OF THE 
 U N I VLRS ITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 Au77o 
 
 OAKST.HDSF 
 
'^1 
 
PAGE 19. 
 
OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 STELLA AUSTIN, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ''stumps," "SOMEBODY," " RAGS AND TATTERS," " PAT,' 
 "our next DOOR NEIGHBOUR," ETC. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 J. MASTERS AND CO., 78, NEW BOND STREET. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXIII. 
 
"The old Douglas motto, 'Tender and True,' may wisely be taken up again 
 by all of us, for our own .... an infinitude of tenderness is the chief gift and 
 inheritance of all the truly great men." — Ruskin. 
 
...77. 
 
 THE ONLY ONE 
 
 THE "OTHER PEOPLE" 
 
 WHO KNOWS THE OUTCOME OF THIS STORY, 
 
 I DEDICATE IT 
 
 WITH LOVE AND REVERENCE. 
 
REFLECTION. 
 
 T the risk of being told that " qui s'excuse, 
 
 ^ s'accuse," I preface this story with a few 
 words. I anticipate the objection that Ray's ideas, 
 thoughts, and feeHngs, are too unhke those of boys 
 of his age in general to have any claim upon the 
 reader's credulity. As a rule, perhaps, they would 
 be, but I have imagined an intensely sympathetic, 
 sensitive, highly-strung nature, reared in a hot- 
 house, which forced each of these characteristics 
 into undue prominence while it stunted the growth 
 of the more matter-of-fact, if less noble qualities. 
 Some persons, the majority I think, remain soul- 
 less Undines to the end of their days. Some, 
 
vi 
 
 REFLECTION, 
 
 like Ray, find their souls full early, while others, 
 like Forbes Dunbar, only wake up to the con- 
 sciousness of them when the spring-time of their 
 lives has long since passed away. Whether the 
 knowledge brings happiness or unrest, I leave 
 it to "other people," each for himself, or herself, 
 to decide. 
 
 S. A. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 T. The Old House by the River . . . . i 
 II. The Master of the House . . . . i6 
 
 III. The Flower Ray gathered 34 
 
 IV. Ray's Song 55 
 
 V. The First Flight from the Nest . . .63 
 
 VI. In the Moonlight, upon the River . . 86 
 
 VII. Shadows loi 
 
 VIII. Jabez Strong 115 
 
 IX. An Afternoon Tea 137 
 
 X. Ray's Champion 154 
 
 XI. At the Dawn of Day 163 
 
 XII. Ray's Song again 181 
 
 XIII. Broken Threads 191 
 
 XIV. MiLEs's Choice 208 
 
OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 ^ StorB of Moinn (tti&tbalrj). 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE OLD HOUSE BY THE RIVER. 
 
 ''Anywhere, anywhere, 
 Out of the world." 
 
 T N the heart of Gloucestershire, upon the top of 
 a green hill, are seven tiny rivulets, called 
 " The Seven Springs." 
 
 Just at the commencement they are nothing 
 more than a few crystal drops trickling through 
 the red mould. They gradually widen and sepa- 
 rate into seven silver strips, sparkling like threads 
 
 B 
 
OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 of light as they wind in and out among the fresh 
 verdure, and through the red soil. Soon they 
 diverge more widely, then lose sight of each other 
 altogether, wander on their own seven different 
 ways, and broaden into seven noble rivers. As 
 they grow more expansive, they bear upon their 
 smooth waters stately ships, until they themselves, 
 in their turn, are carried off by the restless and 
 resistless ocean. 
 
 One of these rivers finds his way into the midst 
 of the great City of London, and when once within 
 its shadows the light gradually dies out from his 
 waters, and he wanders sluggishly and lazily on 
 until, down towards the East, he lifts his much- 
 stained face to look sadly into the still sadder faces 
 of men, and women, and children who throng upon 
 his banks. Is he sad, I wonder, because he re- 
 members his innocent babyhood far away among 
 the green hills, and his six fair companions, with 
 whom he leaped and played in early youth ? I 
 think not. The smile has died from his lips, the 
 
THE OLD HOUSE BY THE RIVER. 3 
 
 light gone from his eyes, because of the sin, and 
 sorrow, and suffering through which he daily passes. 
 Just as those who would live good lives and true 
 must bear the burdens of the other people with 
 whom they come in contact, even though by so 
 doing they bring sad lines into their faces, which 
 would not otherwise be there, and sad thoughts 
 into their hearts. Father Thames knew full well, 
 that when he entered into the midst of that busy 
 city, he must be content to leave behind him the 
 joyousness of childhood, the freshness of youth, and 
 partake of the sorrow and suffering past which 
 his path lies. That is why his step is slow and 
 heavy ; his face soiled with the stain of many tears. 
 
 But it is when he is young and happy, many 
 miles from the great city, that he enters into our 
 story. On either side of him tall flags wave statelily, 
 scarce bending beneath the weight of the merry 
 little water-wagtail, who balances himself upon 
 them, to wink saucily at the silver trout and bream 
 as they swim slowly to the surface. Forget-me- 
 
4 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 nots and cuckoo plants hide themselves among the 
 long grasses ; the yellow iris grows straightly in 
 the midst of the water ; the aspens shiver as if an 
 icy breath were always passing over them ; the 
 willows droop their graceful branches, like Narcissus 
 gazing perpetually at their own reflection ; and the 
 silence is scarcely broken, save by the birds as they 
 sing of love, or the steady splashing of a pair of 
 sculls as a stray skiff shoots down mid-stream, and 
 then makes a sudden dart to the side to avoid 
 entanglement among the irises and flags which 
 grow so freely and so tall. 
 
 Here stands the Old House by the River, with 
 high walls to shut it in, and a door, overhung by 
 creepers, heavy with iron bands and locks, by which 
 to enter. The yellow stone house, not very pic- 
 turesque in itself, but prettily situated, stands upon 
 sloping ground, and behind it, still ascending, a 
 small wood, in which copper beeches and light green 
 firs abound, forms a graceful background. 
 
 In the house lived a gentleman named Geoffrey 
 
THE OLD HOUSE BY THE RIVER. 
 
 5 
 
 Forrest, with his six sons and daughters. A com- 
 plete set, as they often observed to each other, 
 and not unique. 
 
 They were between the ages of eighteen and 
 eight, and came as follows : — 
 
 Enid, aged eighteen. 
 
 Cecily, aged sixteen. 
 
 Raleigh, aged fifteen. 
 
 Hester, aged twelve. 
 
 Denys, aged eleven. 
 
 Miles, aged nine. 
 Mr. Forrest was what people in the neighbour- 
 hood termed odd, eccentric ; some even went further, 
 and said he was rather mad. He was certainly a 
 man of one idea, and this, unfortunately, an idea 
 which very much affected his children and their 
 lives. He had long since made up his mind that 
 the present century was not the century in which 
 he should have chosen to live, and as he could not 
 put himself back into another age, he did the only 
 thing possible under the circumstances, he deter- 
 
6 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 mined to see as little of it as he could. His wife 
 fell into his views, and ere they were married he 
 bought the Old House by the River, remote then 
 from town or railway. There his children were 
 born, there his wife died, and there he had lived 
 for nineteen years, seeing no one except upon the 
 Sundays when they went to the little church which 
 lay upon the other side of the wood. It was quite 
 out of the world, this Old House by the River, and 
 it suited Mr. Forrest as hardly another in England 
 would have done. There he could dream in quiet 
 of the days gone by, an Utopian dream, until he 
 forgot that the nineteenth century was a practical 
 reality ; one which his children certainly would 
 have to face some time, and not where he would 
 wish it to be, in the ages yet unborn. There too 
 he tried to keep away from him, so far as lay in 
 his power, aught that might shock his refinement, 
 or jar upon his fastidious nature. 
 
 The Forrests were served by two faithful "re- 
 tainers," as Mr. Forrest always called them, John 
 
THE OLD HOUSE BY THE RIVER. 
 
 7 
 
 and Janet Burton. They were husband and wife ; 
 both of them nearer sixty than fifty, and what 
 the Forrests would have done without them they 
 often wondered and openly said. John was gar- 
 dener, butler, cook, valet, carpenter, in fact every- 
 thing that a man could be, and a great deal more 
 than most men are. Janet in her feminine capacity 
 could do most things also. She was housekeeper, 
 kept the family purse, and could scrub, and wash, 
 and bake, and yet attend to the wardrobes of 
 her young ladies. The Forrests were very poor, 
 though in his early years their father had been 
 comfortably off. But he had spent his capital 
 in priceless china, quaint old furniture, and a few 
 really good pictures. So that, though the Forrests 
 could drink out of cups worth their weight in gold, 
 and sit upon a chair in which a French king had 
 sat, yet they wanted clothes often, almost as badly 
 as the beggar children who played about in the 
 streets. Janet, assisted by the girls themselves, 
 cut up, patched, pieced, darned, mended, altered. 
 
8 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 for though -it was the nineteenth century, people 
 must be clothed, and struggle as they would they 
 only just managed to keep themselves respectable, 
 nothing more, but with that they were content. 
 
 Mr. Forrest taught his children himself, boys 
 and girls together ; but out of the six, Ray was 
 the only one in any way like his father. Mr. 
 Forrest had tried to instil into their minds his own 
 ideas, but when he faced the truth, as sometimes 
 he was forced to do, he was obliged to own that 
 the five of them had plenty of common sense, but 
 very little romance in their natures, unless indeed 
 we except their devotion to their father, their un- 
 bounded belief in Ray, their brother. 
 
 For their father, each of them adored him, every 
 hair upon his smooth dark head was precious 
 in their eyes. For their brother Ray, ah ! Who 
 could help loving him, believing in him and ex- 
 pecting great things from him ? 
 
 Ray inherited his father's cravings for the ideal 
 and the beautiful, but with this difference. Mr. 
 
THE OLD HOUSE BY THE RIVER, 
 
 9 
 
 Forrest was content to sit and dream of the great 
 and noble deeds which had been done, and which 
 could be done ; but the boy was longing to put 
 into practice his grand, chivalrous notions, yearning 
 to go forth into the world and fight the battle 
 of the right against the wrong ; sighing for the 
 time when he could take up the glove upon the 
 behalf of the oppressed, the weak, the defenceless, 
 sending his whole soul forth day after day, in a 
 passionate wish that the time would come when 
 he might take his part in the battle of life, and 
 prove not altogether unworthy of his aspirations. 
 
 The father and son were much alike in face. 
 Each had the same smooth, dark head, pale re- 
 fined features, sweet, serious grey eyes. But Ray 
 had a gift his father never possessed, the gift of 
 music. Not the mere trick of playing and singing 
 which belongs to the majority of people, but the 
 rare gift of making music speak his own thoughts 
 to the hearts of others. He could play Men- 
 delssohn, Beethoven, Bach, Spohr ; and he could 
 
lO 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 also weave his own fancies into melody. And 
 when he felt that his longings were so powerful, 
 that they brought with them unrest and disquiet, 
 he would steal to the church, of which he had the 
 key, and sitting down to the organ, he let it speak 
 in music the fancies that were crowding his heart 
 and throbbing in his brain. And gradually a soft 
 peace would fall gently upon him, rest succeed 
 to unrest and disquietude. " He played himself 
 into happiness," he always said, and so it was. 
 
