning sun lit up the waters with shim- 
 mering glory and mantled the hills beyond with ever- 
 changing hues of light and shade. But Jock thought 
 not of the glittering flash following in the wake of the 
 passing oars-man, or even the dignified glide of the 
 laden steamer far out on the river; if his thoughts 
 dwelt at all upon the scene before him, they consisted 
 merely of fleeting remembrances of sundry duckings, 
 divings, or fishings, or perhaps they reverted to the 
 pirate's craft among other and less public waters. For 
 poor Jock had trodden well-nigh all the dark ways of 
 sin, and had gone from one to another trying to silence 
 the remnants of a conscience yet in his possession. 
 
 His early life was passed on an English farm. He 
 came of good parentage; his father and mother both 
 belonged to England's yeomanry. But a life of 
 
140 Berwick^ s Mistake. 
 
 adventure so glowingly and attractively pictured by 
 pernicious literature had tempted him from his home, 
 and the first wrong step led to others until he found 
 himself fast bound in chains of sin and crime. 
 
 Many lands and climes had witnessed his wanderings, 
 but he had of late come to consider America his 
 adopted home. The craziest crafts stay nearest the 
 shore, and the poor wrecked man felt it necessary to 
 have a place of anchorage now that the premature 
 decay of manhood's powers rendered the "old boat no 
 longer sea-worthy." 
 
 Foremost among Jock's reflections that morning 
 were suggestions of various ways and means by which 
 he could assist his one friend, as he fondly termed 
 Berwick. Gratitude still dwelt in the outcast's breast 
 and would have been one of the surest means of win- 
 ning him to better things had any one cared to try. 
 Poor Jock ! his " one friend ' ' would have repudiated 
 the title, and there was no other human help at hand. 
 At last he seemed satisfied with the result of his med- 
 itations and rising shook himself like a great dog. 
 Grinning broadly he said to himself as he entered the 
 hovel, '* Now, rU be a gentleman for awhile, I guess." 
 
 Emerging in the course of an hour, he was as nearly 
 transformed as it was possible for a man of his stamp 
 to become. The loose blouse and baggy ragged 
 breeches had given place to a plain suit of clothes, 
 somewhat the worse for wear, but still neat and 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 141 
 
 arranged with some deference to the becoming. The 
 fraying cap was replaced by a slouch hat whose brim 
 on one side was rolling and on the other side flaring. 
 But the most remarkable thing about the new man was 
 a shirt front not exactly clean, but set off to great ad- 
 vantage in the wearer's eyes by a fresh paper collar 
 and a black cravat. A casual observer would have 
 supposed him an ordinary plodding man with a well- 
 earned title to respectability, and only one well versed 
 in human physiognomy would have read a secret lying 
 under the imperturbable exterior. Jock evidently had 
 an errand of his own upon whose execution he was 
 bent. 
 
 At Edgerton Hall the intermediate examinations 
 were over, and the school had resumed its usual duties 
 and daily round. Harry Andrews came out well from 
 his examinations and for a new boy his success was 
 almost without precedent. All seemed to be smooth 
 and fair under his feet, and no day however brief 
 seemed to depart without some specially studious 
 ' * deed to crown it. ' ' 
 
 In one department alone did Berwick transcend 
 Harry, and that was in the debating society. It seemed 
 that Harry was not to follow his father's profession 
 unless perseverance should bring self-confidence, for he 
 seemed to lose all self-control when upon the floor alone 
 facing the smallest audience. Berwick, on the contrary, 
 was complete master of himself in debate and h]s 
 
142 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 calmness inspired listeners with confidence in his abil- 
 ities. By his success in the society debates and his 
 power in declamation on all occasions, impromptu or 
 studied, he won the title of the orator of the school. 
 Harry felt secretly glad that Berwick carried off envi- 
 able laurels in some of the school's departments, for 
 he knew that his one-time friend was fast becoming 
 more and more embittered, and consequently self-cen- 
 tered. 
 
 One morning early in March, Dr. Edgerton made 
 the welcome announcement that he was going to give 
 the school a holiday, that he had chartered a boat to 
 carry them all to Tazewell's Museum and he wanted 
 them to spend a happy and profitable day. Youthful 
 enthusiasm would not be suppressed but found vent in 
 three cheers for Dr. Edgerton and three more for the 
 holiday. The boys then dispersed to make their sim- 
 ple preparations for the short trip. 
 
 Tazewell's Museum was on an island three miles 
 below Conington and it was a favorite resort in that 
 region. The Museum contained some specimens of 
 value, and the good Doctor always felt that the school 
 year would be incomplete without a trip to the Mus- 
 eum and a view of its collections for the benefit of the 
 boys. 
 
 He invariably chose a beautiful day in the early 
 spring because, he said in his simple-mindedness, it 
 gave the boys a holiday when they least expected it. 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 143 
 
 Coming, however, about the same time every year, it 
 had ceased to be a surprise to the boys, though a 
 knowledge of the good in store for them never de- 
 tracted from their enjoyment when it came. Then 
 they could go to Tazewell's Museum when they could 
 go nowhere else, for the building was open summer 
 and winter and made perfectly comfortable for visitors. 
 There were three hotels on the island and while two 
 were only summer hotels, the other was ready every 
 day in the year to furnish accommodations and meals. 
 
 In less than an hour after the announcement of a 
 holiday, ' ' The Clipper ' ' was proving true to her name 
 by carrying the school rapidly down to Mary's Island. 
 Arrived there Dr. Edgerton told the boys they had 
 permission to scatter and enjoy themselves, the sole 
 embargo he laid upon their liberty was that they must 
 not go beyond hailing distance of the Museum, and 
 they must not stay out on the ground too long at a time 
 as it was early spring and the ground was apt to be 
 damp. 
 
 The day was a charming one with sun and air so 
 wooing that very few boys sought the Museum shades 
 just then; most of them sauntered or hurried to well- 
 know resorts through the grounds, while many disper- 
 sed along the river banks on the look-out for more 
 than ordinary amusements. 
 
 Charles Phipps and Berwick were together as usual 
 and the former had undertaken to show his new friend 
 
144 Berwick^ s Mistake. 
 
 all the attractions of the place. Turning an angle near 
 the river bank, they saw a short distance ahead three 
 men fastening to the bank a row boat in which they 
 had evidently just arrived. Berwick was intensely 
 annoyed to recognize Jock Dean as one of the men, 
 but perceiving that he and his companion were not yet 
 seen, he made a significant gesture to Charlie and they 
 quickly walked away in the other direction. 
 
 "I don't see why I am constantly meeting that 
 man," said Berwick in an agitated tone, '* I am sure I 
 don't seek him. Wonder how much he would require 
 never to cross my path again." 
 
 ' ' Perhaps money is the spell that binds him to you. 
 Suppose you don't give him any more." 
 
 *' I'll take your suggestion. It has a good ring and 
 perhaps may be effectual In shaking him off." 
 
 About a half hour later Jock was seated on the edge 
 of a pier which extended out into the river perhaps a 
 hundred yards. Five or six boys, among them Harry 
 Andrews, were bound for that pier, because they had 
 heard it condemned and they wanted to indulge that 
 boyish sentiment that rather likes the element of risk 
 and danger. 
 
 At first they all regarded Jock with some curiosity 
 and shyness, but that soon wore off and they talked to 
 him as freely as they talked among themselves. 
 
 ' ' Andrews, " said a boy named Stockard, ' ' wouldn' t 
 it be a lark for any boy who has pluck enough to walk 
 out to the edge of that pier ? ' ' 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 145 
 
 * * I don' t suppose any body would be so fool-hardy 
 as to attempt such a thing after the pier has been pro- 
 nounced dangerous," answered Harry. 
 
 Jock, who had started when Andrews' name was 
 spoken, here turned quickly to the boy and said: 
 " Who calls that pier dangerous ? On'y some people 
 what's afeard o' ther own shadders. I've got a chum 
 who walked out ther no longer than yisterday, and I 
 dar you to do it. They call ye a brave boy, do they? 
 Well now, prove it by showin' *em ye' re not afeard." 
 
 Harry did not like to have his actions sustain the 
 accusition of cowardice, but he first looked around 
 among his companions for some encouragement before 
 accepting the man's strange challenge. 
 
 "Don't do it, Andrews." ''I wouldn't," several 
 said, but Stockard urged: ''Why not? The man 
 ought to know better than we do about it. ' ' 
 
 '' Know ? O' course I know. I'd do it myself but 
 that wouldn't show how brave this here young chap 
 is," with a sneering emphasis on the word brave, 
 and Jock looked at Harry disdainfully. 
 
 Goaded on by these taunts Harry jumped on the 
 pier and was about to trust himself to its rottenness 
 when a voice called loudly: 
 
 " Andrews, what in the world are you going to do ?" 
 It was Phipps who spoke as he ran swiftly to join the 
 group, looking in an alarmed way at Harry on the 
 pier. 
 
146 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 " This man assures me the pier is perfectly safe and 
 has dared me to make trial of it. As my head don't 
 swim, I have undertaken to prove my bravery." 
 
 ''You can just prove your moral courage by step- 
 ping off again. My word is of as much value as this 
 man's and I assure you that no one has ventured on 
 that pier for years. Who removed the danger signal?' ' 
 Phipps looked suspiciously at Jock and yet he felt at a 
 loss to know why the man should desire to endanger 
 one of the Edgerton boys. ' ' It was here when I 
 passed an hour ago. ' ' 
 
 " As I never was here afore, I can't tell ye nothin' 
 about it," and his words conveyed more truth than he 
 intended. 
 
 " Why is not the pier destroyed ? Might it not be 
 a snare to some other thoughtiess people ? ' ' questioned 
 Harry. 
 
 ' ' I think there is some absurd story about a person 
 of rank, the Grand Duke Alexis perhaps, having 
 walked to the edge with the support of his valet's arm, 
 and this pier must remain a monument to titled bravery. 
 For my own part, I think there are a thousand braver 
 things that we may find to do every day, with all due 
 deference to you, Andrews. ' ' 
 
 " I trust I shall profit by your rebuke, Phipps; and 
 now let's seek other playing quarters, this vicinity has 
 become too suggestive for my comfort." 
 
 "Agreed," responded the boys, and they moved 
 off leaving Jock to his solitary reflections. 
 
Berwick's Mistake. 147 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when in an unguarded 
 moment Berwick found himself a prey to Jock. Curb- 
 ing his irritation he felt for a coin, when remembering 
 his vow to Phipps he withdrew his hand empty. Jock 
 was keen enough to see the movement and its result, 
 but far from construing it rightly he thought the boy 
 had found himself without money. Berwick's words 
 confirmed this impression. 
 
 " I can't help you in any way to-day," and he was 
 moving off when Jock detained him as he had done 
 once before by catching his arm and bending forward 
 said: *' I jist been a wantin ye to know that any time 
 ye may have need o' me ye can find me at a house on 
 the river, third house from the hotel. ' ' 
 
 * ' You are one of the most grateful persons I ever 
 saw, but I don't think I shall need your services at all, 
 my man: if I do, I shall certainly call on you. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 Thus summarily dismissed Jock had to subside, but 
 he looked after the retreating figure and soliloquized: 
 "But I'll please ye yet and show ye that I mean my 
 thanks." 
 
 The boys returned to Edgerton Hall in time for sup- 
 per and all declared the day had been a glorious one, 
 full of frolic and fun, not unmixed with some slight 
 profit from the Museum exhibit. 
 