 Instead of one ugly duckling among the swans, 
 Ray, in his father's eyes, was the one swan amid 
 the ducklings. He was very fond of his other 
 children, but Ray was fashioned after his own heart, 
 and he built great hopes upon him. The other 
 five stared him in the face as large and practical 
 as a row of figures, waiting to be added up, in an 
 account book. Only Mr. Forrest never did add 
 up his figures. His wife had taken care that every- 
 thing should be as he liked, without any worry of 
 ways or means, and Janet spoiled him much the 
 
THE OLD HOUSE BY THE RIVER, 
 
 II 
 
 same. The healthy appetites of his children 
 shocked his refinement, so he ate his meals alone, 
 little dainty dishes cooked for him by John, who 
 had, in his youth, served under a first-rate cook. 
 Janet had large ideas as to the value of roast 
 mutton for growing children ; but roast mutton 
 has a habit of proclaiming its presence by its 
 smell, and great care had to be taken in choosing 
 a fine day upon which it was cooked : because 
 then the master of the house generally walked 
 in the garden at the hour the children dined, but 
 if the weather proved wet, the roast mutton was 
 postponed to another day. 
 
 And as Mr. Forrest never faced accounts, so 
 he also avoided the very evident truth, that the 
 children were growing tall and old. Ray's pro- 
 fession should have been chosen long ago ; Denys's 
 ought to be thought of now, and he be preparing 
 for it. But Mr. Forrest would fain keep them 
 children always, and as life, in his eyes, was what 
 he wanted it to be, not what it really and practi- 
 
12 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 cally was, so his girls and boys remained children 
 in his thoughts, in spite of the evidence of his 
 senses. 
 
 There was yet another peculiarity connected 
 with Mr. Forrest. When he walked in the wood 
 at the back of the house the birds flocked tamely 
 and fearlessly round him, greeting him as a friend. 
 The wood might be seemingly empty as he 
 entered it, but no sooner did he walk along the 
 path than the air was filled with winged creatures 
 flying from the trees where the leaves had hidden 
 them. They hovered around him with twitters 
 of delight : some hopped gaily before him, others 
 nestled upon his shoulders chirruping their stories 
 in his ear. Some of them plucked his sleeves with 
 their little beaks, as if anxious to attract his atten- 
 tion, and others whirled in circles over his head, 
 as if unable to restrain their delight at seeing him. 
 Perhaps some subtle animal instinct told them his 
 hands were guiltless of the blood of any living 
 creature ; that never in his life had he hunted 
 
THE OLD HOUSE BY THE RIVER. 
 
 13 
 
 fox, or stag, otter, hare, or badger, or shot any 
 feathered fowl. Animals have strange ways of 
 reasoning, one of the many things beyond our ken. 
 
 The Forrest boys and girls were quite content 
 to live this out-of-the-world life. It was the only 
 life they had known. Janet was always talking 
 about " other people," but " other people" were to 
 them a name, a myth. The only ones they came 
 across were those they saw on Sundays, when they 
 went to the old grey church, which was attended by 
 a few aged men and women, some rosy-cheeked lads 
 and lasses, belonging to the few^ scattered cottages 
 which formed the village. There was one old lady 
 to be sure, but her form was hidden in a long 
 black silk cloak and her face in a black silk 
 bonnet. This was all the outside view they 
 obtained of "other people," of their lives and 
 belongings they knew absolutely nothing. Their 
 own life went on, in the Old House by the River, 
 swiftly, calmly, silently, with no variation by which 
 to mark one day from another. 
 
OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 Their hours of recreation they spent in rowing 
 upon the river. And sometimes, but very seldom, 
 in the long summer evenings a skiff might shoot 
 swiftly past them, with a young man in it who 
 evidently preferred the silent, silver river and his 
 own thoughts to the company of his fellow-crea- 
 tures. There were a few of these, and when they 
 passed, the skiffs would exchange rapid glances, 
 but the young men would see only w^hat they 
 considered an ordinary party of boys and girls, 
 and the Forrests would see young men, not differ- 
 ing from their own boys, except that they were 
 better clothed — generally in flannels, in which 
 most men and boys look their happiest and 
 their best. 
 
 They supposed that these were some of the 
 " other people" whom Janet so often quoted, and 
 then they would wonder if these mysterious " other 
 people" would come into their lives, and if they 
 should ever mix in the world which was now 
 to them so strangely shut out. For a little time 
 
THE OLD HOUSE BY THE RIVER. 
 
 15 
 
 they would speculate upon this, and then the days 
 would go on and no change take place ; and living 
 so peacefully in the present, they often forgot the 
 future for which they were waiting, and which was 
 slowly but surely coming upon them. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE. 
 Che sara, sara.*' 
 
 1\ /r ONDAY afternoon in the early days of the 
 -^^ ^ month of August, with a hot summer sun 
 creeping lazily into the room, which the Forrest 
 boys and girls called their own. 
 
 It was a commonplace room enough, and the 
 furniture of the plainest and scantiest. There was 
 no carpet or rug, but in the middle of the room 
 stood a large, square-shaped deal table, and there 
 were two dining-room arm-chairs and six rush- 
 bottomed ones scattered about. The sofa, old and 
 roomy, was covered with chintz to hide its shabbi - 
 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 17 
 
 ness. The three latticed windows faced the front 
 of the house, and were filled in with broad, low 
 window-seats. But the children would not have 
 exchanged their room, bare as it was, for their 
 father's dainty studio or the equally charming 
 withdrawing-room which had been their mother's 
 while she lived. For their furniture, if plain, was 
 strong : the chairs would bear sitting upon — arms, 
 backs, or seats, and were none the worse for their 
 many overthrows ; while the three windows looked 
 straight down upon their beloved and beautiful 
 river. That river so dear to the six boys and girls 
 that they could not say which of them loved it the 
 best. It was their playfellow, their companion, 
 the only sharer of their joys and sorrows that they 
 had ever known. They had learnt it off by heart, 
 and knew each tree that grew, every plant that 
 blossomed, all animal life that haunted its banks. 
 Their father had given them two skiffs — the 
 " Elaine" and the " Enid," and in these they spent 
 most of their time — when they were not studying 
 
 C 
 
i8 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 with their father or preparing their lessons for 
 him. 
 
 That Monday afternoon they were expecting a 
 summons from him, and were all six assem- 
 bled, books in hand, waiting for John's slow 
 steps to mount the stairs and give them the 
 call. 
 
 The hand of the clock pointed to the half after 
 three, their father was punctuality itself, and one 
 or two rose from their seats, and gathered their 
 belongings together, when suddenly Denys, whose 
 head was as far out of the window as it could go, 
 gave a sudden cry. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" 
 Has a wasp stung you ?" 
 
 " Let me get out the sting." 
 
 " There is no wasp," said Denys, turning round 
 a face solemn from mere astonishment, — " but 
 there is somebody trying to ring the bell at the 
 gater 
 
 " Nonsense !" 
 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, 
 
 19 
 
 " Absurd." 
 
 " You have made a mistake." 
 But they all rushed to the windows to see for 
 themselves. The windows looked down upon the 
 heavy iron-studded door, and they could see the 
 vibration of the wire quite distinctly, but the visitor 
 was too much underneath the door for them to 
 tell who it was — a he or she or it. 
 
 '^If they go on trying for ever they will not 
 make the bell ring," said Enid, " for it was broken 
 soon after I was born, Janet said, and it has never 
 been mended since." 
 
 Father said he would rather it remained un- 
 mended, — no one ever comes here, and so what is 
 the use of a bell i^" said Cecily. 
 
 " Some one has come to-day," said Enid. " Run, 
 Miles, and tell John that some one is trying to ring 
 the gate bell." 
 
 I wonder who it can be," said Denys. 
 
 Oh, no one in particular," said Hester, " some 
 one who does not know we have a back door — a 
 
20 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 new tradesperson who has not got into Janet's 
 ways yet." 
 
 In spite of this remark, they all waited the 
 arrival of John, with a fair show of expect- 
 ancy. 
 
 He did not hurry, for he was getting aged, 
 and in the Old House by the River there was 
 no occasion for hurry. There was no world to 
 interfere with its scramblings and bustlings, so 
 time was found for everything that had to be 
 done, and life flowed on evenly and quietly. He 
 crossed the lawn with careful step and slow, — 
 and if he was curious no trace of it was vi- 
 sible in his composed face and precise manner. 
 And yet in all the years he had lived there he 
 had never had occasion to open that door to 
 a visitor until that sunny afternoon in the month 
 of August. 
 
 The heavy door was opened slowly, and John's 
 grey head peered cautiously round it. A stranger 
 would have thought he had gone back to the ages 
 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, 
 
 21 
 
 ago, and that the Old House by the River was a 
 castle on the look-out for possible besiegers. After 
 a few moments' parley, John, very unwillingly, the 
 children thought, opened the door wider and ad- 
 mitted a lady. 
 
 " It really is somebody after all," said Hester 
 and Denys together. 
 
 " Perhaps it is a mistake in the name," said Enid 
 cautiously. " It seems so odd after living here all 
 these years without seeing any one to have a visitor 
 now." 
 
 " It is one of the ' other people' Janet is always 
 talking about," said Cecily. 
 
 " I wonder if she has come to see Father," said 
 Ray. 
 
 " And if she will ask to see us," said Miles. 
 
 They spoke in whispers, that the stranger might 
 not hear, and as she passed underneath their win- 
 dows they were silent for a minute, but the six 
 pairs of eyes scanned her eagerly. 
 
 She was middle-aged, tall and stout, with a large 
 
22 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 fair, good-natured face, and a quantity of fair hair. 
 She was dressed in black, and was covered with 
 jets and beads. 
 
 " If that is the way ' other people* dress," said 
 Hester, drawing back from the window when she 
 was lost to sight, " I do not admire it. Why in 
 the sunshine she looked as if she had on a suit of 
 armour, she shone and glittered so." 
 
 " Poor Father !" said Enid, pityingly ; " anything 
 of that kind always sets his teeth on edge. I do 
 not believe he will bear it long." 
 
 " I wonder who she is, and why she came, and 
 what she came for," said Hester. 
 
 " She came in a carriage," said Denys. 
 
 " How do you know ?" 
 I can see the whip through that tree. It is 
 standing near the boat-house." 
 
 " I can see the whip and a piece of the coach- 
 man's hat," said Miles, excitedly. 
 
 While the young people were wondering what 
 the world could possibly have to do with them, 
 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, 23 
 
 John was ushering the unwelcome visitor into Mr. 
 Forrest's darkened studio. 
 
 It was a charming room filled with daintiest art 
 treasures and priceless antique furniture. It was 
 cool and fresh, for it was shaded by soft curtains 
 which wooed the breeze and banished the glare, 
 and it was sweet with the scent of flowers which 
 filled a few quaint vases and perfumed the air. 
 The flowers were Enid's care, and she performed 
 her duties punctually and carefully, changing the 
 flowers as often as twice a day if they at all 
 drooped or faded. 
 
 The lady followed close upon John's heels, and 
 swept into the room just as he was announcing her 
 name. 
 
 " I do not know if you have forgotten me, Cousin 
 Geoffrey," she said ; " it must be — let me see — thirty 
 years ago, a lifetime nearly, since last we met. 
 You were nineteen, I was a year your junior. But 
 bless me, cousin, I should have known you any- 
 where ! You hardly look a day older !" 
 
24 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 He had risen to greet her, and standing, in the 
 subdued light, straight and sHm, with his pale, re- 
 fined face, and smooth, dark head, with scarce a 
 suspicion of coming whiteness among the bright, 
 dusky hair, he looked strangely youthful to be the 
 father of those six sons and daughters ; scarcely 
 altered, as his cousin said, from the slender, dark- 
 haired boy she remembered. If Time had painted 
 a few wrinkles upon the face they were not visible 
 in this dim religious light," in which Mr. Forrest 
 delighted. 
 
 I live so entirely out of the world," he an- 
 swered, lifting his eyes to her face. quiet 
 peaceful life flowing on evenly, like the river at 
 our gates, does not make havoc with nature as 
 does the restless, active, tiring lives of those who 
 live in the midst of what is termed — and aptly 
 termed — the world." 
 