 Among his mail next day Harry found a letter from 
 his mother in which she told him that the i6th was 
 
148 Berwick^ s Mistake. 
 
 Ida's birth-day and she suggested that he send her a 
 simple brooch or some other small piece of jewelry. 
 Of course the money accompanied the suggestion, for 
 school-boys are never supposed to be * ' flush. ' ' 
 
 After school Harry carried his letter to Dr. Edgerton 
 and asked his permission to go into town and make the 
 desired purchase. Consent was readily given and 
 Harry had quite an air of importance as he yelled 
 good-bye to the different groups in passing down to and 
 out of the front gates. Many ran after him eager to 
 know his destination, but he playfully refused to give a 
 satisfactory answer, choosing rather to excite their curi- 
 osity and gratify it on his return. "I wish I had 
 asked the Doctor to let one of the boys go with me," 
 he soliloquized after he was fairly beyond the school 
 grounds and had begun to realize that he had a long 
 walk before him. But it was too late now, he would 
 lose too much time in returning to seek company, so 
 he consoled himself by thinking it was the first time he 
 had been out alone since he left home. 
 
 The suggestion of home recalled Berwick and he 
 found himself wondering if good feeling would ever be 
 restored between them. The lapse of months had 
 softened him wonderfully toward Berwick and he long- 
 ed to break down the wall of separation which seemed 
 to be strengthening instead of weakening as the days 
 came and went. Knowing, however, that no effort of 
 his could accomplish the desired end, he felt that he 
 
Berwick's Mistake. 149 
 
 could do no more than hope and pray and wait for a 
 more favorable turn in the tide. 
 
 So absorbed was he in his reflections that he did not 
 notice a man advance from an open door- way just after 
 he had passed, look at him fixedly a few minutes and 
 then follow him, keeping about a square's distance in 
 the rear. 
 
 Harry walked on unconscious of the man following, 
 and turned finally into the street where the shop he 
 sought was to be found. Entering it, he made known 
 his wants to a clerk and was shown some veiy handsome 
 jewels. Harry bent over them admiringly, for even a 
 boy is caught by the lustre of beautiful and costly gems, 
 but he told the clerk of the modest sum he wished to 
 pay for a brooch and the clerk leaving the gems still 
 before him went to another case to procure what he 
 desired. 
 
 Left alone, Harry found himself nudged familiarly on 
 the shoulder by somebody's elbow. Raising his eyes 
 he saw at his side Jock Dean all in his best array. In- 
 voluntarily the boy shrank back; for some reason he 
 felt that this man with whom he had had one singular 
 experience and of whose very name he was ignorant, 
 meant him no good. 
 
 *'Buyin' your sweetheart some trinkets, eh?" queried 
 Jock. 
 
 Harry felt like disdaining all reply, but swallowing 
 his chagrin he answered civilly, **No, I am not yet 
 blessed with such good fortune as a sweetheart." 
 
150 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 The return of the clerk and Harry's attention to 
 business shut off conversation for the time, but Jock 
 still lingered near and annoyed the boy very much by 
 making several remarks indicating intimate acquaint- 
 anceship. As soon as the clerk saw Harry's com- 
 panion he had quickly pushed the box of jewels into 
 the case and closed it, an action which Harry could 
 not but feel to be a stranger's protest against such a 
 companion for a youth of respectable appearance. 
 
 The purchase was at last made, though Harry 
 occupied a very much longer time in closing the bar- 
 gain than he would naturally have taken, hoping 
 the officious vagrant would go his way. 
 
 Jock was evidently waiting for him for he left the 
 store with Harry and walked several squares with him, 
 talking most of the time of the foolish ideas current 
 regarding that pier. The whole conversation was un- 
 comfortable for Harry and he made a resolution never 
 to come into town again unaccompanied as long as he 
 remained at Edgerton Hall. Great was his relief when 
 Jock turned into a side street and said, "Well I 
 guess our roads part here. Good-day and good luck 
 to ye," even though Harry fancied there was a covert 
 sneer in the man's very style of leave-taking. He did 
 not feel safe until the big gates of Edgerton Hall 
 closed behind him, and then he gave utterance to a 
 hope that he might never again meet his man of the 
 pier. 
 
 The next morning the principal was waited upon by 
 
Berwick^ s Mistake. 151 
 
 an elderly man carefully- dressed, whom the pupils 
 surmised to be either a present or future patron of the 
 school. In reality he proved to be a detective who 
 informed the astonished Doctor that suspicion pointed 
 strongly to one of his boys as the possessor of a 
 valuable turquoise, stolen the evening previous from 
 McLumley's jewelry establishment. It was useless 
 for the good Doctor to storm or to plead the honor 
 and innocence of one and all of his pupils; the stern 
 accuser was Inflexible and Harry Andrews, the sus- 
 pected boy, had to be called. 
 
 It was some time before Harry could realize the 
 situation and then he of course indignantly and with 
 all the force of a virtuous soul refuted the charge. 
 However, he had to submit to an ignominious search- 
 ing of his pockets. 
 
 When the detective found not the lost gem on 
 Harry's person, Dr. Edgerton began most graciously 
 to dismiss his guest. 
 
 ''Not so fast, my dear sir, all this young man's 
 belongings must be searched. Are these the clothes, 
 young gentleman, that you wore Into town yesterday?' ' 
 
 *'I wore my other coat." "You will please take me 
 to that coat, ' ' said the detective pompously. 
 
 The three went together to Harry's room and the 
 latter pointed to his coat hanging on its peg and felt 
 himself growing angry as the Intruder rumaged 
 mercilessly through all the pockets. From the outside 
 left-hand pocket was produced the missing jewel! 
 
152 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 REPARATION. 
 
 HARRY was struck dumb by the sight of the 
 jewel; he felt there must be sleight-of-hand 
 about it or he was the victim of a practical joke. 
 View the matter as he would, the fact remained that he 
 was being accused by an officer of the law of a horrible 
 sin. He, an innocent one, was held fast in the toils 
 of some malicious power and the reiterated assertions 
 of his innocence were but proofs of guilt in the eyes of 
 the detective. Overwhelmed by his misfortune he 
 could only say "I never took it, sir, and I don't know 
 how it came into my pocket. I am sure there will be 
 some explanation." 
 
 The whole school rose indignant at this charge 
 against their beloved play-mate, though some were 
 staggered by the finding of the turquoise. 
 
 Berwick was shocked beyond measure. Whatever 
 else he might believe about Harry he knew the sin of 
 thieving did not lie at his door, and he almost felt 
 himself called upon to rise and vindicate his former 
 
Berwick's Mistake. 153 
 
 friend. In the midst of all Seepie found Berwick alone 
 and as was her custom she ''pitched into him." 
 
 "Somehow," she said, "I feel like your enmity has 
 been the cause of this trouble. ' ' 
 
 "That is very unreasonable, Seepie, for while I can't 
 understand Harry's implication in this affair, I am 
 sure I've had nothing to do with it." 
 
 "Well, one thing is certain," concluded Seepie, 
 "you are going to find your judgment against the 
 poor boy as false as these present charges. Mark my 
 words!" 
 
 As Seepie left him his mail was handed in, two 
 letters, one from Lucia and the other addressed in a 
 strange hand. Curiosity prompted the opening of the 
 latter first and what was his amazement and con- 
 sternation to read the following, written in a stiff 
 scrawling hand. 
 
 "I hope it ill give ye plesshur to no I hav bin the 
 feller to do yer enemy the bad turn hes met with. I 
 herd ye say ye hated him and I had to do sumthin fur 
 ye to show my thanx. I hav lef america agin an ye 
 wont see me enny more but I ill remember to my di in 
 da the feller as saved my life — yers sur rispecfly Jock 
 Dean. 
 
 If Berwick had been a condemned criminal his face 
 could not have been more despairing in its expression. 
 Forgetting Lucia's letter he paced up and down the 
 room recalling all the recent events. He remembered 
 
154 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 the apparition of Jock the day he and CharHe had the 
 now memorable conversation. Of course then was the 
 time Jock heard his expression of hatred towards 
 Harry. He knew now why the fellow had dogged his 
 footsteps with constant proffers of service. After all, 
 Seepie was right; he had been the cause of all this 
 trouble. 
 
 A torrent of different emotions almost overcame 
 him. Harry in trouble, and such dire trouble, was to 
 him the Harry of other days; in lifting from him this 
 public accusation he felt he must also bury all private 
 animosity; in his deep humiliation he was willing to 
 acknowledge himself all wrong and make full restitu- 
 tion toward his friend. 
 
 Then came the question, what could be done for 
 Harry ? The note unsupported by other testimony was 
 of no value, the one witness who could establish the 
 poor boy's innocence had fled no one knew whither, 
 and would probably never be heard from again. Ber- 
 wick began to feel that his story might look like a 
 very sensational and improbable one. None of his 
 evidence, correct as it was, would have one feather's 
 weight with judge or jury, and all things considered, it 
 looked dark for Harry. 
 
 He must unburden his mind to some one so he 
 sought Seepie, thinking it was but fair that she should 
 know. He had great faith in her clear-headedness, 
 and a vague hope came that she might discover a path 
 
Berwick! s Mistake. 155 
 
 out of the darkness. Having found her he asked if 
 she couldn't take him to some place where they would 
 be secure from eavesdroppers and interruptions as he 
 had matters of moment to communicate. Seeing the 
 intense earnestness of the youth and the grief expressed 
 in his countenance, Seepie made one heroic effort and 
 rising equal to the occasion, she handed him a key 
 saying, " Go to my room and wait for me, I will join 
 you presently." 
 
 In an odd angle of the spacious middle mansion 
 Berwick came to Seepie' s room, the mysterious 
 chamber of the house, and letting himself in removed 
 the key to the inside. He fully appreciated the excep- 
 tional honor conferred upon him, and at any other time 
 would have taken a keen interest in the room and its 
 belongings. While the apartment had its peculiar 
 individuality, it was simplicity itself in its appoint- 
 ments. 
 
 Opposite the door nodded a trunk of uncertain age, 
 like its possessor; above it on a wide shelf stood one 
 bereaved-looking book which might have been mis- 
 taken for one of the sleeping fathers, for to all appear- 
 ances its majestic repose was never molested. This 
 book Seepie was wont to refer to below stairs as her 
 library. Closer scrutiny proved the volume to be 
 Webster's Unabridged and I have always thought it 
 a great pity its author could never know of this one 
 instance of its elevation to the exclusion of all other 
 
156 Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 literature. The curtains of the couch, for Seepie was 
 too old-fashioned to sleep unshielded by curtains, were 
 so heavy that the great marvel was she ever breathed 
 through them. Such draperies contained in them- 
 selves ideas of everlasting repose, and small wonder 
 the occupant of the bed carried about with her sug- 
 gestions of slumbers indulged in so freely there. 
 
 To the right of the door was displayed a huge chest 
 of drawers whose antique carvings would have caused 
 the heart of an antiquary to swell with envy; such an 
 one would then and there have told her to name her 
 own price and close the bargain. I can well imagine 
 her under such circumstances flashing indignant fire 
 from animated eyes; for Seepie' s belongings were just 
 as essential parts of her existence as was the oxygen she 
 breathed, and no money could have bought even a 
 faded picture from the walls. The things mentioned 
 were the oddities of the room, the other furniture was 
 ordinary and commonplace. 
 
 Berwick had not long to wait, and as soon as Seepie 
 came he showed her the letter and told her all. 
 While the kind-hearted woman sympathized with the 
 boy's grief she was rather severe with him, for she 
 wanted him to realize the danger of yielding to evil 
 influences. She talked very plainly and showed him 
 how he had allowed Harry to fall from his esteem only 
 because of gossiping tales and hasty judgements; that 
 his obstinacy and ignoble pride had widened the 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 157 
 
 breach and made a broad entrance- way, not only for 
 his own sin of false accusation of and hatred towards 
 his friend, but also for the sin of an abandoned soul 
 whose repentance and conversion could not be com- 
 passed as easily as his own. Berwick recognized in an- 
 guish of soul all the terrible consequences of his de- 
 parture from right, and he evinced a genuine desire to 
 make all the reparation in his power. * ' What can I 
 do ? " was his cry. ' * How can I save Harry ? ' ' 
 
 Seepie was just the adviser the boy needed. ' ' First ' ' 
 she said softly, * * you must ask God to forgive you and 
 help you in your efforts to do right; with His aid 
 you will be ready for action. Then go and secure a 
 lawyer and the detective who came after Harry, and 
 find the guilty man and make him write out the 
 affidavit of his guilt in the presence of you three. ' ' 
 
 " More easily said than done," answered the boy, 
 "don't you see the man has left the country?" 
 extending the note. 
 
 *'Pooh!" exclaimed Seepie disdainfully, "that's a 
 hoax. He thought you were as depraved as himself 
 or he wouldn' t have sent that note right away; take 
 my word for it, he is in hiding somewhere in this very 
 town and means to let you know it when it suits his 
 convenience. ' ' 
 
 "You really believe this ? " asked Berwick excitedly. 
 
 "I do, indeed," was the assuring reply. 
 
 "Then I'll go at once." 
 
158 Berwick' s Mistake. 
 
 "Remember the first thing to be done," cautioned 
 his good friend as he was leaving the room, "and 
 afterwards I may trust you to reconcile yourself to 
 Harry." 
 
 "You may," said Berwick earnestly, "and I shall 
 always feel very grateful to you, Seeple." 
 
 Bail had been given for Harry and he stayed in his 
 room the greater part of his time. He had forborne 
 to write home hoping for some brightening of the dark 
 mysterious clouds around him. 
 
 Dr. Edgerton's permission was easily obtained for 
 a leave of absence for Berwick and although not put 
 in possession of all the facts, enough was told to make 
 him understand that It was a measure looking towards 
 Harry's vindication. Before leaving, Berwick requested 
 him to inform Harry that a clue had been obtained to 
 the perpetrator of this calumny, but he added, ' 'Will 
 you please withhold my name for the present ?" 
 
 "Certainly, my boy. If you desire It. Do I rightly 
 surmise that you would yourself like to be the bearer 
 of good news to your companion ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "God bless you, Berwick," fervently responded the 
 Doctor, and with a gladdened heart the boy sped upon 
 his errand. As he was leaving the grounds Charlie 
 Phipps called to him to wait just a moment. 
 
 "Foster," he said, "I don't know where you are 
 going nor do I want to quiz you, only I feel Intutitively 
 
Berwick' s Mistake. 159 
 
 that you are working for Harry. There is one thing 
 I want you to know, it may be important. I had a 
 talk with Harry this morning and he recalls for the 
 first time since this stunning blow fell that your 
 pensioner, Jock Dean, came into the jewelry store and 
 stayed until he left and afterwards walked several 
 squares with him. He seems to attribute this calamity 
 to that man's agency and now that I remember his 
 strange conduct towards Harry down at St. Mary's 
 the other day, I am inclined to accept the same view 
 of the case., 
 
 "What did the villain do at St. Mary's?" questioned 
 Berwick. "I did not hear of it." 
 
 Charlie related Jock's challenge and his own inter- 
 vention on Harry's behalf. When he finished 
 Berwick said, **Yes, Phipps, that man has been 
 the cause of all this and I am going now to see if he 
 can be apprehended. But don't tell Andrews 'till I 
 come back. ' ' 
 
 ''I understand," cheerily responded Phipps. * 'Good- 
 bye and success to your mission. ' ' 
 
 Berwick first found the detective and stated the case 
 fully. Reluctant as the man was to have his customary 
 shrewdness put to the blush, yet he was impressed by 
 the straightforwardness of Berwick's story and after 
 the first hesitation, entered with interest into plans for 
 Jock's capture. 
 
 Disguising himself as a vagabond he followed 
 
i6o Berwick's Mistake. 
 
 Berwick's lead to the ''house by the river, third from 
 the hotel," specified by Jock as his rendezvous. Alas! 
 Seepie was wrong for once; the woman in charge of 
 the domicile declared most solemnly that the man 
 sought had gone by the river, she did not mention 
 direction, the day before. A search, thorough and 
 prolonged, revealed nothing, and they were obliged 
 to accept the fact that Jock was a fugitive. Berwick 
 almost gave way under the force of this revelation, 
 but the detective reassured him. 
 
 ' 'You will have to wait a day or two, young man. 
 Leave the matter to me. He has but a start of 
 twenty-four hours and that is a small difficulty for our 
 profession to surmount. Go home and be ready to 
 come at any minute I send for you. I must go to 
 work, the minutes are precious. Good-bye." 
 
 Berwick's dejected air revealed his failure to those 
 awaiting his coming before his lips had spoken and it 
 took all of Charlie's hopeful words and Seepie' s en- 
 couraging views to brace him up. He kept aloof 
 from Harry, for he felt that only the success of this 
 plan for Harry's exoneration could pave the way for 
 their meeting. 
 
 Harry, in the meantime, was obliged to apprise his 
 father of the distressing affair, and he was greatly 
 comforted by letters containing repeated assurances of 
 his father's confidence and faith in his integrity. Mr. 
 Andrews also said that his mother and sisters should 
 know nothing of the afiair for a while. 
 
Berwick's Mistake. i6i 
 
 After two days of agonizing suspense, Berwick 
 received a welcome message from the detective. It 
 contained instructions to repair to the wharf hotel and 
 await orders. Very quickly the boy went and he had 
 only a few impatient minutes to himself when a 
 stranger came forward and said, **If your name is 
 Berwick Foster, you may follow me." 
 
 Reposing perfect confidence in his guide, Berwick 
 followed him to the water's edge and entered with 
 him a small row boat, obeying at once a signal 
 to use one of the oars. Evening had come to 
 throw its shadow over iair day, but ere night drew 
 surrounding objects to its oblivion, Berwick found 
 himself landing on the shore of St. Mary's Island. 
 His look of surprise was lost in the gathering dark- 
 ness but it must have been devined by his com- 
 panion, who after securing the boat said, "Be 
 prepared for surprises, but don't betray yourself. 
 Only obey orders." 
 
 From a clump of trees near a man advanced whom 
 Berwick recognized at once as his friend, the detective. 
 
 "Don't lose the sound of my steps," he said, "but 
 follow at a distance." 
 
 Soon they came in sight of a light and Berwick 
 and his companion halted because the leading footsteps 
 ceased. The first detective, for the two men were of 
 the same profession, now returned and bade Berwick 
 go forward alone, take a survey of the house just 
 
i62 Berwick^ s Mistake, 
 
 ahead and of its inmates through the Hghted window, 
 and then come back and report. 
 
 Berwick advanced as guardedly as if that brief ex- 
 perience with detectives had endowed him with all 
 their caution, and looking through the partially 
 obstructed window he saw within four men around the 
 table playing cards. A second glance discovered Jock 
 to be one of the party and the thought came that 
 Seepie was not so far wrong after all. 
 
 The house was a mere hovel, with one room and an 
 attic, situated in a most isolated and unfrequented 
 part of the island. Here Jock had hidden himself for 
 the time, meaning to return to Conington if no sus- 
 picion was cast upon him, or if he found himself 
 sought he could easily go further. 
 
 Berwick returned and related what he had seen. 
 Wood, the managing detective, said, ' ' We will have 
 to retire into this grove until the three men leave, for 
 Jock is lodging here temporarily alone. The hut be- 
 longs to one of the men yonder, but he is always oft 
 and away by midnight — absent half the night at some 
 ugly work." 
 
 Having selected their post of waiting and observa- 
 tion, Wood said to Berwick, * ' Perhaps you would 
 like to know how I traced him." 
 
 * ' I would, indeed. ' ' 
 
 * ' I thought, ' ' continued the informant, ' ' that the 
 woman we interviewed could put us on his track if 
 
Berwick^ s Mistake. 163 
 
 she would, and after offering her a sufficiently large 
 bribe she told me he had gone down the river. Not 
 another scrap would she tell and it may have been she 
 knew no more. Knowing St. Mary's to be a favorite 
 hiding place, I spent all my time here. This morning 
 I saw a man answering the description you gave me 
 coming in very early with a boat load of fish, and I 
 watched him as he carried his haul to this hut. Of 
 course he didn't see me. I at once despatched for my 
 reserve force, four of whom are now within calling 
 distance and the fifth is with us. If trouble with all 
 the men arises, we will not be overpowered. Our men 
 sent the message to you, one of them met you at the 
 wharf, and you know the rest." 
 
 ' ' How did you find out who Jock was lodging with"? 
 
 "All the information I wanted I got from an island 
 fisherman who is in our pay. " 
 
 Silence was now enjoined and Berwick found the 
 time of waiting very long. At last the signal to move 
 was given and the three proceeded to the cabin. 
 Though Berwick's untrained ears had not heard the 
 departure of the men, yet Jock was seated at the table 
 alone, dejectedly fingering some small coins. 
 
 As had been prearranged, Berwick pushed open the 
 poorly-fastened door with a slight eftbrt and entered 
 alone. The sudden appearance of a ghost would have 
 caused poor Jock less of a shock than the very human 
 figure of Berwick Foster at that time and place. He 
 
164 Berwick' s Mistake, 
 
 was immediately convinced, though he could not have 
 expressed it, that he had misinterpreted his ** one 
 friend," and would now feel the displeasure of him 
 trom whom he least expected censure. Hanging his 
 head under Berwick's cool survey he said in a low 
 tone, '*I done it fur you, an' talkin' 'bout thanks, 
 ye aint got none. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I am not here to argue. If you meant to do me 
 a service you have utterly failed, and now I have come 
 for you to go back to Conington and prove Harry 
 Andrew's innocence." Then softening as he saw the 
 utter dejection of the man, and remembering his own 
 share in the guilt, Berwick continued, ' ' Nothing will 
 be done to you. I will get you off from punishment, 
 because you didn' t really steal the turquoise, you know. 
 You meant all the time it should be found. Come 
 Jock." 
 
 ''I'm not goin with ye." 
 
 **0h! yes, you are my man," chimed in Wood, 
 * * we have been interested listeners and now you must 
 come with us. ' ' 
 
 Jock saw there was no alternative, so he doggedly 
 consented to go. As his testimony was important and 
 they feared he might attempt to escape, the detectives 
 manacled him and led him away between them. The 
 boat was unfastened and he ordered in, when being one 
 moment free, he cleared bank and boat with a bound 
 and fell with a splash into the dark river. 
 
Berwick's Mistake, 165 
 
 **Oh! he has escaped," exclaimed Berwick. 
 
 *' Escape is impossible, manacled as he is," replied 
 Wood. ''The wretch has commited suicide. You 
 will now have to rely upon our testimony, young man, 
 which will be all that is necessary to clear your friend." 
 