 " It certainly does not," said his cousin, taking 
 a seat, " though I must say I have never seen the 
 result until now. I shall recommend my friends 
 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, 
 
 25 
 
 to try a hermit's life if they wish to retain youth 
 and good looks. Why I was a year younger than 
 you, and I might be twenty years older now, 
 judging by appearances." 
 
 He could not contradict her even for politeness' 
 sake. She had certainly altered from the golden- 
 haired slender girl he remembered, and not for the 
 better. As Enid said, she jarred upon his sensitive 
 nerves and worried him. She was sitting in a 
 quaint old chair, once the property of a French 
 King, ebony cunningly inlaid with mother-of-pearl 
 and silver, and when a ray of light touched her, 
 the shining jets and beads upon her flashed and 
 sparkled as if they were in motion. He shut his 
 eyes for a minute and conjured up before his mind 
 the forms clad in dainty robes and soft perfumed 
 laces that once had filled that chair, and open- 
 ing his eyes upon the reality before him, he 
 sighed gently and shivered. His cousin seeing 
 him absorbed in thought, as she imagined, spoke 
 again. 
 
26 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 "Did you ever take enough interest in me, 
 cousin, to inquire whether I was ever married, 
 or remained single ?" 
 
 He confessed he had not. 
 
 "I was Marian Buncombe, now I am Marian 
 Irvine. I have been a widow for eight years. My 
 husband held a good civil appointment in India, 
 but died from a severe sunstroke. Do you not 
 wonder how I found you out in your seclusion, 
 Cousin Geoffrey?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I had heard you were somewhere in these 
 parts, and when I was thinking of coming into 
 the neighbourhood myself — What is the matter, 
 cousin } how white you have grown. Not that 
 you ever had much colour. But do you feel 
 faint? Let me ring the bell for wine, or sal 
 volatile." 
 
 "No, thank you," he answered, "it is nothing, 
 I shall be better soon." 
 
 No wonder he grew pale at the news thus 
 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 27 
 
 brought to him. For more than twenty years he 
 had guarded himself in this seclusion, no enchanted 
 castle was more securely kept, and now this 
 privacy was to be invaded and he would know no 
 further peace. He could not realise yet what it 
 would be, but the bare mention of it made him 
 quite sick and ill. 
 
 " Do you often suffer from these fainting sensa- 
 tions, cousin i^" 
 
 " Never as a rule. My health is excellent." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it. Faintness is bad, it 
 shows some mischief with the heart. I was telling 
 you how I found you out. I knew you were 
 leading a hermit's life somewhere about here, and 
 I went to your banker and asked for your ad- 
 dress. He would not give it for a long time, 
 but I persevered, said you were a relation, and 
 that I wanted particularly to see you, and so 
 forth. At last he gave it to me, and I am here, 
 as you see." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
28 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 " The house I am come down about is nine miles 
 from here." 
 
 " Are you thinking of buying it ?" 
 
 " Oh dear no. I am only renting it for two 
 or three months, to recruit myself after the 
 London season. I have invited all my friends 
 down in turn, and I hope we shall have a 
 pleasant autumn. Do you know the house at 
 all, cousin ? It is named The Hermitage, and I 
 believe for some years it has been let only as 
 a summer and autumn residence. An old couple 
 with their daughter and her husband and children 
 are put in it to keep it aired during the winter 
 months." 
 
 " I do not know it at all," he answered. " I 
 never stir beyond the garden and the copse at the 
 back of the house." 
 
 " And I suppose it will be useless for me to try 
 and induce you to come and see us, and join in our 
 pleasures? The habit of twenty years must be 
 second nature." 
 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, 
 
 29 
 
 " It is SO, though I thank you for your kindness 
 in thinking of me." 
 
 And then he expected that Mrs. Irvine would 
 take her leave ; but she did nothing of the 
 sort, she resettled herself in the chair. His heart 
 sank. 
 
 "There are your children, Cousin Geoffrey. 
 They must be quite grown-up by now." 
 
 " You are mistaken, they are very far from being 
 grown-up, I am happy to say ; they are mere 
 children, I assure you." 
 
 She raised her eyebrows and seemed incredulous. 
 
 " Is the eldest a boy or girl ?" 
 
 " Girl." 
 
 " And her age ?" 
 
 "I really do not remember," he said dreamily. 
 " It seems only the other day she was born." 
 
 " Time passes so quickly. Say she is seventeen, 
 she could not be much less. Many girls come out 
 at seventeen." 
 
 "In the world perhaps, but with that we have 
 
30 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 nothing to do. There will be no coming out for 
 Enid, of that I am quite decided." 
 
 " We will not quarrel about it. I am not smitten 
 with many of the young ladies I meet in society. 
 But Cousin Geoffrey, you must allow me to say I 
 think you are wrong in keeping your children so 
 entirely apart from other people. You cannot do 
 so all their lives." 
 
 "I will if I can. I am sure that the less my 
 children know of the world, the better and happier 
 they will be. I speak from experience." 
 
 Mrs. Irvine grew graver. 
 
 " Sorrow and suffering comes to all people in 
 some form or another, and at some time of their 
 life," she said. " The man who shut his son up in 
 the strong tower, that no evil might happen to 
 him, was conquered by destiny in the shape of a 
 bundle of faggots brought in to light the fire. An 
 adder came out of the wood, stung the boy, and he 
 died. You cannot prove stronger than destiny, 
 cousin. What GOD wills, will be." 
 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE. 31 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 " Let me have the children once now and then 
 that I may make acquaintance with my own flesh 
 and blood, my first cousin's children. I will send 
 the carriage for them and send them back in it 
 punctually to the hour you name. But I should 
 like to know them, and I beg you will allow me 
 this pleasure. We shall be here three months at 
 the longest, and then there is little chance that I 
 shall be in the neighbourhood again, for I am 
 thinking, perhaps, of settling in Florence. My 
 plans are nearly so decided." 
 
 The last inducement won the day. Mr. Forrest's 
 recollection of his cousin of old was that she was 
 a determined woman if once her mind was set 
 upon a thing. He was anxious too to get rid of 
 her, and it was at last arranged that when she 
 came down to the Hermitage the children should 
 go to spend the afternoon with her. More, Mr. 
 Forrest would not promise. 
 
 The master of the citadel had surrendered upon 
 
32 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 his own terms, but Mrs. Irvine had vanquished, 
 and she was content not to press the matter 
 further. She wisely took her departure at once, 
 giving her cousin no time to change his mind. 
 
 The master of the house regretted his decision 
 so soon as the heavy iron-banded door had shut 
 upon his visitor. He tried to resume the reading 
 she had interrupted, but his mind wandered, nor 
 would it be recalled. The thought he had so often 
 put aside, "growing up, growing up," seemed to 
 stare at him from every page. He shut the book 
 with a gentle sigh, and stepping out of the window 
 wended his way to the little wood facing his studio, 
 and at the back of the house. P^or some minutes 
 he walked alone, then soon were heard glad' sweet 
 chirupings from tree and bush, and there dropped 
 gently down, with welcome flutters, like the soft 
 patter of rain, a crowd of birds. They greeted him 
 with delighted twitters, hopped by his side, perched 
 upon his shoulder, pulled his hair saucily with their 
 tiny beaks, and while they plumed their feathers. 
 
THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 33 
 
 told him in their own language how glad they 
 were to see him, and how they had spent that long 
 bright summer day. 
 
 And slowly passing to and fro, his thoughts in 
 Dreamland always, the master of the house soon 
 forgot his cousin and the threatened change her 
 visit would effect. 
 
 D 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FLOWER RAY GATHERED. 
 
 Gifts bring with them an inheritance of pain, as if they were out 
 of place in a fallen world like this." 
 
 JANET knew nothing of the result of the 
 stranger lady's visit to the master of the Old 
 House by the River. John knew nothing. If he 
 had known, Janet would have known. What Janet 
 knew she always told her young people, but Mr. 
 Forrest, who had forgotten all about Mrs. Irvine 
 before she was a mile away, did not mention the 
 subject at all, so the household remained in igno- 
 rance of the changes that were coming from afar. 
 Curiosity, at last, having worn itself threadbare, 
 
THE FLOWER RAY GATHERED, 
 
 35 
 
 they dismissed the subject from their thoughts, and 
 gathered round the tea table, talking over the pro- 
 gramme of that evening's arrangements. 
 
 " How are we to divide to-night ?" said Cecily. 
 
 " You are getting very lazy, Cecil, and going 
 back in your rowing," said Denys, " you had better 
 come into my skiff, and I will work you hard." 
 
 " Denys, Cecil, and Miles," said Enid, " and — " 
 
 " No, no," pleaded Miles, " I want to go in the 
 skiff with Ray, Enid, please." 
 
 " You are Ray's shadow," quoth Hester, " I am 
 glad-" 
 
 " Never mind, Hester," said Enid hastily, for she 
 saw a frown upon the boy's brow. He and Hester 
 did not sail quite smoothly together ; she rather 
 sat upon him, and he resented the being sat upon ; 
 besides, his devotion to Ray was a point upon 
 which he was very sensitive. 
 
 " How far are you going this evening ?" asked 
 Ray. 
 
 " To Willow Island, we shall be home by eight 
 
36 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 then, and Father said yesterday he would rather 
 we were not later, now the days are getting 
 shorter." 
 
 " I want to finish my book," said Ray, " so if you 
 put me out at the Fairies' Beech, you can pick me 
 up on your way back." 
 
 " In that case we must have Hester instead of 
 Miles. I cannot manage with only Miles." 
 
 " Never mind, Miles," said Ray, seeing the boy's 
 disappointment, "you shall come in my skiff to- 
 morrow, that will do just as well, will it not T 
 
 " Yes," said the little fellow, brightening. 
 
 It was only a minute later, when, with their hats 
 on, they crossed the lawn, opened the door, and 
 saw the shining river at their feet. Their father 
 had given them the skiffs, and had a boat-house 
 built for them when he found how fond they were 
 of the silver river. 
 
 The Elaine and Enid had been newly painted 
 this year, and looked fresh and clean. Enid pre- 
 ferred her namesake, and Dcnys the Elaine. The 
 
THE FL 0 WER RA Y GA THEREB. 37 
 
 Elaine was broader, and shallower, the Enid being 
 built deeper at the sides, and narrower ; the Enid 
 was certainly the prettiest when in the water, she 
 was more slenderly and gracefully fashioned, but 
 Denys said the Elaine was the best for real work, 
 and as he was a firstrate oarsman, he ought to 
 know. 
 
 Denys and Cecily took the sculls in the Elaine, 
 Enid and Ray those of the Enid ; Hester was 
 to row when Ray departed. The Elaine shot off 
 in a moment, and left the Enid far behind ; Cecily 
 was not such a finished rower as her sister, but she 
 had more strength of arm, while Denys was the 
 crack one of the party. Hester began to grumble. 
 
 "At that rate they will be at Willow Island 
 before we are a quarter of the way. I shall be 
 quite glad when we drop you, Ray, for I think I 
 row quicker than you." 
 
 Ray laughed. 
 
 " I do not think so, Hessie, but at any rate we 
 shall prove it this evening." 
 
38 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 " I like rowing with Ray best," said Enid can- 
 didly. "You pull strong and quickly, Hester, 
 but you keep very bad time. Now Ray pulls 
 smoothly and evenly, and keeps excellent time." 
 
 The Elaine had been out of sight from the time 
 she started, and at the Fairies' Beech Ray got out 
 as he said he would. The Fairies' Beech was about 
 half way to Willow Island, and was so called 
 because the grass was worn away in a complete 
 circle around it, and tradition said it was where 
 the fairies nightly danced around this large wide- 
 spreading tree. The Forrests, when children, al- 
 ways said the fairies had very good taste, for the 
 copper beech was such a pretty colour. 
 