 * ' But can nothing be done to save poor Jock? ' ' 
 
 ' * No, the night is too black. We may as well return 
 to Conington. ' ' 
 
 Berwick was now the one to be pitied. He felt that 
 this final tragedy, the loss of a human life, and such a 
 life, was but one of the faults of his sin. While he 
 was guiltless of any immediate participation in Jock's 
 evil plans, he could not shake off a certain measure of 
 responsibility for those dreadful events. A thoroughly 
 repentant boy was he, ready to devote his life's remain- 
 der to atonement for his one grievious mistake. 
 
 He was the first to carry the good news of acquittal 
 to Harry, and a speedy reconciliation followed. 
 
 The detectives were generously recompensed by Mr. 
 Andrews and by Berwick, who insisted upon bearing 
 part of the expense. Jock's body was washed ashore 
 below St. Mary's and Berwick saw him decently 
 buried. 
 
 It has been said that friendship is like china; when 
 once broken, however carefully mended afterwards, it 
 will always bear the mark of the cement. If this be 
 true, then the friendship existing between Berwick and 
 Harry was a grand exception. Ever afterwards they 
 
1 66 Berwick' s Mistake, 
 
 were more devoted, more lenient towards each other's 
 faults, more considerate of each other's feelings, and 
 as a result they were more valuable as members of the 
 youthful society at Edgerton Hall. 
 
AGNES. 
 
Agnes. 169 
 
 AGNES. 
 
 THE select Female Seminary of Reifton had just 
 suspended work for the day, and was courteously 
 dismissing the day pupils, sending them home by lane 
 and highway. Each seemed to have her own par- 
 ticular reason for being in a hurry; even the drones of 
 the day appeared transformed by a breath of outer air 
 into active-going and business-loving scholars. As a 
 singular contrast to the homeward bound were four 
 girls who sauntered slowly down the broad walk, and 
 having reached the entrance gate, lingered there while 
 the others passed out. The mystery was explained 
 later when almost all the scholars were out of sight. 
 
 The conversation before had been languishing and 
 desultory, but now it assumed a most vivacious and 
 interesting tone; it was plain that some pet plan was 
 under discussion and maturing. For fully a half hour 
 the four talked volubly on, though the winter afternoon 
 was bleak and stray flakes of snow gave warning of 
 more to follow. The falling crystals, however, only 
 added intensity to their satisfaction and in high glee 
 they separated to seek their several homes. If we 
 follow Agnes Laramie, one of the quartette, to her 
 home, we will learn the all-important secret. 
 
170 Agnes, 
 
 Rushing into her mother's room with true school- 
 girl impetuosity, she exclaimed breathlessly, ''Oh! 
 mother, we are going evergreening Friday; that is, if 
 you will let me. ' ' She seemed to take it for granted that 
 her mother's permission was all that was necessary. 
 Mrs. Laramie was a bright, clever little woman whom 
 her two big boys were wont to call ' ' great mamma, ' ' 
 as a teasing contrast to her slight, girlish figure, and a 
 compliment to her superior mental, social and domestic 
 qualities. She had wisely won and discreetly main- 
 tained control over her children, and while entering 
 into every innocent pleasure and enhancing it tenfold, 
 she was slow to express either commendation or dis- 
 approval until she had reviewed the situation thor- 
 oughly. It was well she was such a capable woman 
 for the whole family management of late years had 
 devolved of necessity upon her. Mr. Laramie was a 
 civil engineer and absent the greater part of the time. 
 When our story begins he had been in a distant state 
 six months and the time of his return was indefinite. 
 
 Mrs. Laramie replied brightly and laughingly to 
 Agnes' implied request. 
 
 '' Of course, my love, I can't say yea or nay until I 
 know more of your plan. Who are the indefinite 'we'? 
 To what class of human endeavor does 'evergreening' 
 belong ? Is it a word of Reifton Seminary coinage ' ' ? 
 
 ' ' Now mother, you are laughing at me ' ' said Ag- 
 nes deprecatingly, though amused in spite of her 
 
Agnes. 171 
 
 earnestness. ' ' Let me tell you about it. You know 
 Mary Fitch, Ethel Mason, Anna Cunningham and I 
 want to get up a Christmas celebration for our mission 
 sewing-school, and you have promised us the use of 
 our parlors. The particulars of the celebration itself 
 we are going to keep a secret and surprise you all as 
 well as the children. Only we four girls with Herbert's 
 help are going to carry out the programme. Perhaps 
 we may get Allie Fitch and Burt and Con Mason to 
 help us too, but we haven't fully decided. To-day 
 Mr. Ruling said our holiday would begin Friday 
 instead of Saturday, because Miss Bertha has to leave 
 Friday morning and Miss Annie is sick. 
 
 * ' Mr. Ruling says it would be a lame day without 
 either of them, so we had better add it to our holidays 
 than maintain the farce of a school-day which belies 
 its name. ' ' Here Agnes stopped to remember at what 
 point she had digressed and Mrs. Laramie said, ' 'Well, 
 I now understand who are going * evergreening ' but 
 you have yet to explain the precise meaning of the 
 term." 
 
 '' I am just coming to that, mother; we girls want to 
 get laurel and cedar to decorate the walls and stage." 
 
 * ' Do I hear aright ? A stage ? Shall we entertain 
 the little waifs with charades or private theatricals ? ' ' 
 
 * ' Neither, Mamma, ' ' and Agnes laughed responsive 
 to the merriment in her mother's eyes, *' but we mean 
 to have some pretty effects. The boys will take us 
 
172 Agnes. 
 
 Friday to Glenn's Gap where we can get a cart-load of 
 evergreens and a pretty tree." 
 
 *' Glenn's Gap is at least fifteen miles away and these 
 are short winter days, my dear." 
 
 **I know, mother, but Mary's aunt Mary wants us 
 all to spend the night with her near the Gap and come 
 home next day." 
 
 ''Why not let the boys get evergreens nearer 
 home ? " 
 
 ** Because we wanted the fun of the trip. Oh! 
 mother, don't say I can't go." 
 
 ''You know, my daughter, that I never deny you 
 any reasonable request without a weighty cause. 
 There is a reason which compels me to deny you this 
 present pleasure, and I am sorry my child has set her 
 heart on the trip. Don't ask me why, dear, but try to 
 bear the disappointment bravely." 
 
 Agnes felt that a girl of sixteen must not cry over a 
 disappointment, so she choked back the fullness in her 
 throat and walked to the window. For awhile the 
 swiftly descending flakes seemed to mock her and in- 
 vite to impossible joys, but in a short while the buoy- 
 ancy of youth, combined with perfect confidence in her 
 mother's judgement, triumphed over the dispairing 
 out-look, and by the time night came the tea-bell 
 interrupted a merry romp with her eighteen year 
 old brother, Herbert. When Agnes carried her dis- 
 appointment to school the next day, her three friends 
 
Ag-nes. 173 
 
 decided unanimously to share her exile from paradise, 
 and leave the evergreen gathering, as Mrs. Laramie 
 had suggested, to the accommodating boys. 
 
 Friday afternoon Mrs. Paulding, the Laramie's next 
 door neighbor, came over to ask Agnes to spend the 
 night with her. Her husband had been called away 
 suddenly and having no one else in the house, she felt 
 nervous and lonely. Agnes readily consented as Mrs. 
 Paulding was one of her special favorites and she 
 considered herself fortunate in being selected as com- 
 panion. She went over soon after tea and spent a very 
 pleasant evening. She and Mrs. Paulding occupied 
 the same room and Agnes' bed was near a window 
 which overlooked not only the neighbor's back prem- 
 ises, but her father's also. 
 
 Sometime during the night Agnes found herself 
 sitting up in bed and leaning forward, her gaze riveted 
 on a blaze not far distant. Regaining consciousness 
 she realized that some explanation must attach to that 
 fire. Unable alone to locate the flame, she roused 
 Mrs. Paulding and asked what she thought it meant. 
 They both decided that it was on an island just across 
 a small stream which skirted the rear property on that 
 side of the street. They argued that as there were no 
 houses on that part of the island, the fire was built by 
 butchers, who were perhaps killing hogs. But this 
 theory was shaken by the fact that the fire seemed in 
 undisputed possession of the ground, no figures could 
 
174 Agnes. 
 
 be seen moving around, and even while they talked the 
 flames seemed to have increased in volume. Consult- 
 ing the watch they found it was but two o'clock, too 
 early for a butcher's fire. 
 
 They finally decided to hurry to Mrs. Laramie's and 
 rouse the household, as there might be mischief brew- 
 ing. Dressing quickly, they sallied bravely into the 
 deserted street, and soon had the family awakened. 
 Herbert found on investigation, that a board fence 
 enclosing his father's rear premises had burnt, and he 
 arrived in time to extinguish the flame, just as it was 
 in the act of leaping on a shed, which covered a mass 
 of hay and other combustibles. By so doing he was 
 enabled to prevent great damage to the Laramies and 
 perhaps to others. 
 
 Every effort to discover the origin of the fire proved 
 unavailing; no one could ever tell whether it was the 
 work of an accidental spark or of an incendiary. 
 
 The next morning Agnes was the heroine of the 
 hour. The topic was fully discussed at the breakfast 
 table, and Agnes was quizzed as to the mode of dis- 
 covery. She could say nothing except that she awoke 
 and found herself peering through the window at the 
 flame, and wondering for a minute where she was and 
 what it all meant. After breakfast Mrs. Laramie said 
 to her, ' ' I think you may be glad now that I said ' No' 
 to your pleasure excursion. Suppose you and Her- 
 bert had both been absent last night. Even had the 
 
Agnes. 175 
 
 fire been discovered by some one else, you would not 
 now have the satisfaction of knowing that you saved 
 our property, and perhaps our lives." 
 
 ''Oh! mother you were right; you always are and 
 I shall never again murmur at any decree you may 
 make. But, mother, what caused me to see the fire ? ' ' 
 
 *' Certainly 'twas the guiding of the Father's hand, 
 and I trust you will fully realize that truth, my daugh- 
 ter, ' ' seriously responded her mother. Then changing 
 her tone, she said, with gleaming eyes, ''but come, 
 let us see who the 'bus is bringing us from the train, 
 and you will understand why I didn't want you to be 
 absent from home this morning." 
 
 "Surely not Papa!" exclaimed the excited girl. 
 "Oh! mother, how good you are," and Mrs. Laramie 
 felt repaid for the trouble it had given to thwart Agnes 
 without an apparent reason. 
 
 Mr. Laramie it really was, and Agnes said she 
 wouldn't have given the first kiss for a dozen 
 " evergreenings." 
 
 The father's return sent a thrill of joy through the 
 household, and when Charlie, the oldest son, returned 
 from college by the evening train to spend his holi- 
 days, the family circle felt that its happiness was com- 
 plete. Agnes' little sister, Mamie, five years old, and 
 the two other juveniles of the family, Maury and 
 Fred, testified their joy by all sorts of mischievious 
 pranks, until everybody declared such holidays had 
 never been known before. 
 
176 Agnes. 
 
 Previous to all this influx of pleasure, Agnes thought 
 she had worked with a will, but now new zest was 
 added to work, ideas came like inspiration and the 
 coming Christmas celebration received such brilliant 
 touches here and there that it bid fair to excel any- 
 thing of the kind ever conceived of. 
 
 At last the all-eventful Christmas Eve arrived. Three 
 o'clock was the hour appointed, so the children would 
 have ample time after the celebration to get to their 
 homes before dark, and also in order to give the 
 household time to put the parlors in order before night. 
 The children, many of whom came early and all of 
 whom were there by half-past two, were taken into the 
 back parlor where they were to wait until three. The 
 school numbered thirty, but there were no less 
 than fifty children present. Presisely at the hour ap- 
 pointed the folding doors opened and the expectant 
 little ones were marched to seats arranged for them, 
 whence they could feast their eyes on a sight they had 
 never before seen, and which their most beautiful 
 dreams had never realized. 
 
 The gas was burning brightly in the day-darkened 
 room and revealed plainly every adornment. The 
 pictures and walls where wreathed with evergreens 
 and embelished with illuminated texts. Above the 
 curtains, which concealed the stage, was a motto of 
 welcome in laurel and holly and the curtain itself was 
 ornamented. An organ led the childrens' carols, 
 after which there was a prayer, and then for a few 
 
Agnes, 177 
 
 minutes the clergyman tried to make the children 
 understand the one great meaning of the gathering. 
 The story of Christmastide was simply and briefly 
 told and relieved by questions to which shyness only 
 prevented better answers. He tried to Impress upon 
 those little neglected and In some cases unlovely little 
 ones, that It was human love and kindness born of the 
 Divine, which would make them so happy that after- 
 noon, and he urged them not only to imitate the good 
 example of their teachers, who were doing so much 
 for them, but to try to learn more of Him and be more 
 like Him who had done for them more than the whole 
 world could do, even If It tried. He then handed 
 them over to the young ladles, who would not tire 
 them, he said. 
 
 The curtain was now drawn aside by Herbert for 
 about two-thirds of the way, revealing a prettily dec- 
 orated stage. The curtain and a screen concealed 
 one end of the stage, and the children found them- 
 selves wondering whether there could be anything 
 priettier behind there. Charlie Laramie appeared 
 dressed as a herald and made the following speach: 
 
 ''Children, I have come to tell you that the four 
 seasons. Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, have 
 come here this evening to give you presents and to 
 make you happy. I hope you will be grateful for 
 their kindness and enjoy the gifts they bring." He 
 then blew a horn and announced ''Spring." 
 
 M 
 
178 Agnes, 
 
 Anna Cunningham, appropriately dressed, now 
 came upon the stage bearing a large wire frame in 
 which were thirty small bouquets. She held them in 
 front of her and recited the following: 
 
 I come, the Genius of the Spring, 
 
 On tired foot and weary wing; 
 
 In sunny climes I left my crest 
 
 To bring to you my season's best; 
 
 Intruding thus on Winter's sway, 
 
 To meet you, children, here to-day. 
 
 I've brought with me the prettiest flowers, 
 
 I've found among my vernal bowers, 
 
 I give them with this Christmas cheer 
 
 And say good-bye until next year. 
 
 Spring then took her stand at the end of the stage 
 farthest from the curtain, resting her flowery frame on 
 the floor at her side. The herald then called * 'Sum- 
 mer, ' ' and blew a blast on his horn which made the 
 audience laugh. Mary Fitch, as Summer, advanced 
 empty handed, but she was followed by Maury and 
 Fred Laramie, fancifully dressed, who bore between 
 them a hamper filled with tin cans. This odd spectacle 
 certainly needed explanation and Summer quickly 
 gratified the evident curiosity of all assembled. 
 Stepping to the front she said: 
 
 My sister. Spring, has been here I see. 
 Sweet flowers she brought, but as for me, 
 I've come a long distance to give you a treat. 
 This bleak Winter-time will find hard to beat. 
 
Agnes, 179 
 
 I give you a can, which when opened you'll find, 
 Contains something nice, which will just suit your mind; 
 As you mingle it now with your Christmas cheer, 
 Perhaps you will wish that the Summer was here. 
 
 Mary retired towards the back of the stage, near 
 where Anna stood, and mounted guard over her 
 hamper of cans. 
 
 "Autumn" was next summoned by the herald. 
 Ethel Mason, in sober gray, beautifully adorned with 
 leaves of nature's own brilliant coloring, came in 
 response to the call. The small boys were again in 
 requisition and this time they bore a basket of rosy 
 apples, mingled with odd-looking little fat bags. Her 
 recitation was brief and to the point, like the 
 proceeding. 
 
 You know me, children, know me well; 
 I'm Autumn. In the lonely dell 
 Rare nuts you've found, and apples too, 
 While following me the pastures through. 
 'Tis only one short month agone, 
 I gave my place to Winter's throne, 
 But now from out my treasured store, 
 I've brought you nuts and apples more; 
 I trust they'll help make Christmas bright. 
 For I must bid you now good-night. 
 
 Autumn then stationed herself by her basket while 
 "Winter" was loudly summoned. When Agnes 
 appeared, clad in a semblance of snow and icicles, a 
 
1 80 Agnes. 
 
 round of applause greeted her. With burning cheeks 
 and air demure she gave her recitation as follows: 
 
 The seasons three have spent their art, 
 And given you of their wealth a part, 
 But on my bleak and barren hills, 
 Where lies the snow by ice-bound rills. 
 The death of flower and fruit is tragic, 
 I therefore have recourse to magic. 
 And while I jingle merry bells. 
 And holy Christmas music swells, 
 I've built for you a fairy tree, 
 Which you will now accept from me; 
 And as the gifts make young hearts glad 
 You'll think Old Winter's not so bad. 
 
 As Agnes finished the curtains were drawn aside and 
 the screen removed, displaying the tree in all its beauty. 
 A lovely sight it was too, as the few tapers were lighted 
 and the boys from the hall adjoining threw calcium 
 lights on the stage. The branches of the tree had been 
 dipped in a solution of alumn and the effect was like 
 frost-work. Then gold and silver moss depended from 
 the branches, while ornaments and pretty cornicopias 
 added to the loveliness. The mission children must 
 have felt that they were in enchanted land; it was really 
 a sight in itself to see the awed admiration and intense 
 wonder expressed in their faces. While the tapers 
 burnt, each child was called by name and received 
 from Spring, a small bouquet; from Summer, a can of 
 
Agnes. ' i8i 
 
 fruit or vegetables; from Autumn, a bag of nuts and 
 an apple; and from Winter, a cornicopia filled with 
 candy. After the list of thirty names was exhausted, 
 Autumn stepped forward and said she had more nuts 
 and apples which she would be glad to distribute to 
 children present who were not members of the school. 
 Of course she added * * you could not expect to be 
 remembered like the children who are regular attend- 
 ants of the school." 
 
 About twenty children were the recipients of her 
 bounty. A carol and the benediction closed the even- 
 ing and the children were dismissed. One of the 
 larger scholars lingered to speak to Agnes, who was 
 very much gratified to hear her say * ' Miss Agnes, the 
 girls have asked me to say we all thank you and the 
 other young ladies so much for being so kind to us." 
 
 At the tea-table everyone was jubilant over the 
 success of the afternoon. Mrs. Laramie asked who 
 originated the four-act drama and who composed the 
 orations. Agnes' conscious blushes betrayed the 
 authorship before Herbert had time to say, ' ' The 
 honor belongs to my gifted sister. ' ' 
 
 " It was truly my daughter," said Mr. Laramie, "an 
 admirably conceived and well executed thing of its 
 kind, and I think you deserve to be congratulated on 
 your success." 
 
 ''Thank you, papa, but I think your home-coming 
 and mother's occasional suggestions and encourage- 
 ment had much to do with the successful issue. ' ' 
 
1 82 • Agnes. 
 
 ' ' What I do not understand about it, ' ' said Mrs. 
 Laramie/* is where all the money came from, for this 
 evening's entertainment had its corresponding money 
 value. ' ' 
 
 "Mr. Clayburn," explained Agnes, ''gave us the 
 money in the treasury appropriated to the school and 
 there were some private contributions. We had 
 enough money to buy ornaments for the tree, calcium 
 lights and part of our presents. The deficiency we 
 four girls made up out of our own pockets and those 
 of our friends," with a significant glance at Herbert 
 and Charlie." 
 
 "Where did the flowers come from?" asked 
 Maury. "They were hardest to get," answered 
 Agnes, "but we sent to Philadelphia, and got our 
 small bouquets for less than five cents apiece. ' ' 
 
 * * Well, my children, ' ' said Mr. Laramie, "it is a 
 great pleasure to come home and find you all so 
 actively engaged in works of love for others. It is the 
 only true road to peace now and hereafter. ' ' 
 
 It is needless to add that the Laramies spent an 
 ideal Christmas, happy in their family relations and 
 in dispensing cheerfulness abroad. 
 
A BONA FIDE GHOST. 
 
A Bona Fide Ghost. 185 
 
 A BONA FIDE GHOST. 
 
 THERE was a real ghost in the Loring family. It 
 was not one of those traditional spectres of the 
 dim receding past which descend by inheritance from 
 a long line of ancestors, and whose shadowy outline no 
 human eye has ever seen. This ghost was a very 
 modern affair destined perhaps to become a future 
 inheritance but at present a real and almost tangible 
 fact. The manner and time of its discovery corre- 
 sponded precisely with all theories pertaining to ghostly 
 visitations. 
 
 The Loring family consisted of mother, father and 
 four children. Gus and Dave Loring were twins and 
 inseparable companions. Ella was twenty and unusu- 
 ally well-developed in mind and body, while Madge 
 was a precocious child of twelve. A new member had 
 been added to the family two years previous in the 
 person of a young lady cousin left an orphan by the 
 death of her father, and to whom Mr. Loring had 
 extended the shelter of his home. On the particular 
 evening in question Mr. and Mrs. Loring with the 
 cousin, Mary Lieberfelt, had gone to a concert, leaving 
 the young people alone. The evening was a delightful 
 
1 86 A Bona Fide Ghost 
 
 one in early October, and the bright moon -light flood- 
 ing the hall had such a charming influence that Ella 
 had begged to leave the gas unlighted there. 
 
 The four were seated in the cozy sitting-room with 
 the doors open, feeling gratified to have a comfortable 
 fire on one hand and moonlight effects on the other. 
 School-books were in front of each, but attention was 
 drawn from studious thoughts by the topic of con- 
 versation. Gus had introduced nutting expeditions as 
 the topic. 
 
 ** I tell you how we'll manage it, girls," suggested 
 Dave, as some difficulties presented themselves con- 
 cerning the sisters' participation in the sport,*' we'll 
 get father to hire a cart and old Ben will carry us four 
 to Simmons' grove where we can get all the nuts we 
 want. " " Wouldn' t a small spring- wagon be better, ' ' 
 amended Gus. * * You girls take up more room than 
 boys, and you could not ride home on the walnuts 
 without staining your skirts." 
 
 ' * I shall recommend you as thoughtful solver of 
 dilemmas to some Eastern monarch, Gus," said Ella 
 with mimic applause. 
 
 * ' My powers are limited. The talisman which 
 guides me becomes dumb beyond the threshold of my 
 father's house" replied Gus, falling into Ella's ro- 
 mantic vein. 
 
 "Well," said the more practical Dave, " I think we 
 are taking time most severely ' by the fore-lock.' We 
 
A Bona Fide Ghost. 187 
 
 may form a dozen plans yet before we really go 
 nutting." 
 
 ** We alone suffer in so doing. It doesn't hurt Old 
 Time, but our impatient fingers will doubtless grow 
 tired of holding on," and Gus turned again to the 
 book before him. '* While we are talking of nuts, I 
 have a message from Miss Lynn Chisholm for you 
 all," said Madge. 
 