 They left Ray, lying underneath it. At least 
 they left his body there, but his thoughts and 
 imaginations were far away, ere yet the skiff had 
 swayed unsteadily from the bank. Enid was quite 
 right, Hester was not a good rower. She pulled 
 short, strong strokes, which sent the skiff from 
 side to side, first into one bank, then into the 
 
THE FLOWER RAY GATHERED, 39 
 
 other. She was self-opinionated upon the matter, 
 thought she rowed well, and did not try to keep 
 in with Enid's long, swift strokes. However, that 
 evening, she distinguished herself by catching a 
 crab, and as this was a very great exception even 
 in little Miles's rowing, it made her feel rather 
 ashamed of herself. 
 
 " So much for your boasting, Hester," said Enid. 
 "Though you pull so much stronger than Ray, 
 he was quite right, we are not going nearly so 
 fast as when he had the scull. You will not 
 keep time with me, now you shall be stroke, and 
 I will see if I can keep in with you." 
 
 This made a little difference for the better, but 
 not much, and they had to bear the ridicule of 
 the Elaine party, who had been for some time 
 comfortably seated on Willow Island, wondering 
 what made them so late. 
 
 Ray finished his book, put it down and looked 
 dreamily about him. The birds were going to 
 bed and making such a chattering over it, just 
 
40 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 as much as if they had beds to air and make, and 
 clothes to tuck around them, instead of merely, 
 as was the case, choosing a sheltered branch and 
 cuddling their heads beneath their wings. A king- 
 fisher darted into his nest in the bank, and Ray 
 was the witness of a great act of discourtesy 
 upon the part of a dragon-fly towards a moth. 
 It was a large night-moth, and had come out a 
 little too early for its own comfort. The two 
 chose the same resting-place, a slender, swaying 
 piece of quaking-grass, and they both alighted 
 upon it at the same time. After a short contest, 
 the dragon-fly pushed his adversary with great 
 grace and decision off* the stalk, and the moth 
 fell down upon its back, leaving a quantity 
 of soft yellow powder behind it as a token of 
 its defeat. The dragon-fly, content to gain the 
 victory, darted swiftly away and was soon lost 
 to sight. 
 
 This little scene was hardly over when sounds 
 of woe, not far distant, broke upon Ray's ear. 
 
THE FLOWER RAY GATHERED. 
 
 41 
 
 It was a child's voice sobbing, and crying, and 
 screaming, and Ray sprang to his feet at the 
 unusual sound. The river was not a high road, 
 but a secluded part of the country, and generally 
 free from human interference. There was no mis- 
 taking the cries, however, for they grew louder 
 and louder, now a discordant shriek, then a piteous 
 wail. 
 
 Ray flew to the spot from whence the sounds 
 came. A hedge interposed, he crept through a 
 gap in it upon hands and knees, tore his clothes 
 with the brambles, stung his soft, flushed cheeks 
 with the nettles, stood upon his feet, and looked 
 around the field. 
 
 A short distance from him, under a clump of 
 trees, a dirty tent was pitched, and at the opening 
 of the tent there was a man holding a child, eight 
 or nine years old, by the hair, while he beat her 
 soundly with a stick he had in his hand. Ray 
 cleared the space between them in a few strides, 
 his heart throbbing wildly, his eye sparkling, his 
 
42 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 cheek tingling. It was all the same to him that 
 the girl was ugly and begrimed with dirt, her 
 clothes no more than a few soiled rags, her coarse 
 hair tangled and matted, with nothing in herself 
 or her surroundings to interest, or to vest with 
 any shadow of romance — had she been as lovely 
 as the Princesses for whom the knights of old 
 broke their lances, and as daintily dressed in silken 
 robes, it would have been all the same to Ray. 
 She was in distress, that was enough for him, 
 and he was there to help her. He wrenched 
 the stick from the man's hand, and before he 
 could understand or exclaim, broke it into bits 
 and tossed it away. 
 
 When the man realised what had been 
 done, he swore dreadfully, took the girl by the 
 shoulders and shook her. Ray compelled him 
 to loosen his hold, and threw his arms protectingly 
 around the astonished child. The man faced her 
 champion. 
 
 " She's my child," he said, shaking his fist at 
 
PAGE 43. 
 
THE FLOWER RA V GA THERED, 43 
 
 Ray. " Be off. I'll do as I please with my own 
 flesh and blood." 
 
 " You will not ill-treat her," replied Ray firmly. 
 
 " Who says so ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " And who may 'ee be, Td like to know ?" 
 " Raleigh Forrest." 
 
 The man paused. Ray's dauntlessness and 
 steady courage, the light and truth in the pure, 
 young face, stopped him for a minute. Then he 
 turned aside with a short laugh. 
 
 " Have your way now," he said. " I can finish 
 the beating another time. It's only put off. Sue, 
 mind." 
 
 Sue, hearing this, clung to Ray, renewing her 
 howls. He could see the bare neck with the 
 large red marks rising from it, and putting her 
 gently from him, he followed the man, who, with 
 his back towards them was now lighting a short, 
 black pipe. Ray touched him, he paid no atten- 
 tion, and Ray had to go round to face him. 
 
44 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 "What's up now," said the man with a sneer, 
 " ain't ye satisfied yet ?" 
 
 " No," replied Ray looking straightly at him. 
 " I want you to promise me never to beat that 
 little girl again." 
 
 " Well, you are a cheeky 'un, I must say. I 
 told you afore, I'll do as I plazes with my own 
 flesh and blood. I'll beat her when I've a mind, 
 and I'll finish out this beating, and she'll get 
 an extry share for its being put off, and that's 
 all the good your meddling's done her." 
 
 " Listen," said Ray detaining the man as he 
 was turning away. "Will you beat me instead 
 of her, please V 
 
 The man took the pipe out of his mouth and 
 stared, for once too much astonished to speak. 
 
 " I am a boy and I can bear it better," urged 
 Ray. " She is only a girl. Beat me, please, 
 instead of her." 
 
 Without a word the man flung aside his pipe, 
 strode to a willow tree and cut down a branch. 
 
THE FLOWER RAY GATHERED. 
 
 45 
 
 A slender stick, willowy as the tree whose stripling 
 it was, it could cut into the tender flesh as no 
 stouter stick could have done. With an oath 
 the man said savagely, 
 
 " ril see what mettle you're made of," and 
 prepared to strike. Ray retreated, putting up 
 his hands. 
 
 "Stay," he said. "You must first promise me 
 not to beat your girl." 
 
 " Oh ! that is only fair, you take the beat- 
 ing and she shall go free. But it's my beleft 
 you'll shirk it precious soon. Now then, are ye 
 ready ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The stick descended upon his back and Ray 
 shivered with the pain. The second blow and 
 all the blood in his body seemed rushing to his 
 head. He set his teeth together and prayed for 
 strength to bear it without any noise, but he 
 could not help flinching as the blows descended 
 fast and strong. 
 
46 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 It was over and he had borne it in silence, 
 only the tears had forced themselves, against his 
 will, into his eyes. 
 
 "Well, you are a plucky 'un, and youVe took 
 it like a plucky 'un," said the man surveying 
 his victim. " I hit sharp and hard, didn't I ? 
 Shouldn't wonder now," looking at the boy's 
 quivering face, "if I did give ye the promise 
 ye've set your heart upon. I ain't chicken-hearted, 
 and I like a plucky 'un. But first, I'd wish to 
 know what ye went for to make such a breeze 
 over my giving our Sue a bit of a beating. She 
 diin't jyour flesh and blood." 
 
 "She is a fellow-creature," said Ray. "GOD 
 made her and He made me, and when I saw 
 she was being ill-treated it was my duty to pro- 
 tect her. God made us all brothers and sisters, 
 since He is our FATHER. Now I want you to 
 give me your promise not to beat her again. Will 
 you, please 
 
 " Sue," called her father, " come^here." 
 
THE FLOWER RAY GATHERED. 
 
 47 
 
 She came ; wonderment looking out from her 
 soiled face and tangled hair. 
 
 "This young gent has been and taken your 
 thrashing, and wants me to give 'un my promise 
 not to beat you again. Now, Sue, you're that 
 aggrawatin' I dunno as I can keep my promise. 
 But ril just say that unless you're uncommon 
 aggrawatin', Til try and keep my hands off ye. 
 Now go in and see how the missis is." 
 
 The child disappeared inside the dirty tent and 
 Ray turned to go. 
 
 " The missis is took bad," said the man, " that's 
 how we come to bide here. Dunno as how she'll 
 ever git over it." 
 
 " Have you had the doctor asked Ray. 
 
 The man laughed sneeringly. 
 
 " We ain't got no victuals to give her, let alone 
 doctors and their stuff. Come in and look at her, 
 p'raps ye'll be able to tell what ails her." 
 
 Ray followed him. Upon a heap of straw, and 
 covered over with a dirty shawl, a woman lay. 
 
48 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 The glassy eyes, pallid face, and black lips struck 
 such terror into Ray, as no beating, however severe, 
 could call forth. He went quickly into the air 
 and gasped for breath. 
 
 " She's bad, ain't she T said the man, but more 
 as if he wanted to be told she was not so bad as 
 she seemed. 
 
 Ray could not give him this comfort. Ill and 
 starving the woman certainly was, and Ray felt 
 himself powerless to help. He had no money, and 
 no chance of getting any money. His possessions 
 were few, and only one of them of any value. 
 
 When their mother died, each of them had some- 
 thing of hers as a remembrance. To Ray's share 
 had fallen a likeness of her in a lovely setting of 
 opals and diamonds. The thought flashed across 
 him in a moment ; the likeness would be as dear 
 to him without its setting, and if these people 
 could sell the jewels, and procure food and a 
 doctor's help, the woman, ill as she was, might yet 
 recover. 
 
THE FLOWER RAY GATHERED, 
 
 49 
 
 " I have no money, and I cannot help you in 
 that way," he said, turning to the man, "but I 
 have something that belongs to me, some jewels, 
 that I shall be able to give you. I will bring them 
 quite early to-morrow morning. They are quite 
 my own, and you need not be afraid of taking 
 them. I can do as I like with them ; and you can 
 sell them to buy food and have a doctor for your 
 sick wife. Now I must hurry, for I am late. 
 Good evening." 
 
 The man nodded a good-night and followed the 
 boy at a distance, to see where he lived. Ray was 
 only just in time at the Fairies' Beech. There lay 
 his book where he had flung it down, and he 
 had just picked it up when the Elaine party shot 
 merrily past, shouting that the Enid was not far 
 behind. 
 
 She came along more slowly, for Enid was 
 rowing both sculls, Hester in disgrace, occupying 
 the more humble position of steerer. Ray asked 
 Enid if she would mind continuing the two oars, 
 
 E 
 
OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 and she gave a ready assent, only exclaiming at 
 his paleness. 
 
 " You are so white, Ray ; Janet and I were 
 talking of you only the other day. You read too 
 much ; even when you are not at lessons you are 
 nearly always poring over some book or another. 
 Take care, Hester, what are you thinking of.-^ 
 You will have us in the midst of those flags if you 
 are not more careful." 
 
 Ray was never a great talker, and his silence 
 passed unnoticed. He had never been so thankful 
 for his bed as he was that evening. He was sore, 
 bruised, and aching, and when he fell asleep at 
 last, it was only to tumble into uneasy slumbers, 
 waking every few minutes with the pain of his 
 bruises, and having restless dreams and visions of 
 the sick wife, the dirty tent, the miserable child. 
 The figure of the man haunted him but little, 
 and the remembrance of his beating was only 
 recalled to him by the pain he felt in his waking 
 moments. 
 
THE FLO WER RA Y GA THERED, 5 1 
 
 He rose early, dressed himself with difficulty, 
 took out the portrait from its jewelled setting, put 
 the latter in his pocket, and before any one else in 
 the house was astir, unbarred the door and stole 
 gently forth, dragging his stiff aching limbs over 
 the dew-washed fields. 
 