 A laugh followed the mention of the name. Miss 
 Lynn was a mine of misapplied words, and she rarely 
 gave utterance to a sentence which did not contain 
 some great blunder. Her conversation was ludicrous 
 to these well informed and clever young people, but 
 they never betrayed in her presence the amusement 
 they felt. She was a neighbor and a sensitive but well- 
 meaning old maid, and the Lorings would not have 
 wounded her feelings for any self-gratification. Among 
 themselves, however, they enjoyed her quaint sayings 
 and laughed over her distortion of words. 
 
 "Well, bring out the negative-positive, absurdo- 
 serio message, for such I dare say it is," said Gus. 
 
 * * No, the message is intelligible this time, ' ' said 
 Madge, but the smile did not subside as she continued, 
 " she told me that we were all * indited to come into her 
 grove and recept as many chestnuts as we could purvey 
 home.' " 
 
 * ' What do you think she told me the other day ? ' ' 
 asked Ella. ' ' That her brother had been selected to 
 
1 88 A Bona Fide Ghost. 
 
 the Probationer's Congress, but she hoped he wouldn't 
 recept. He was down on whiskey, though, sometimes 
 she thought he was too strenious on it." 
 
 * * Did she mean, ' ' questioned Dave that he had been 
 nominated a Prohibition candidate ? ' ' 
 
 *'Yes," answered Gus, "I knew that." 
 
 " She said a very funny thing at Mrs. Blair's funeral 
 last week. Some man was very officious in Miss 
 Lynn's special department of service, and she said to 
 a friend, 'if that man didn't stop bein' so beneficious 
 she would make her exile.' " 
 
 **But it is kind of Miss Lynn to share her nuts 
 with us and pleasant to know we will not really be 
 indicted for gathering them. We must thank her 
 appropriately." 
 
 '' Miss Lynn is really one of the best hearted people 
 I know, in spite of her eccentricities," said Ella. ** I 
 have been making a pair of mittens and a comforter 
 for her to let her know that we appreciate her many 
 kind acts. Did you see how much I crocheted 
 to-day, Madge?" 
 
 "• No, I was out with Minnie Lisle all the afternoon." 
 
 ** I must show you," said Ella, " I have introduced 
 my new stitch." She hurried to a work-basket stand- 
 ing near the hall door and was about to take up her 
 work and return to the circle around the fire when a 
 moving object in the hall attracted her attention. 
 Raising her eyes she saw a tall figure apparently in 
 
A Bona Fide Ghost. 189 
 
 woman's dress glide through the moonlight in the hall 
 and out through the rear door. 
 
 Ella was a brave girl and silly superstition had no 
 hold upon her. Christian faith had driven afar from 
 her soul unreasonable fear. Therefore though she 
 thought the figure looked odd, yet she reflected it must 
 be the housekeeper or some of that dignitary's friends. 
 Dismissing the figure from her mind she showed her 
 work to Madge and after a critical examination of the 
 crocheting, and expression of much admiration by both 
 girls, Ella arose to replace her work. 
 
 As she faced the door, there in the moonlight stood 
 the same figure looking at her with burning eyes, and 
 even as she looked it moved away with gliding motion 
 and no sound of footsteps was heard. 
 
 As the apparition disappeared Ella glanced quickly 
 at her brothers and sister to see if they had noticed 
 anything amiss. They were deeply engrossed in their 
 books and had seen nothing. Still thinking the figure 
 must be some one wanting the housekeeper, she left 
 the sitting-room, passed through the dining-room 
 beyond and went out on a porch upon which the hall 
 door opened, fully expecting to find the visitor there. 
 Disappointed, she went straight into the hall and there 
 came upon a scene of excitement. Madge rushed 
 wildly against her, and into the sitting-room, exclaiming 
 '* Oh! Ella, did you see that woman ? " 
 
 ' ' What woman ? ' ' asked Ella innocently. 
 
190 A Bona Fide Ghost 
 
 ' ' Why there was a woman in the hall standing by 
 the door looking- at me. She had bright, fiery eyes 
 like uncle Tom's, and I thought he had a joke of some 
 kind on hand and I would be the first to find it out. 
 So I ran out into the hall and after the figure to the 
 front door, and when I could have put my hand on it, 
 it vanished. ' ' Madge had told all this very rapidly 
 and her excitement increased so visibly that Ella fore- 
 bore to make known her experience. 
 
 **Oh! Madge, you are excited and the woman was 
 farther away than you thought." 
 
 ''No," persisted the child, shivering with nervous 
 dread, *' I know it was a spirit. Why didn't I hear 
 footsteps ? The only sound was a scraping sound like 
 that made among dead leaves." 
 
 * ' Well, you see the crushing of leaves deadened the 
 sound of her steps," said Ella reassuringly, though she 
 began to feel a nervousness herself when she remem- 
 bered the absence of sound in her own experience with 
 the figure, but she bravely braced herself against fear 
 and strove to quiet her sister, who cried until her 
 parents and Mary came home. After Mrs. Loring had 
 taken Madge up stairs Ella related her part of the 
 story. The family felt somewhat alarmed because 
 they feared burglary more than a whole army of 
 spectres. The boys had already taken a superficial 
 hunt, but now a thorough search was instituted through 
 the house and premises. No lurking thief was dis- 
 
A Bona Fide Ghost. 191 
 
 covered, nothing unusual appeared and no clue to the 
 mystery was forthcoming. For several days every 
 member of the household was on the alert to discover 
 the disturber of the family peace, but nothing satisfact- 
 ory developed. 
 
 The elders of the family have always believed some 
 one wanted to frighten the young people and afterward 
 felt ashamed of the cowardly attempt and were afraid 
 to confess, but Madge remains unshaken in the belief 
 in her one real ghost. Ella tells the experience some- 
 times, with an intense longing to be able to give a 
 sequel. But the mystery for the Lorings remains, and 
 will remain, unless the following letter should one 
 day fall into their hands. 
 
 Dear Asheton: 
 
 I am minded to make of you a confidant to-night, 
 for I must unburden my full soul to some sympathetic 
 friend. You know of my passion for beautiful Mary 
 Lieberfelt, but you have yet to learn that in conse- 
 quence of my vile attachment to the dregs of wine, 
 old Loring has politely asked me to discontinue my 
 visits to the house. Feeling it best to respect such 
 authority I have been reduced to the extremity of view- 
 ing my queen through the open window. To night I 
 ventured too far, I had become almost wild for a sight 
 of her. (My last weeks' spree shut out all vision for the 
 time being.) Finding the blinds closed and no light 
 in the hall I ventured in, with my long cape dangling 
 about my heels as a disguise. You will perceive I was 
 
192 A Bona Fide Ghost. 
 
 just tight enough to be reckless. As bad luck would 
 have it, the eagle-eyed Ella spied me and I was fain to 
 move out the nearest way. That nearest way proved 
 the wrong way for me and I watched my opportunity 
 to slip out on the street. Opposite the door who 
 should confront me again but the Ella maiden and 
 again I was obliged to retreat. Instead of following 
 me, she executed a flank movement with intention to 
 attack the enemy's rear. Divining her plan I made 
 another eflbrt to escape, but lingered just a moment 
 to scan the room for a glimpse of Mary. ' ' To delib- 
 erate is to be lost." This time Madge, the youngest 
 of the Lorings, detected my guilty self, and less strate- 
 gic than her sister she plunged boldly into the fray. 
 I had just time enough to escape her clutches by 
 sliding off the side of the front porch. Perhaps they 
 are now terrified by thoughts of ghosts or burglar. I 
 expect they'll christen me ghost, because I had on my 
 noiseless slippers and the only sound I made was when 
 my cape swept the fallen leaves on the porch. The 
 autumn has reached the stage where the leaves have 
 lost their silken rustle and their harsh accent tells of 
 whisperings from the winds of adversity. The even- 
 ing's experience has completely sobered me and I tell 
 you what, I mean to mend my ways and swear oft 
 from drink for the sake of my mother and sweet Mary 
 Lieberfelt. Just see if I don t. 
 
 Yours in confidence, 
 
 H, H, 
 And he kept his pledge. 
 
THE PARADISE OF PINS. 
 
The Paradise of Pins. 195 
 
 THE PARADISE OF PINS. 
 
 AN hallow-e'en phantasy. 
 
 WHERE do all the lost pins go ? " The ques- 
 tion had dropped idly from my lips and in- 
 tended more to break in upon the motony of a reverie 
 into which I had drifted than for the purpose of ob- 
 taing information, yet found utterance because of the 
 fact that a pin which held my collar had treacherously 
 deserted its post and eluded all my efforts to find it. 
 
 Knowing that I was alone in the room, my surprise 
 can easily be imagined when I heard a tiny, screeching 
 voice ask, ** Would you really like to know ? " 
 
 While fumbling for my spectacles, two theories con- 
 cerning the voice flashed through my mind. I thought 
 either the children had a new toy and were trying to 
 play a trick on their near-sighted auntie, or a phono- 
 graph had been turned on in my vicinity. No sooner, 
 however, were my patient eyes brought to bear upon 
 the scene than I perceived an object stranger than the 
 voice had been. Lying on the arm of a chair near my 
 elbow was the tiniest mite of a living thing. So curi- 
 ous was it that my description will scarcely be believed. 
 
196 The Paradise of Pins, 
 
 The object was an ordinary toilet pin, which had be- 
 come exaggerated into a human resemblance. The 
 metallic head was the most exact copy of a human 
 head, arms grew from the pin's side and terminated in 
 miniature hands, whose fingers were so small as to be 
 scarcely visible; wings originated where the shoulders 
 were supposed to be. An airy little garment draped 
 the slender figure, but made no attempt to conceal the 
 lower part, which was merely the point of a pin. I 
 had heard of mermaids, half woman, half fish; I had 
 heard of centaurs, half man, half horse; but I realized 
 that mankind had yet to learn of the existence of a 
 creature part man and part pin. The queer little thing 
 evidently enjoyed my profound amazement, for the 
 silence was broken by a bell-like tinkling, which I in- 
 terpreted to mean a laugh at my expense. The sound 
 loosed my tongue. 
 
 ' ' In the name of all that is curious, tell me who and 
 what you are! " 
 
 ' ' If you mortals had sense enough to believe in fairy 
 tales, and would remember when Hallow E'en comes 
 round," replied the object, evasively, "you would not 
 be so surprised at the sight of me. ' ' 
 
 I then remembered that this was the last day of Oc- 
 tober, and I had promised the young people to assist 
 in some fortune- hunting game in the evening. 
 
 ' ' The sight of you is enough to make me believe 
 anything, ' ' I agreed. ' * I am a convert from this 
 
The Paradise of Pins. 197 
 
 moment. Now, will you please introduce yourself? " 
 
 *' I am one of the lost pins, and have been translated 
 from earth to the paradise of pins." 
 
 "Well," said I, ''you have changed wonderfully 
 since you went there. How came you to return ? ' ' 
 
 ''Twice a year, on the first of May and on Holy 
 Eve, the gates of our paradise are thrown open to all 
 pins who care to revisit the earth. I always avail my- 
 self of this privilege." 
 
 " Where is your paradise? " queried I, my curiosity 
 now fully aroused. 
 