 Sue was nowhere visible, but the man was 
 waiting to receive him. 
 
 " Do ye feel the worse for your thrashing ?" was 
 his good-morrow. " Eh ! but ye look the worse, 
 and no mistake. Better have let it alone and let 
 Sue have had it. Her's used to 'em and takes to 
 'em more kindly." 
 
 "You promised me you would not beat her 
 again," reminded Ray sternly. 
 
 "And 'cos ye're a plucky 'un I'll keep my 
 promise. Unless Sue's that aggrawating that my 
 hands ain't my own, then I can't keep 'em off her. 
 She's gone to the town now, to see what she can 
 get given her for the missis." 
 
 " How is your wife 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNiYERSirf OF \\mm 
 
52 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 "Nor better, nor worse. Her would get on a 
 bit if we had victuals to give her." 
 
 " That is what I came for," said Ray, " to bring 
 you this. You can sell it, and procure doctor's 
 help and food for your wife and yourselves." 
 
 The man extended his hand carelessly, while 
 Ray's dived into the recesses of his pocket. Most 
 likely he expected some small bauble, a ring or 
 brooch that would bring them a few shillings, to 
 keep them from starving for the time, but the 
 minute the frame touched his fingers they closed 
 over it instinctively, as if by the mere contact he 
 knew its value. And to within a pound or two he 
 could value it pretty accurately. He had been 
 engaged in several burglaries, besides a great deal 
 of poaching business ; now, being home upon 
 ticket-of-leave, for prudence' sake he was behaving 
 more quietly. By selling these jewels he saw 
 at a glance they could live in comfort for some 
 years. 
 
 He looked from the sparkling jewels to Ray, 
 
THE FLOWER RA V GA THERED. 53 
 
 then from Ray to the jewels, and without speaking 
 a word went into the tent to his wife. 
 
 Ray stood Hstlessly without, not meaning to act 
 the part of eavesdropper, but the man's voice was 
 neither low nor soft, and a sentence which reached 
 his ear caused the blood to flush into his face, 
 staining it a deep scarlet colour. They had been 
 speaking of him, and it was evident that both man 
 and wife held the same view of the case, namely, 
 that Ray was a poor simple sort of lad who did 
 not understand the value of the gift he was 
 making. 
 
 For a moment indignation conquered every 
 better feeling, and he longed to rush into the tent 
 and proclaim the truth. It was the first impulse, 
 and a natural one, but he did not act upon it. 
 
 On the contrary, he walked quietly off, without 
 waiting for the man to reappear, and made his 
 way home across the fields and past hedges that 
 glistened with dew-drops as bright and lovely as 
 the diamonds that so short a time ago had shone 
 
54 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 around his mother's face. Yet the boy's heart 
 ached as well as his back, and with a pain that 
 was more unbearable. 
 
 He had stretched out his hand to pluck the 
 red Rose of Charity, and the Rose in the picking 
 had pricked him sorely. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ray's song. 
 
 '*Puisque tu sais chanter, ami, tu sais pleurer." 
 
 73 AY felt ill for several days after his beating, 
 and the pain in his heart was fully equal 
 to that of his bruised back. For the first time 
 in his life he had come into contact with " other 
 people," the "other people" of whom they had 
 heard so much from Janet and read about in 
 books, but of whom they had as yet known 
 nothing personally. His hand had been the first 
 to open the door upon this wide and varied region, 
 commonly called the world. 
 
 He had known there was sorrow in the world. 
 
56 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 and had been prepared to take his part in it as 
 well as he could, by fighting the battles of the 
 weak against the strong, as all true knights had 
 done and should for ever do. Herein lay the 
 difference betw^een himself and his father. They 
 were both equally sensitive to anything that jarred, 
 as things will jar, upon fine, highly-strung natures ; 
 but his father was content to keep from him, as 
 far as possible, all that was unsightly, sad, or 
 sorrowful. The boy longed to go forth and do his 
 best — with a true, pure heart — to alleviate the sad- 
 ness of which he had read. 
 
 His books taught him the need of a strong arm 
 and a pure heart, but they looked upon the glo- 
 rious side of the picture, dwelt upon the nobleness 
 of the contest, and the exceeding great reward, 
 but spoke no word of failures, or seeming failures, 
 nor of the sickening feeling of loneliness which the 
 soldier feels when, the conflict over for the time, 
 he rests upon his sword ere another fight begins. 
 
 A medley of feelings possessed the boy and 
 
RA Y'S SONG, 
 
 57 
 
 weighed him to the ground. Disappointment and 
 depression connected with his adventure, weariness 
 of surroundings, which made even the sunshine 
 torture to him ; a sense of loneliness and miscom- 
 prehension ; a restless, unsatisfied yearning for 
 something, he knew not what ; a yearning so in- 
 tense that he was sick at heart, — like a blind man 
 groping always in the dark for what he can never 
 find. 
 
 In this frame of mind he walked to church upon 
 the Sunday following. They had not far to go, 
 for the church was upon the other side of the 
 copse, and there was a private way through their 
 own grounds. Ray was allowed a key, and could 
 let himself in whenever he liked to play upon the 
 organ. 
 
 The church was very old and fortunate, inas- 
 much as it had suffered not at all either from 
 the hands of the despoiler of Cromwell's times 
 or the whitewash and plaster of the modern re- 
 storer. It was a very tiny church, built upon an 
 
OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 incline. The churchyard sloped to a field of 
 golden corn, the golden corn sloped down to the 
 shining river. It was built of grey stone, each 
 window being of rich stained glass, and between 
 the windows were niches filled in with small 
 figures of some of the saints carved also in grey 
 stone. The Forrests did not go to church tidily, 
 but in scattered fashion by ones, or twos, or threes, 
 as they were ready, or as the fancy took them. 
 Ray, that morning, was joined by Miles, who 
 brought a small trouble, — some skirmish with 
 Hester, — to his brother for sympathy and help. 
 Ray found it difficult to bring his mind to hear 
 Miles's story patiently and to give advice in the 
 matter. How petty those sort of things seemed to 
 him in his present mood, yet the child's grievance 
 was a real one so far as it went. 
 
 Ray's favourite nook was underneath the soldier 
 saint, S. Martin, who was portrayed with ^half a 
 cloak upon his shoulder, the other half lying at his 
 feet. When the service began he opened his 
 
RA TS SONG, 
 
 59 
 
 Prayer 'Book to follow the Psalms, and as he 
 opened it his eyes fell upon a text that riveted 
 his attention, chained his wandering thoughts : 
 " When I awake up after Thy likeness, I shall be 
 satisfied with it!' 
 
 It was service and sermon in one for him that 
 day. It could not lighten all the load that was 
 bowing him down, but it made clear to him what 
 otherwise had seemed so cloudy and enveloped 
 in mist. Here would be the loneliness ; the strug- 
 gling for perfection ; the frequent failures ; the 
 bright dreams not realised ; our " heart's desire" 
 unfulfilled ; the longing and yearning more painful 
 than tangible pain ; but there in the eternal years 
 would be the realisation of our brightest dreams, for 
 " When I awake up after Thy likeness, I shall be 
 satisfied with it!' 
 
 Ray went off to the church the next evening, 
 instead of rowing upon the river. Miles being easily 
 persuaded to blow the organ for him. The boy 
 was panting to put to music the new-born thoughts 
 
6o 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 which were crowding his mind, swelling in his 
 heart. 
 
 It was a long time before he succeeded in pleas- 
 ing himself. Over and over again he tried the 
 words, the patient Miles blowing unweariedly, until 
 at last his efforts were crowned with success. By 
 this time the sun, low in the west, shone slanting 
 into the church through the painted windows, and 
 the colours of amber, and red, and blue, and gold, 
 fell upon the grey, silent saints in their niches, 
 and seemed to warm them into listening as the boy 
 for the last time that day played his whole heart 
 out in the music that pealed through the solitude 
 of the church. 
 
 Ray's voice was a boy's voice unbroken yet, and 
 he formed the words into an anthem, singing them 
 in his clear, sweet, musical voice, untrained, but so 
 naturally true that he hardly could have sung 
 falsely had he tried. 
 
 First came the organ, and then the voice ac- 
 companying. " When I awake,' solemnly, softly. 
 
RA Y'S SONG, 
 
 6i 
 
 slowly, — " after Thy likeness^'' rising into grander 
 and more triumphant melody, — " / shall be satis- 
 fied,'' with a tender lingering upon the last word, — 
 / shall be satisfied with itl' then softly dying away 
 in perfect contentment and happiness. 
 
 The silent aisles caught the echoes, and carried 
 them up to Heaven. The church, instead of being 
 empty seemed full of people, as the boy's voice 
 rose clear and sweet among the pillars, and was 
 carried back from every nook and corner. The 
 little grey saints, with their folded arms, seemed 
 to waken into life and to join in the song as it 
 floated round their heads, and to smile with sweet 
 content as if the melody aroused happy memories 
 in their hearts. It was strange to think of the 
 many noble men and women who had gathered in 
 different times beneath that roof, and how their 
 lives had been lived, their very names and exis- 
 tences forgotten. And what mattered their sor- 
 rows and pains now that all was at an end 1 If 
 they had been good and true, they had long ere 
 
62 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 this realised the words that were pealing through 
 the church as a young soldier sang them, " When I 
 awake up after Thy likeness^ I shall be satisfied 
 with it!' 
 
 The birds were hushed in sleep, the sun was 
 slowly dipping into the west, the bright flecks of 
 colour faded from the robes of the saints, leaving 
 them grey, motionless, untroubled as ever ; when 
 the last notes of the organ died away, and Ray's 
 hands were gently lifted from the keys. 
 
 The toils of the willing little labourer were over 
 for that day, and Miles, hot and panting, with ruf- 
 fled hair and flushed cheeks, stood beside his 
 brother. 
 
 " Do you know, Ray," he said, rubbing his hot 
 cheek against his brother's coat-sleeve, " that music 
 was lovely. I think it was the most beautiful 
 music you have ever made, Ray." 
 
 I 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST. 
 
 ' * The way to be comfortable is to make others so ; 
 The way to make others comfortable is to appear to love them ; 
 The way to appear to love them is to love them in reality. " 
 
 1\ /r RS. Irvine's note of invitation came in due 
 time and exceedingly ruffled Mr. Forrest. 
 As a gentleman he could not depart from his word 
 when once it was given, so he consoled himself by 
 thinking that after all three months would soon 
 pass away, and he would take care to guard 
 against further intrusion by writing to his banker 
 and saying that his address was to be given to 
 no one. He made this resolution, then rang the 
 
64 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 bell for Janet, told her the children were to be 
 ready by three o'clock the next day, when the 
 carriage would call for them to take them to 
 spend the afternoon with their cousin, Mrs. Irvine, 
 who would also send them home punctually by 
 nine o'clock the same evening. This settled, 
 he wrote the note to his banker at once, and dis- 
 missed the disagreeable subject from mind and 
 thoughts. 
 
 Janet did not know whether to be pleased or 
 sorry. She was pleased her young people should 
 see something of the world, yet she was more con- 
 scious than they were of their shortcomings in the 
 way of clothes, and she was sensitive for their 
 sake, lest any ridicule should be thrown upon them 
 which would send them into their shells and give 
 them pain. For the first time for many a year she 
 felt vexed with her master for not thinking of the 
 matter, and wished with all her heart that she 
 could turn one of those countless nick-nacks into 
 money and spend it upon her children's clothes. 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST. 
 
 65 
 
 that they might look, after all, not unlike " other 
 people." 
 
 There was great excitement among the Forrests 
 when the news was known, but Janet's trouble was 
 not a trouble to them. Their heads were full of 
 the mysterious world into which they were to wing 
 their flight for the first time ; of the " other people" 
 with whom they were at last to come into contact ; 
 and not one thought did they give, either boys or 
 girls, to the question of clothes. And Janet, wisely 
 enough, did not enlighten them. 
 