 "That is our secret," answered my cautious pin; 
 "but if you will consent to let my wings blindfold you 
 and carry you there and back, I will gratify your curi- 
 osity, showing you our paradise. ' ' 
 
 I laughed long and heartily at the idea of my one- 
 hundred-and-forty pounds being overshadowed and 
 borne away by this diminutive creature, but when I 
 gave verbal expression to my doubts, my odd little 
 friend seemed all the more ambitious to display its 
 boasted powers. Willing to test its incredible ability, 
 I finally consented to make the journey. " Before we 
 leave," I questioned, "tell me why you have remained 
 on your back all this time." 
 
 " Because it is the only position in which I am vis- 
 ible to you. On the wing I fade from your sight, my 
 stiffness prevents my sitting down, and I am too point- 
 ed to stand with any comfort. We have a hundred 
 ways of resting in paradise, on earth only one." 
 
198 The Paradise of Pins. 
 
 "Very well," said I, anxious to see for myself this 
 new elysium, " I am impatient to be off." 
 
 The words had barely escaped from my mouth when 
 a mist closed round me, and I felt myself being carried 
 forward. Those sensations were followed in a few mo- 
 ments by the realization of once more feeling firm 
 ground under my feet. I was standing in a clear light, 
 looking out upon a scene of beauty. A landscape in 
 miniature was spread before me, consisting of soft 
 swelling downs, with here and there a rise, approach- 
 ing in height an ordinary hill. The absence of water 
 was a striking feature. Broad-leaved palms and many 
 varieties of catcus made the only shadows to be seen 
 anywhere. The whole plain was covered with beauti- 
 ful moss of every variety and all the colors and shades 
 of colors imaginable. The whole looked like one great 
 garden of low-clipped foliage plants. Metallic forms 
 like my companion gleamed here and there and every- 
 where. There were also other and odder shapes. 
 
 ** I will explain what may puzzle you," said my in- 
 formant. ' ' When we pins are lost we have to stay 
 awhile where we fall, and then if no one picks us up 
 we come here. We naturally feel provoked with peo- 
 ple who pick us up to add to their own good luck. 
 But what do you think of our paradise ? ' ' 
 
 * ' I am not surprised that you would wish to come 
 to this beautiful place as soon as possible." 
 
 "Why are those pins so dingy-looking? " I asked, 
 pointing to some lustreless ones in the distance. 
 
The Paradise of Pins, 199 
 
 ' ' Those pins stayed out of paradise too long. They 
 are caught by a monster we very much dread, whose 
 name is Old Rusty, and who disgraces pins and spoils 
 their brightness by covering them with an ugly coat, 
 which it takes ages, even in paradise, to wear off. ' ' 
 
 A question I was about to ask was anticipated by 
 my informant. 
 
 * ' Do you see that immense pin over by the palm 
 grove ? " he asked. 
 
 * ' Yes, ' ' I assented, * ' I see the pin you mean, 
 though my conception of size would never have pro- 
 nounced that pin immense." 
 
 '' We call her Old Mother Bender," continued the 
 pin, ignoring my effort at fault-finding, ' * because of 
 her superior size and her peculiar occupation. Her 
 business is to straighten crooked pins and give them 
 their proper shape. Her establishment used to be just 
 outside of paradise, but Old Rusty got hold of so 
 many of her subjects that she had to move inside. ' ' 
 
 " How do you keep him out of paradise? " I asked. 
 
 * * By having no water. He can' t live without mois- 
 ture." 
 
 "Why," I asked again, ''are some pins unchanged 
 in form ? I see several exactly like those in my cushion 
 at home." 
 
 I knew I must seem like a bundle of interrogation 
 points, but then I had come to a strange country and 
 I must find out all about it before my return home. 
 
200 The Paradise of Pi?is. 
 
 ' ' Those pins, ' ' untiringly responded my companion, 
 * ' did not do their duty faithfully while in the world. 
 Your Collar pin belongs to this class. ' ' I was glad to 
 hear the traitor would be punished, for my freed collar 
 had been creeping up toward my ears ever since my 
 journey to pin paradise began. ' ' They have to sin- 
 cerely repent of their evil ways before they can enjoy 
 the delights all around them. They are sometimes 
 sent to earth to warn mortals to be good. Whenever 
 you feel the prick of a pin you may know it is one of 
 these penitent ones urging you to forsake some false 
 way. ' ' 
 
 I determined that as soon as I reached home I 
 would hunt and find that pin and keep it on earth as 
 long as possible. ' ' Why is it that pins stick babies, 
 who are so guiltless ?" asked I, thinking to corner 
 my narrator. 
 
 *' Oh! " he answered, ringing out a laugh, " the in- 
 fants are then suffering because their nurses sin. It is 
 a case of the innocent suffering for the guilty. ' ' 
 
 * ' I see some pins have on golden crowns or wreaths, ' ' 
 I remarked. 
 
 **Yes; they are the pins which brides throw away 
 when disrobing. They come straight to paradise, and 
 are the only honored ones among us." 
 
 ' * Then these are all the lost pins which disappear so 
 mysteriously." 
 
 ' ' You do not see all here, ' ' corrected the pin. 
 
The Paradise of Pins. 201 
 
 * ' These pins belong to this century. A hedge yonder 
 divides us from last century pins, and the pins of each 
 century have a realm to themselves. ' ' 
 
 " Oh! do show me some antique pins," I exclaimed. 
 
 My guide gratified my curiosity, and showed me 
 pins of all ages, from those used in the Temple hang- 
 ings to those cast away as a good omen by the bride 
 of yesterday. He bade me remember, however, that 
 some valuable pins were so guarded by man that they 
 were obliged to remain on earth. As instances, he 
 cited the bronze pins from Thebes, in the Louvre, and 
 also in the Abbott collection. I enjoyed the quaint, 
 odd sights greatly, and was sorry when the pin said he 
 must take me home, as he would barely have time to 
 return to paradise before the gates closed. I thanked 
 him as best I could, and won a promise to visit me 
 again. He told me, however, at parting, that he 
 could never conduct me to pin paradise again. A 
 second trip would be fraught with severe penalties for 
 both of us. The penalties would be, I should never 
 be free all my life long from the pricking of pins, and 
 he would be deprived of his present glorious form and 
 reduced to an ignominious existence as a comman 
 earthly pin. 
 
MY FIRST INVESTMENT. 
 
My First Investment. 205 
 
 MY FIRST INVESTMENT. 
 
 FOUNDED ON FACT. 
 
 I REMEMBER having, as a boy, a wholesome fear 
 of my grandfather. His unswerving rectitude, his 
 attentions to children never separable from a moral to 
 be taught, his unimpeachable justice combined with 
 his stern punishment of the guilty, were all calculated 
 to inspire respect largely sprinkled with dread. He 
 tested me every Christmas by forcing a choice between 
 a pile of one- hundred bright new coppers and a 
 modest ten-dollar gold piece placed alongside. When 
 I became old enough to choose wisely and to want an 
 explanation of his conduct, he said : ' ' The gilded 
 wings of a butterfly would not be worth anything at 
 the mint, and I want to teach you always to choose 
 solid worth rather than be misled by showy appear- 
 ance. ' ' So the lesson was impressed. 
 
 One of my boyhood faults was a tendency to care- 
 less speaking, to the use of big figures when discussing 
 money matters, and to exaggeration. My grandfather 
 noted this trait and prepared the remedy, as the sequel 
 will reveal. 
 
 At the age of thirteen I was gifted with " mother 
 
2o6 My First InvestmesL 
 
 wit" my teachers said, but I had no corresponding 
 zeal for appHcation. Urged by my repeated solicita- 
 tions, and also by the prospect of my becoming a 
 good-for-naught if I remained longer tied to the 
 school desk, my father consented to give me a salary 
 of two-hundred a year in his lumber yard, that busi- 
 ness having been the family rage for several genera- 
 tions. The sense of importance engendered by paying 
 my board and carrying a night key quite inflated me 
 with pride, and made me feel quite competent to con- 
 duct to a successful issue the most intricate business 
 transaction. There was smooth sailing in my little 
 pond, and I was daily growing more infatuated with 
 my own piloting, when one day an ill wind sprang up 
 submerging me under billows of trouble. 
 
 I was driving with my grandfather on the wharf 
 that morning. He plied me with questions concerning 
 prices, quality, grain and so on, of the lumber awaiting 
 transportation, while I brought ready replies from 
 my recently garnered store of knowledge. Presently 
 we came upon a great heap of refuse oars, the cast- 
 away of our company's shipment a few days previous. 
 
 ' ' What are those worth, my son ? ' ' asked my 
 grandfather, pointing to the pile. 
 
 **I don't suppose they are worth very much," I 
 answered, for the first time rather at a loss. 
 
 ' * Not very much, eh ? Well, now, what would 
 you give for them ? ' ' 
 
My First Investment. 207 
 
 "I wouldn't give more than twenty dollars," I 
 answered, with the airs of a millionaire, not stopping 
 to weigh my words. 
 
 "Twenty dollars! That's a good sale for the com- 
 pany. You shall have them, Charles, and pay for 
 them at once." 
 
 "But I don't want to buy those old things, 
 grandpa, ' ' I pleaded, alarmed by his serious tone. 
 
 His reply was very imperative. * ' You have valued 
 them at twenty dollars, my boy. I shall sell them to 
 you because we will never have a similar offer." 
 
 " But they are not worth that," I still urged, half 
 frantic at the idea of burying a tithe of my salary 
 under such rubbish. 
 
 * ' You have made your own valuation, my son. 
 Had you said they were worthless, I would not have 
 made you our purchaser. We will now drive to the 
 office and formulate the sale. ' ' 
 
 I knew my grandfather was inexorable, so I could 
 only anathematize myself during the remainder of the 
 drive. I overdrew my salary twenty dollars, bore the 
 mortification of a homily from my father, called down 
 upon my head some disparaging epithets from my 
 less devout uncle, and went home that evening with a 
 night-mare in my pocket in the shape of a receipted 
 bill for twenty dollars paid for refuse oars not worth a 
 farthing. 
 
 But for my mother, I believe I could not have 
 
2o8 My First Investment 
 
 borne the load of humiliation. The magic of her 
 comfort smoothed my pillow that night, and her 
 assurance that my merchandise must be of some value 
 and would be useful to somebody, inspired me to feel 
 that a purchaser was waiting for me to finish my 
 night's rest to conclude a bargain advantageous 
 to me. 
 
 During the three following weeks I felt that my 
 hair would turn gray in my efforts to sell those oars. 
 I was the laughing-stock of the family; my brothers 
 were constantly asking me to take them rowing; every 
 time I went into the office my uncle admonished me 
 not to be "o'er careful; " my chums would often ask 
 if I had learned to *' paddle my own canoe; " and one 
 day even my father waived his usual gravity to advise 
 me to make friends with the skiff-builders. Life was 
 all disheartening. My grandfather having called my 
 attention to the fact that the wharfage was encroaching 
 upon my property, I adopted his suggestion and had 
 our teams move those luckless oars to our lumber- 
 yard. 
 