 They were all in their room waiting for the 
 carriage when Janet, standing by the deal table, 
 surveyed them critically and in silence. 
 
 She looked at them with her own eyes, — eyes 
 full of love for the children she had watched over 
 from their birth, as if they had been her own. 
 Enid, small and dark, with brown hair and grey 
 eyes, was arrayed, like her namesake, in " a robe 
 of faded silk," a dress that had been her mother's 
 cut up to fit her, yellow in colour at the begin- 
 F 
 
66 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 ning of its career, now faded into indistinctness, 
 frayed, and short at the sleeves ; even the lace 
 ruffles, washed and ironed as only Janet could wash 
 and iron them, failed to hide the want of length. 
 Cecily, tall and fair, was in the same kind of soft, 
 clinging silk, also her mother's, but hers of sap- 
 phire blue had faded in patches, and looked worse 
 than her sister's, while it was short in the skirt 
 even in these days of short dresses. Hester, tall 
 and sprightly, attired in flowered chintz, had the 
 air of running away from her things altogether. 
 She grew so fast that it was a constant struggle 
 between Janet and her clothes. None of the girls 
 were beauties in the common sense of the word, 
 but each had that fast fleeting prettiness — of youth 
 and freshness. 
 
 Ray, Denys, and Miles were as badly off as the 
 girls, for their coats were threadbare and shiny in 
 places, and bore evident marks of not being tailor- 
 made. Indeed John was the only tailor the boys' 
 clothes knew. 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST, 67 
 
 Janet sighed. If with the eyes of love she was 
 conscious of these defects, what would the critical 
 eyes of other people see? She could only trust 
 that they themselves might remain in ignorance of 
 anything that would vex them, and she saw them 
 into the large roomy carriage, with an earnest 
 prayer that her darlings would return as happy 
 and innocent as when they started. 
 
 The garden at the Hermitage was alive with 
 people. That the children saw, as the carriage 
 bowled swiftly up the avenue. Mrs. Irvine was in 
 the porch waiting to receive them. They did not 
 feel shy with her, she greeted them so easily and 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " Your father is my first cousin. We were play- 
 fellows as boy and girl. I hope we shall be great 
 friends. Let me see, you are my first cousins, 
 once removed. What would you like to do 'i 
 You boys are for cricket, of course. What are 
 your names ?" 
 
 " Raleigh, Denys, Miles." 
 
68 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 " And yours ?" turning to the girls. 
 " Enid, Cecily, Hester." 
 
 " Ah, yes. I shall remember them. What pretty 
 names. But I did think my cousin would have 
 called one of you after your poor mother. Johnny 
 Lester," — to a bright-faced boy, — "I want you. 
 Here are three new companions for you. Make 
 friends with them, and take them to the cricket- 
 field. They will tell you their names as they go 
 along." 
 
 " Now for you," turning to the girls. " Can you 
 play tennis ?" 
 
 They answered " No," but Hester, never very 
 backward, suggested she would be glad to 
 learn. 
 
 " I am afraid we must wait a little until we get 
 the ground clear. There is only one tennis ground, 
 and the players staying here are good ones, 
 and might not care to take in a beginner. How- 
 ever, another day we will manage to teach you, if 
 you can come over in the morning. Ah ! there is 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST. 69 
 
 Lena Donald. She shall take you about and show 
 you the garden." 
 
 Lena was a pretty girl, very much got up in 
 pompadour, laces, and ribbons, and with a waist 
 the size of a wasp's. She glanced over the For- 
 rests with a hardly concealed smile, but prepared 
 to be civil and to entertain them, as Mrs. Irvine 
 wished. But she could make nothing of them, 
 nor they of her. She walked with Enid, the other 
 two falling back when the path was narrow. 
 
 " Have you been to many parties this year 
 
 " This is our first. We live quite in the country 
 and never go out." 
 
 " Not even to London ? Then you have not 
 seen the Royal Academy this year i^" 
 
 " We have never been to London in our lives. 
 We have never even seen a train," said Enid, 
 candidly. 
 
 Lena could not restrain an exclamation of in- 
 tense surprise. She did not realise that in a civi- 
 lised country such a state of affairs could be 
 
70 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 possible. She was silent for a few minutes, think- 
 ing it over. Then she tried another subject. 
 
 " Of course, if you live in the country, you play 
 tennis all day long. Awfully jolly game tennis, 
 isn't it ?" 
 
 Enid was puzzled and silent for a moment in 
 her turn. Lena and her slang were quite as new 
 to her as she and her sisters were to Lena. 
 
 " We do not play tennis," she answered. 
 
 " Then what do you do was upon the tip of 
 Lena's tongue, in sheer desperation. But she fell 
 back upon the weather, which they wore thread- 
 bare, — then Lena yawned and glanced about, won- 
 dering to whom she could resign the charge of 
 these "three queer outlandish girls," with whom 
 she had not an idea in common. 
 
 She decided upon a stout, good-natured old gen- 
 tleman, a friend of hers, who was sitting under a 
 tree — Mr. Foster by name. She introduced them 
 to him as " Mrs. Irvine's cousins," and left them in 
 his hands with a clear conscience. 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST 
 
 71 
 
 Here it was the same ground over again. Mr. 
 Foster concluded they had been up to town for 
 the season, and asked Enid how many balls she 
 had been to since she came out. He put on his 
 spectacles, and looked the three girls over from 
 head to foot after hearing Enid's frank admission. 
 He concluded they must be blue-stockings, and 
 after pondering a good deal, he began about the 
 leader in that day's " Times." 
 
 Cecily, who was spokeswoman that time, asked 
 innocently what the " Times" was. The name of a 
 skiff .^^ she concluded. Mr. Foster was perfectly 
 bewildered then, and running into the opposite 
 extreme concluded Cecily must be a " harmless sort 
 of lunatic," and gave them up in despair as Lena 
 had done. 
 
 Several people spoke to them with a like result, 
 and they attracted much attention. Some of the 
 young ladies were rude enough to laugh openly at 
 them and their attire, but the girls themselves were 
 so utterly unconscious that there was anything in 
 
72 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 themselves or their dress to call forth ridicule that, 
 fortunately, these shafts fell harmless. Enid, and 
 Cecily, and Hester, watched people and things with 
 the most eager interest, and it was all so new to 
 them that they forgot themselves in the fascination 
 of observing the much talked of, much wondered 
 over, " other people." 
 
 There was a little American among the visitors 
 at the Hermitage, and after noticing the Forrests 
 and hearing some of the remarks upon them, she 
 determined to see if she could not make something 
 of them and give them a better time than they 
 seemed to be having. 
 
 She greeted them kindly, but with no set phrases, 
 only remarking that she had heard this sort of 
 thing was new to them. Her manner attracted 
 them at once, — she was simple and straightforward, 
 with no affectation. Her accent, however, pro- 
 claimed her nationality, and she used phrases which 
 sometimes puzzled the Forrests, who had never 
 even read an American book. Their father had 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST 
 
 73 
 
 boxes from Mudie's at set intervals, but he sent the 
 Hst himself and was most rigidly careful in exclud- 
 ing any work that had the slightest connection with 
 the New World. 
 
 Hope Lifesay sat down among the girls and, 
 instead of asking them questions, she talked to 
 them, pointed out who were staying in the house, 
 said how they amused themselves during the day, 
 and so forth. 
 
 " It is odd to think of your living such a long 
 way off as America," said Enid, thoughtfully. 
 " What an immense way for you to travel. Do you 
 not dread it r 
 
 " Oh dear no," said Hope, with a merry laugh ; 
 " I have done it too often to dread it. We call the 
 Atlantic * the big pond' in our country, and think 
 nothing of crossing it. This is my fourth time 
 over here. Last season I was unlucky though. I 
 developed measles soon after we settled ourselves 
 in town. I was real sick for a long spell, I assure 
 you, for I had them very badly." 
 
74 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 " How provoking," said Hester, turning upon her 
 with one of her quick and not ungraceful move- 
 ments, " when you came over on purpose to enjoy 
 yourself. Were not you sorry ?" 
 
 " Well, yes, I guess I wasn't glad. Measles are 
 no joke when you are grown too old to want them. 
 But I kept up my spirits pretty well considerin', 
 and I liked to think," with a softer inflection in 
 her shrill voice, " that other people were having 
 a good time though I was not able to be with 
 them." 
 
 "There is a gentleman I should like to know 
 the name of," said Enid. " You have not men- 
 tioned him among others. He looks so — " She 
 paused for a word. 
 
 " So — what," demanded Hope, quickly following 
 Enid's glance. 
 
 " I was going to say sad, but it is hardly that, — 
 it is more indifferent, — as if he did not care for 
 what he is about, and as if he was thinking of some- 
 thing else." 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST 
 
 75 
 
 " That is Captain Forbes Dunbar," said Hope, 
 turning wistful eyes towards the gentleman Enid 
 had noticed, " and the old lady beside him is his 
 mother. You have hit the mark in describing him 
 as indifferent, for it's the name he has in his regi- 
 ment. He don't take any interest in anything 
 or anybody except his mother, and he is devoted 
 to her, I have never come across any one so in- 
 different either this side or the other side of the 
 big pond." 
 
 Her subdued voice and heightened colour were 
 noticed by the three girls, who turned with fresh 
 interest to look at Captain Dunbar. 
 
 He had straightened himself against the tree 
 underneath which his mother sat ; and his golden 
 uncovered head rested tiredly against the brown 
 tree-trunk. The expression which Enid had no- 
 ticed was more marked now the face was in repose, 
 and the lines of time and thought showed upon it. 
 His eyes were looking, but unseeingly, straight 
 before him, and his drooping moustache hid from 
 
76 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 view the closeness, almost to pain, with which the 
 lips were pressed together. 
 
 There was a short pause, which the American 
 was the first to break. 
 
 " I guess we'll go in and have tea," she said, 
 rising abruptly. Tea is laid in the dining-room, 
 and we are to go in anyhow and have it. We 
 are a nice little party among ourselves without 
 waiting for any one else. Come." 
 
 Upon their way to the house they met Ray, who 
 was searching for them. The boys had found their 
 kind more amiable than had the girls. Some little 
 surprise was expressed at their ignorance of cricket, 
 but no words were wasted, and the boys set to 
 work at once to teach them. Denys and Miles 
 proved apt scholars ; Ray, not caring for the game, 
 had been wandering about alone. 
 
 Soon after tea dancing was begun upon the 
 lawn. Hope knew better than to ask them if they 
 danced, for she guessed the answer would be in 
 the negative. They were sitting in one of the 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST 
 
 dining-room windows when the first notes of the 
 music struck up. Hope was in the midst of the 
 three girls who were hanging upon her words, and 
 once having taken them under her wing, she found 
 it difficult to tear herself from them. She had a 
 special reason for wanting to join the dancers. 
 Since she had first seen Forbes Dunbar he had 
 excited her interest by being so unlike any one 
 else, then she had magnified him into a hero, and 
 little by little her heart had gone out to him. She 
 had a faint hope, if she was among the dancers, 
 that he might ask her to dance, — he had done so 
 at one or two of the parties at which she had met 
 him, and as he never danced more than three 
 dances in an evening she had felt the being singled 
 out a special honour. She gave a wistful glance 
 upon the lawn, to see if perchance that fair, lazy 
 head were in sight, then turned her back resolutely 
 upon the gay company, and devoted herself afresh 
 to the Forrests. Hope never did things by halves, 
 and nobody could have guessed from her merry 
 
78 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 laugh that she had just then made a small sacri- 
 fice. 
 
 She could tell so much that the girls were long- 
 ing to hear about, and they listened with absorbed 
 interest. But once, in reply to a remark from 
 Cecily, she put up her hands with a pathetic 
 gesture. 
 
 " Don't," she said, slowly and gravely, " don't 
 wish you had seen as much of the world as I have. 
 That is the mistake we make in our country, I see 
 it more and more the longer I live. Our girls grow 
 up too fast, they cram a life-time into a few years. 
 We had much better wait and let things come. 
 Just look at me ! Tm like the general in history, 
 who cried because he had no more worlds to con- 
 quer. Was it Julius Caesar or Alexander } IVe 
 been everywhere and seen everything. IVe done 
 the Continent three times, galleries, churches, sta- 
 tues, scenery and sights. And I am only twenty- 
 three, and yet I seem-, oh ! fifty or a hundred, com- 
 pared to you." 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST 79 
 
 " We have seen nothing," said Cecily, " absolutely 
 nothing." 
 
 " All in good time," said Hope. " Isn't there one 
 of your English proverbs which says, that ^All 
 things come to those who wait/ And if — " 
 
 " If it does not come ?" said Hester quickly. 
 
 **Well, then I guess it's because you're better 
 without it, and you will never feel the miss of it. 
 But girls, where has your brother slipped away to ? 
 He was here a minute ago." 
 
 " He is here now," said Hester, " poring over a 
 book in that corner. He reads, reads, reads, all 
 day long. Come here, Ray, and enjoy yourself" 
 
 "Perhaps he is enjoying himself," said the little 
 American, with that quick comprehension which 
 was her great charm. " Different people have dif- 
 ferent ways of enjoying themselves. But I do wish," 
 she continued, walking to Ray's quiet corner, " that 
 you would play to me a bit. I love music, though 
 I can't play myself, and your sisters tell me you 
 can play real well." 
 
8o 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 Ray coloured. 
 
 " I would willingly, but I can only play the organ, 
 and—" 
 
 " There is no organ ? ah ! but you don't half 
 know the treasures of the Hermitage," she said, 
 gaily. " Up, fair ladies, and follow me." 
 
 They followed her down a long passage, at the 
 end she turned aside, opened a door, and they 
 entered a small music room, fitted up with a few 
 low seats, a harp, organ, and piano. The twilight 
 shadows were already gathering, and heavy moreen 
 curtains made the room darker than it would other- 
 wise have been. 
 
 Ray unlocked the organ dreamily, his brain full 
 of thoughts. Here were many "other people" 
 about him, all bent upon enjoyment, and he felt he 
 had no part with them, nor they with him. He 
 wanted to find an outlet for the yearning that 
 swelled his heart, and was such exquisite pain ; he 
 was longing to realise some of his many dreams, 
 and to go forth and do battle for those who were 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST 8i 
 
 sorrowful, suffering, weak, with the good old watch- 
 word for his motto, " GOD and the right." 
 
 As his fingers wandered over the keys, the room 
 faded ; in its place there was the grey church with 
 the little grey saints in their niches, the colours from 
 the stained glass falling softly upon them, and the 
 grand old pillars catching his song, and echoing it 
 to Heaven. And before he could reason as to 
 what he should play, he broke into the soft sweet 
 symphony of the song he had made a short time 
 ago. 
 
 Now Forbes Dunbar had been in the window 
 recess when the party entered the room. He had 
 come here to be alone, and his impulse was to leave 
 at once. But when the first soft notes broke upon 
 his ear, he stayed, the heavy curtains falling around 
 him, and hiding him from sight. 
 
 The low sweet prelude stole through the room, 
 and then the boy's voice was uplifted, clear and 
 true, singing with an intensity of feeling that 
 breathed forth in every note, for he was uttering in 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 song the pathetic thoughts which were crowding his 
 heart and throbbing in his brain : " When^' low and 
 Hngeringly the word was dwelt upon, " When I 
 awake up after Thy likeness^ I shall be satisfied 
 with itr Now louder, then softer, then dying off 
 as if the singer had breathed out his soul in pure 
 delight at the perfect satisfaction which could not 
 be expressed. The anthem lasted in its changes for 
 about ten minutes, and when the last notes passed 
 into silence, no one spoke, not even to say " thank 
 you." And Ray, with soft flushed cheeks and 
 dreamy eyes, scarcely realising that he was not 
 alone, went on, half unconsciously, with one of 
 Beethoven's lovely sonatas. 
 
 Hope listened with tears in her eyes, until voices 
 were heard calling for the Miss Forrests. Then 
 they had to run off to put on their things, while 
 Ray stayed behind to shut up the organ. 
 
 Another pair of hands helped him, and looking 
 up, in the gloom of the room, he found Forbes 
 Dunbar's face bent over him. 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST. 
 
 83 
 
 No one has discovered the law that attracts one 
 person to another, and the reverse. I suppose it is 
 something sympathetic in nature in the one case, 
 and antagonistic in the other. But it is useless 
 fighting against the attraction when it comes, " what 
 will be, will be." 
 
 A day or two back, if any one had told Forbes 
 that a boy of fifteen would have had such a strange 
 attraction for him, he would have smiled cynically, 
 he never laughed — and have totally disbelieved 
 them. 
 
 For many years now Forbes Dunbar's life had 
 been a heavy weight upon him. A yearning, a 
 longing possessed him, haunted him wherever he 
 went. He had drifted with the stream, it is true, 
 going to concerts, balls, theatres, dinners, if he had 
 to go, but sick to death of the gay routine, and 
 shirking them whenever he could. And of late, he 
 had been quite morbid, feeling as if everything 
 around him was unreal and shadowy, and he, among 
 the people, moving as if he were always a person 
 
84 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 in a dream, and not his real, living self. It was an 
 unhealthy state in which to be, and he knew it, but 
 did not try to rouse himself or shake it off. If he 
 roused himself that craving would come back, a 
 gnawing pain at his heart, which he dreaded un- 
 speakably, for nothing seemed to satisfy it. But 
 the words and music of Ray's song that evening 
 cleared the gathered shadows just as the mist rolls 
 away in an instant beneath the warm sun from the 
 mountain tops. A voice told him that ease and 
 pleasure, and happiness are not our end in this 
 life. We must pass along the path of duty if 
 we would gain the reward of perfect satisfaction. 
 Here, must be the striving after perfection, if here- 
 after we would realise it in its completion. " When 
 I awake up after Thy likeness, I shall be satisfied 
 with itl' but we must first have the confidence 
 of having strained every nerve to merit that satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Duty is stern and real. Forbes wondered where 
 his lay. Not among the butterflies of the world, 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT FROM THE NEST, 
 
 85 
 
 not in amusement, nor in so-called society, but 
 where ? 
 
 In a short time the answer came, and Ray's song 
 bore fruit. 
 
 " I like your music exceedingly," said Forbes, as 
 he and Ray left the music room. "May I ride 
 over to-morrow afternoon, and will you play to 
 me r 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Ray, who felt he had found 
 a friend, and one who would understand him. 
 
 Janet scanned her children eagerly upon their 
 return, but read only happiness in their faces. Ray 
 went up to her as he had been wont to do when a 
 little fellow, and putting his arms round her neck, 
 kissed her upon each cheek. 
 
 " Bless them," thought Janet, " and I have been 
 worrying over them all the time they've been away, 
 and here they are come back just the same as when 
 they went out, only may be brighter. Well, I am 
 glad they went." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT, UPON THE RIVER. 
 
 ' ' Our direct efforts to teach may be contradicted by our lives, 
 while the indirect influence is our very Ufe." 
 
 IF the master of the house had not bitterly 
 regretted already the promise he had made 
 to his cousin, he had reason to regret it a thousand 
 times more the day following his children's visit 
 to the Hermitage. 
 
 About eleven o'clock in the morning Hope 
 Lifesay drove over to call upon the three girls. 
 Mr. Forrest did not see her, but he had to give 
 permission for the studies to be interrupted, that 
 the girls might entertain their new friend, which 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT, UPON THE RIVER, 
 
 87 
 
 they were nothing loath to do. A friend was 
 such a novelty to them, and they liked the lively, 
 warm-hearted little American who had been so 
 friendly with them upon their first introduction to 
 the world. 
 
 About half-past four in the afternoon came 
 Forbes Dunbar to call upon Ray, But he in- 
 quired for Mr. Forrest first, and the master of 
 the house was compelled to receive him. Forbes 
 did not jar upon him as Mrs. Irvine had done, 
 but Mr. Forrest was very glad when the invi- 
 tation to stay and dine, which he felt compelled 
 to give, was declined, and Captain Dunbar begged 
 that he might be allowed a cup of afternoon tea 
 with the school-room party instead. Mr. Forrest 
 most gladly handed him over to be entertained 
 by his sons and daughters. 
 
 Thus Captain Dunbar proved the first visitor 
 to whom Enid had given a cup of tea. She 
 was very shy, but Forbes had a knack of setting 
 people at their ease, when he chose to exert 
 
88 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 himself, and that evening he succeeded so well 
 that the tea-party passed off successfully. 
 
 Afterwards they divided, Enid, Cecily, Hester, 
 Denys, went for their usual row, while Forbes 
 went to the church to be played to by Ray, 
 accompanied by the faithful Miles to fag for 
 them. 
 
 This was the beginning of much intercourse 
 between Hope and the girls. Captain Dunbar 
 and Ray. Forbes's listless manner had quite 
 changed, and he sought Ray's society upon every 
 opportunity. Poor Mr. Forrest was helpless in 
 the hands of Fate. Holiday after holiday was 
 granted that Denys and Miles might play cricket 
 at the Hermitage, and the girls and Ray walk 
 or go upon boating excursions with their separate 
 friends. He would never have consented but for 
 the prospect of a speedy cessation, to which he 
 looked forward, and every day he consoled him- 
 self by thinking that the end of the three months, 
 which was the limit of Mrs. Irvine's stay, was getting 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT, UPON THE RIVER. 
 
 89 
 
 nearer and nearer, and then the reins would be 
 once more tightened, never again to be slackened 
 or let go. And, thus thinking, he would dismiss 
 the subject as he did all disagreeables, lesser or 
 greater, from his mind, and sauntering in the wood, 
 forgot such a thing as the world existed, while 
 he caressed the birds that fluttered so joyfully 
 and trustingly around him. 
 
 One evening, when the hunter's moon held high 
 court in the heavens, Forbes and Ray were re- 
 turning later than usual from a boating expedition. 
 
 The banks between which they passed, shone 
 like burnished silver, for the dew lay thick upon 
 the grass, and the light from the unusually bril- 
 liant moon, showed each blade and twig as the 
 boat shot silently by. The two were not talking, 
 for Forbes had been unusually dreamy that even- 
 ing, only a sudden lurch of the boat caused him 
 to rouse himself. 
 
 "We nearly capsized. I was half asleep I 
 think." 
 
90 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 " It was my fault," replied Ray. " I was won- 
 dering what that is ?" 
 
 Forbes followed the direction of the boy's finger, 
 to where among the tangled grasses lay a dark 
 shapeless mass. 
 
 " We can row on and see," he said, indifferently, 
 for he was thinking of other things. 
 
 They stopped the boat close by the bank and 
 looked for a minute at the object in question, 
 while an icy coldness seemed to freeze the warm 
 blood in their veins, and their lips were closed 
 with horror. 
 
 A shapeless, dirty bundle of rags it appeared 
 to be at first. But lying upon a large, cool, 
 smooth leaf, as if its coolness and softness had 
 made a resting place for it, was a woman's face 
 framed in iron-grey hair. The eyes were open 
 and staring, the lips parched and cracked, the 
 face so pallid and thin that you could almost 
 see through it, the skin dried and shrunken as 
 a mummy's. It was as if the poor creature had 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT, UPON THE RIVER. 
 
 91 
 
 dragged herself down by the cool, fresh water, 
 and lying there was content to die. 
 