 Another plan having presented itself to my agitated 
 brain, I took advantage of a half-holiday to go down 
 among the block and pump makers on the wharf 
 But every effort to sell, here as elsewhere, showed the 
 same resultant discouragement until at last I entered 
 an office where I resolved to make a final attempt to 
 save myself from the ignominy of a failure at the very 
 
My First Investment. 209 
 
 beginning of my business career. The dingy appoint- 
 ments of the office were unpromising enough. Rusty 
 pens, clippings of paper, crumpled sheets crowded 
 with figures, and stumps of pencils formed a unique 
 carpet and almost hid the dirty plank floor. As if to 
 contradict the suggestion of poverty, the solid walnut 
 furniture raised its protest of neglect and here and 
 there peered with brilliant glance through its dust 
 labels, as if to assert that under proper treatment 
 better things could be evolved from existing circum- 
 stances. I believe I could now draw a sketch of that 
 room from memory. Bent over a sloping desk and 
 intent upon a long list of figures, was a head whose 
 masses of dark brown hair looked gray where the wan 
 light of advancing age fell full upon it. The man, 
 the sole occupant of the room, was carelessly dressed, 
 and as he turned at the sound of my voice a preoc- 
 cupied glance met mine. After listening with apparent 
 interest to my business statement, he informed me that 
 his name was Tracy, and that he would look at my 
 oars. With a lightening heart I took him to my 
 business location, and though he was remarkably silent 
 during the walk, yet I was delighted to see that he 
 was favorably impressed with my property. I began 
 to think my purchase of some real value, and to 
 wonder whether I had not been the victim of a hoax 
 rather than a blunder; so when Mr. Tracy asked my 
 price, I unblushingly told him he might have the lot 
 for fifty dollars. o 
 
2IO My First Investment, 
 
 *' That is too much," he said, mechanically, and as 
 if his interest was waning. 
 
 **How much are you willing to give?" I ventured, 
 feeling that my newly- awakened hopes had received 
 their death-blow. 
 
 'Til give you forty dollars," he replied, in the same 
 even tone and without any variation of facial expression. 
 
 * 'They are certainly worth that much ? " I could not 
 prevent the question linking itself with the assertion, 
 while I breathlessly awaited his answer. 
 
 *'Oh! certainly, they are worth that much to me," 
 was Mr. Tracy's reply, spoken with a weary air. And 
 my conscience was salved in spite of the listless 
 way in which the purchase was concluded. Returning 
 to his office with him, he paid me cash, stowed away 
 my receipt and dismissed me, all with the same per- 
 functory manner. I could not help feeling there had 
 been something unreal about the whole thing, and I 
 was afraid I would wake up to find it but one among 
 the many strange dreams which had haunted me 
 recendy. However, the forty dollars in my pocket 
 was tangible evidence of a good sale, and later that 
 afternoon fact put fancy forever to flight when the oars 
 were removed from our lumber pile to Mr. Tracy's, 
 leaving in their wake happiness for me. 
 
 My mother was shocked when she heard of my 
 bargain, said there must be some mistake about it, and 
 that I must see Mr. Tracy the next morning and ask 
 
My First Invesh7ie7it. 211 
 
 him to reconsider. If he then still persisted in paying 
 me such a price, I might keep the money with a clear 
 conscience. 
 
 Early the next morning I was up and could not wait 
 patiently the coming of business hours. On my way 
 to the wharf I stopped at my uncle's office to pass 
 away some of the laggard minutes, and found him 
 deep in the morning paper. Spying me, he shouted, 
 *'Come here, Charlie, old boy, you've done it now. 
 I told you those oars would row you into an under- 
 current. ' ' 
 
 ''What's the matter now ? " I enquired, alarmed by 
 his mocking yet serious tone. 
 
 "Matter enough, youngster. Here's the result of 
 your work. Your Mr. Tracy used your oars to row 
 himself beyond his depth. In common language, 
 after being duped by you, he went home and blew his 
 brains out." 
 
 ''Oh! Uncle Tyce," I moaned, you've teased me 
 enough about those things. Look here let's make a 
 bargain" — 
 
 But my peace-making offer was never expounded, 
 for my uncle interrupted, "none of your bargains for 
 me, young man," adding as he tossed me the paper, 
 "There read for yourself" 
 
 This paragraph met my eye: "Reginald Tracy, a 
 large ship-owner, and controller of the pump-making 
 agency, on the wharf, committed suicide yesterday 
 evening by shooting himself through the head, ' ' 
 
212 My First Investment. 
 
 I must have waded through the half-column of that 
 fearful tragedy, though I was not conscious of read- 
 ing, for every detail seems vivid now, from the calibre 
 of the pistol to the summoning of the coroner's jury. 
 What the verdict might be I could not imagine, but in 
 fancy I heard myself called a murderer, blackness of 
 darkness seemed closing me in on every side, and out 
 from the gloom emerged my victim's sad face full of 
 reproach for me alone. As I laid the paper down and 
 went out, perfect silence prevailed; not even my fun- 
 loving uncle could find a remark appropriate to the 
 occasion. 
 
 Home I went as rapidly as possible, the most miser- 
 able boy in the city, to pour out my woe to the one 
 sympathetic heart — my mother's. But even she could 
 only bid me wait for later information, though she 
 would not tolerate the thought that my sale had any 
 connection with the suicide. Not accepting the logic 
 of her reasoning, I spent the day in my room brood- 
 ing over the catastrophe. I felt I had taken advantage 
 of a man's ignorance (though why he should not be a 
 better judge of all kinds of lumber than I, was a 
 mystery) and swindled him out of money. Afterward, 
 discovering my trick, he had been driven to desperation 
 by losing so much money! (Forty dollars meant 
 much to me then.) In such musings the time passed, 
 and when at twilight I heard my uncle's step upon the 
 stair, I had closed the chapter of my earthly happiness 
 
My First Investment 213 
 
 and believed that nothing but misery awaited me in 
 the volume of days to come. 
 
 Uncle Tyce rapped at my door and with more 
 gentleness than I had ever seen him exhibit, came up 
 to me and said: 'Well, Charlie, I bring you the 
 verdict of the coroner's jury and it will be an intense 
 relief to you." 
 
 "Oh! tell me," I cried eagerly, scarcely able to 
 believe in any good news. 
 
 '' Yes," he assured me, '* the inquest developed the 
 fact that for some weeks past, Mr. Tracy has been 
 suffering from acute melancholia. You sold your oars 
 to a crazy man !' ' 
 
 "Oh! Uncle Tyce, is it true? " This with a burst 
 of tears which marked the transition from woe to 
 joy. 
 
 "Yes, my boy, it is," my uncle said, and then he 
 added slyly, partly to divert me and partly to gratify 
 his fun-craving disposition, "but you know none but a 
 lunatic would have bought them." 
 
 We then went down stairs together to join the 
 household in a "family thanksgiving," as my mother 
 called it. 
 
 Unprompted by any and to my dear, good mother's 
 great satisfaction, I took the forty dollars back, a week 
 later, to Mr. Tracy's son and heir, Harold Tracy, and 
 gave him a full explanation of the whole affair. 
 Strangely enough, either from a sentiment of delicacy 
 
214 My First Investment 
 
 or from compassion for me, he refused to cancel his 
 father's last business transaction. 
 
 Thus it happened, after much tribulation and the 
 solving of some ethical problems, I doubled my money 
 on my first investment. 
 
KING AND QUEEN DAYS, 
 
King and Queen Days. 217 
 
 KING AND QUEEN DAYS. 
 
 THEY became enthusled at once and were among 
 the first to hand in their names as members. 
 
 They thought it would be so easy to do just one 
 kind act every day. Mrs. Estreway had been telling 
 the children of the ''Ministering League," and they 
 were all very anxious to exercise the privilege and 
 duties of membership. The family had gathered 
 around the tea-table the evening following, when 
 Madeleine, an impulsive girl just entering her teens, 
 asked if they all had a kind deed with which to crown 
 the day. 
 
 Charlie, two years older, said with an air of assumed 
 humility : 
 
 " I think we had better keep our deeds for mam- 
 ma's ears alone. We will grow conceited if we 
 sit up in public and say what good things we have 
 done. ' ' 
 
 ** Charlie is right," said papa, **and his rule will 
 include Agnes. But I think we may hear what Benny 
 and Seeta have done without making them vain. 
 Come, confess, little man, how have you kept your 
 rule to-day ? ' ' 
 
2i8 King and Queen Days. 
 
 ' ' I hepped Wanny put the buggy in the shed, and 
 he gave me a cent, an* I held de stwainer 'hile Annie 
 pou'd the milk in, but I didn' want her to dive me 
 dat big tup o' milk either. ' ' 
 
 The elders laughed heartily at this evidently 
 strategic choice of work, and Charlie said as they 
 arose from the table, ' ' That gives me an idea. The 
 editor of the 'Weekly,' wants a type-setter; I think 
 I'll go down and help him to-morrow." 
 
 The next day Agnes was quietly occupied when her 
 mother came in and sat down to her sewing. Pres- 
 ently Agnes said, " Mamma, I am going to have my 
 king and queen days." 
 
 "What do you mean, my daughter?" asked Mrs. 
 Estreway, puzzled and interested. Agnes was only 
 nine years old, but she was very bright and her ideas 
 were natural and original. 
 
 **Why you know, mamma, everybody who is 
 crowned is not necessarially a real king or queen. 
 Poets used to be crowned, and warriors; and we have 
 our own May Queen, and also our make-believe 
 queens. I am going to try to have two days in the 
 week on which my kind deeds will be so great and so 
 many that they will make those two days royal, and 
 I will call them my king and queen days." 
 
 Tears gathered in the mother's eyes, as she bent 
 and kissed her sweet child, and commended heartily 
 this beautiful fancy of her fertile brain. 
 
King aud Queen Days. 219 
 
 The next day was Wednesday, and Mrs. Estreway 
 was standing at the window watching the home coming 
 of the school children. Far down the street she saw a 
 child's form, which looked very much like her litde 
 Agnes, except that three or four large bundles almost 
 obscured the figure and made her almost unrecogniz- 
 able at such a distance. As the child turned down 
 the first corner she came to, Mrs. Estreway felt she 
 must have been deceived ; but very much interested, 
 she went out to the side entrance to see if the heavily 
 laden little one should pass through the street below 
 the house. 
 
 She had not long to wait, for soon the litde form 
 came again in view, and this time near enough to be 
 identified as her own Agnes. But what could all 
 those bundles mean? and where were her school- 
 books ? and she really was not coming home at all, 
 but keeping straight on. 
 
 Ah ! the mystery was explained when the mother 
 saw the child was followed by a woman bent and old, 
 who seemed to walk with great difficulty. Mrs. 
 Estreway recognized her as a neighbor, living about 
 two squares below, who seldom went abroad. Surely 
 she was unusually feeble to-day. 
 
 When Agnes came home a half hour later her 
 mother said, "my little girl is late to-day ! " 
 
 ** Yes, mamma, I carried some things home for old 
 Mrs. Tomlinson. Do you know, mamma, I believe 
 
220 King and Queen Days. 
 
 she would have fallen down if I had not come along. 
 She could hardly get home. ' ' 
 
 * * Yes, dear, you did right, ' ' was the affectionate 
 response. 
 
 Later Mrs. Estreway heard Agnes defending herself 
 against the ridicule of some companions, who told her 
 she looked like a silly guy with a lot of newspaper 
 parcels strung around her and a horrid old woman for 
 company. 
 
 Before tea Agnes had a run down to poor old Mrs. 
 Tomlinson's to ask how she was. She came back to 
 her mother with sparkling eyes to say that the old 
 woman had said "the lift" had done her *'lots of 
 good and she'd rest a deal better that night, because 
 her back wasn't so tired." 
 
 At the end of the next week Mrs. Estreway stum- 
 bled on Agnes' weekly memorandum, and as she 
 thought of the burdened little figure trudging wearily 
 down the street, the ridicule of associates and the 
 special nutting expedition resigned, she was not sur- 
 prised to find written opposite Wednesday in red ink, 
 the words " Queen's Day."