 Forbes shuddered, drew back, and took up the 
 sculls as if preparing to go on. Ray, on the 
 contrary, sprang lightly out, and was kneeling 
 by the side of the silent form before Forbes could 
 stop him. 
 
 " Come back, Ray, at once," said Forbes authori- 
 tatively. "You don't know what you are doing. 
 You will catch some dreadful disease if you go 
 near — that — thing." 
 
 Ray looked up — the pure, pale, refined young 
 face expressed none of the repulsion so plainly 
 marked in Forbes's face. In Ray's there was 
 nothing but sadness for the sufferer. However 
 much inwardly his sensitive nature shrank from 
 touching the repulsive bundle beside him, he did 
 not show it, but made the effort calmly and 
 quietly, lifting gently the rough grey head, while 
 dipping his hand in the cool water he bathed 
 the brow and lips. 
 
92 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 Forbes was by his side and laid forcible hands 
 upon him. 
 
 " Ray," he began. 
 
 " It is a woman," said Ray simply and earnestly. 
 
 Forbes straightened himself and grew scarlet, 
 even in the pale light of the stately queen who 
 smiled so coldly and serenely upon them. 
 
 Ray had not meant to rebuke him, such an idea 
 had never entered his head. Forbes' exclamations 
 had fallen upon deaf ears ; he had been absorbed 
 in the woman from the beginning. She was in 
 need, sore need, and they were here to succour her. 
 It did not occur to him that Forbes might view 
 the matter differently or that he would fail to help. 
 
 Nor did he in the long run. He shrank, as most 
 young men will, and naturally, from any contact 
 with such misery, and sickness, and poverty. Each 
 alone perhaps would have been bearable, combined 
 they were repulsive to him. But Ray's simple 
 words struck the right chord, and roused all the 
 chivalry latent in his nature. As for Ray, the 
 
PAGE 92. 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT, UPON THE RIVER, 
 
 93 
 
 woman needed help, and that was sufficient. A 
 duchess in silks and laces would not have received 
 more care and reverent tending than this woman 
 by the river side, old, forlorn, and neglected. 
 
 Forbes, ashamed of himself, knelt down beside 
 Ray, and helped, shrinkingly and gingerly at first, 
 then firmly, carefully, and heartily as Ray, when 
 once his sympathies were aroused, himself and 
 his position forgotten. 
 
 Together they lifted the woman into a safer 
 and more restful place upon level ground, bathed 
 her lips and brow until she opened her eyes and 
 moaned faintly. 
 
 " I wonder if I have the good luck to have my 
 shooting-flask with me," said Forbes, feeling in his 
 pockets. " Ah ! here it is. I did not change my 
 coat this evening, and thanks to that, the flask is 
 here.'' 
 
 They mixed a little brandy with some water, 
 and giving it to the woman in small quantities it 
 seemed to revive her marvellously. 
 
94 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 " The best thing we can do for her," said Forbes^ 
 "is to find some one who would take her in and 
 nurse her. I would willingly pay for her. You 
 are a native, Ray, is there any cottage near where 
 she could be taken in and tended ?" 
 
 " The cottages are much further down the river, 
 and I have never been into any of them, so I 
 do not know what kind of people live in them. I 
 wonder if Janet would mind if I take her to our 
 home ?" 
 
 "Very much indeed, I should say. It would 
 not be fair to Janet or your sisters either." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Ray ; " but what can we 
 do for her } We are only a few yards from home, 
 and if you will wait here I will ask Janet for some 
 beef-tea. I know there is some, for Enid has 
 not been well, and Janet made her some to 
 strengthen her." 
 
 Ray darted off, leaving his friend kneeling upon 
 the dewy grass, under the light of the silver moon, 
 moistening the lips of the tramp with brandy and 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT, UPON THE RIVER. 
 
 95 
 
 water. It was not a situation the young officer 
 would have chosen, and the minutes were not 
 winged that passed before Ray's return. 
 
 He arrived breathless, and said he should have 
 been quicker, only the beef-tea was in a jelly, and 
 he had to wait for it to be melted. He brought it 
 in a deep jar, and while Forbes held the woman's 
 head, he prepared to feed her with a spoon he had 
 brought for the purpose. 
 
 She swallowed some of the beef-tea, then fell 
 back unconscious again. They looked at each 
 other, and Forbes, the more practical of the two, 
 almost groaned aloud as he wondered what was to 
 be done. Ray, no doubt, with his high-flown 
 notions of chivalry, would stay there all night, 
 bathing the woman's brow and moistening her lips 
 with brandy and water, but something must be 
 decided, and that soon. But then Forbes felt he had 
 wronged the boy, for Ray's sympathy was so great, 
 that it brought common-sense in its train, when 
 that valuable and rare commodity was required. 
 
96 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 " The grass is so damp with the dew," suggested 
 Ray, **and if this poor woman lies here much 
 longer she will die. Do you think if we rowed her 
 down to the nearest cottages that they would take 
 her in ?" 
 
 " We can but try. How far off are they ?" 
 
 " Past Willow Island, and even then you have 
 to cross a couple of fields to get to them. Shall 
 you mind ?" 
 
 " Not at all. I am used to late hours. But 
 you ?" 
 
 " I told Janet, and she did not mind as I was 
 with you." 
 
 They lifted the woman into the boat between 
 them, and then taking up the sculls moved swiftly 
 and silently away. 
 
 Past the willows, and reeds, and irises. Past the 
 Fairies' Beech and the shivering aspens, whose 
 silver leaves rattled drearily as they shot by them. 
 Past banks that in day-time were alive with bees, 
 and birds, and fish, but now everything slept, and 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT, UPON THE RIVER. 
 
 97 
 
 there was a still ghostly look over the familiar 
 objects, as if the witching spell of the moon had 
 cast some weird uncanny influence upon them. 
 
 Ray indicated the landing-place, and they 
 pulled up. 
 
 " You must cross two fields," he said, " and then 
 you will come upon a cluster of cottages, eight or 
 nine together. They are tenanted, John says, by 
 people who work in a paper-mill about a mile 
 distant across country." 
 
 " I will do my best to find them," said Forbes. 
 
 " If you go straight from here, you will see a 
 stile before you, and when once you are over that 
 it will not be difficult. Now the hedge hides 
 them, but in the earlier part of the evening you 
 can see the chimneys, and the smoke rising from 
 them." 
 
 It was Ray's turn to watch, but the time did 
 not seem long to him, for his thoughts were full 
 of the poor friendless creature who had dragged 
 herself down, weak, and ill, and weary, to die where 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 at least she could hear the cool lapping of the 
 water, and smell the freshness of the swiftly flowing 
 river. 
 
 Forbes after a while appeared, with many apolo- 
 gies for having been such a long time. He had 
 tried each cottage in turn and had despaired of 
 success, for the people all worked at the paper- 
 mills, and those who were left to mind the house 
 were either young, or had their hands too full to 
 be responsible for the charge of a sick woman. 
 At the last cottage, however, he met with better 
 luck. A mother and daughter lived together, the 
 daughter worked at the mill, and the mother 
 stayed at home to look after things. They were 
 very poor, and thankful to earn such an addition 
 to their store as the money Forbes proffered. 
 The mother was not too old to wait upon the sick 
 woman, and Forbes was careful to say that the 
 money should be paid weekly, that he or Ray 
 might see that she was really taken care of and 
 properly nursed. 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT, UPON THE RIVER, 99 
 
 Forbes engaged some men to carry her to the 
 cottage, and they left her safely in the hands of 
 the mother and daughter, who seemed nice, upon 
 the whole, though Ray was shocked at the 
 apathetic and matter-of-fact light in which they 
 evidently regarded the sufferings of the poor 
 woman. He had not learnt how common such 
 suffering and poverty is to those whose lot is cast 
 in the midst of it. It is their normal state, and it 
 is no wonder their natures harden and apathy 
 ensues. If they were as sensitive as gently 
 nurtured people, their lives would be short indeed. 
 
 It was an immense relief to Forbes to find 
 himself once more in the boat alone with Ray, and 
 the woman safely disposed of. At one time he 
 had almost thought he must have taken her before 
 him upon his horse, and thrown her upon the 
 hospitable care of Mrs. Irvine, of whom he was a 
 great favourite, perhaps because he was so im- 
 penetrable. 
 
 " I shall leave the money in your hands, Ray," 
 
100 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 he said, " or rather, I shall make arrangements for 
 it to be sent to you quarterly, for if she lives I 
 should like to allow her a certain sum. I am 
 going home for three days, to-morrow, and upon 
 my return we will go together and see her. After- 
 wards — " and he paused. 
 
 " Shall not you be staying here much longer 
 asked Ray, for Forbes had not before talked of 
 leaving until Mrs. Irvine left. He liked that part 
 of the country, he had said, it suited him. His 
 mother had been gone some time. 
 
 He did not answer, but threw back his head and 
 looked into a sky as brightly, deeply, darkly blue 
 as ever the far-famed Italian skies. 
 
 " No," he said, after full five minutes' silence, 
 when Ray had forgotten having asked the question, 
 " I shall not be — here — much longer, Ray." 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 SHADOWS. 
 
 Thou earnest not to thy place by accident. 
 It is the very place GOD meant for thee." 
 
 ORBES Dunbar went home because he felt 
 
 his mother must be the first to be told of 
 the change that he was about to make. The 
 journey was a long one, and he arrived late in the 
 evening, unexpected too, but none the less welcome. 
 They were sitting together in the firelight, after 
 dinner — for the evenings were chilly, and his mother 
 loved an excuse for a fire — when he broke his news 
 gently and tenderly to her. He had exchanged 
 into a regiment going to the Cape, in order to see 
 some active service, and he would leave England 
 
102 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 in a month from that time. He had not known 
 that he could exchange into that particular regi- 
 ment until the day before, and then he had come 
 off at once to tell her. 
 
 His mother sat silent, feeling the news too deeply 
 for words. The cheerful logs crackled and blazed, 
 the light from them dancing merrily over the well- 
 remembered furniture, and the scent of her son's 
 cigar was wafted across to her. Would those 
 happy evenings be at an end for ever ? and would 
 that golden head opposite to her, leaning thought- 
 fully back against the chair, soon be lying low 
 upon the battle-field, trampled out of shape by 
 horses' hoofs, his dear face stained and dyed with 
 his life-blood ? She covered her own face with her 
 hands, and shuddered at the bare remembrance. 
 
 "Oh, Forbes," she said, ''why need you have 
 done this ? Think what a comfort you have been 
 to me all these years, and now you are going to 
 leave me. Not only that, but oh, Forbes ! if you 
 should never come back again f 
 
SHADOWS, 
 
 103 
 
 He crossed over, and knelt beside her. 
 
 " Dear mother," he said, taking her hands from 
 her face and kissing them, "if I had been an 
 only son I should have hesitated ; but you have 
 Robert." 
 
 Yes, she had Robert, a most amiable and exem- 
 plary son, but this one beside her was the youngest 
 and the best-beloved. Lazy and indifferent, but 
 never indifferent to her, where he had gone she 
 had gone, making a home for him, and most ten- 
 derly repaid by his love and devotion. Robert ! 
 ah, Robert was — Robert, but Forbes was dearer, 
 how much she did not care to confess even to 
 herself. 
 
 It is impossible to love people alike, and those 
 who talk of levelling the affections and loving all 
 alike, most often end in caring for themselves alone. 
 Some must be dearer to us far than their fellows, 
 and there is a Heaven-sent attraction about some 
 people which binds us closely to them through 
 time and through eternity. 
 
104 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 " Why have you done this, Forbes ?" asked his 
 mother, wistfully. 
 
 " Have I not wasted enough years of my life ?" 
 he asked gently, " and now at the eleventh hour, if 
 God will accept me, I have wakened up to the 
 knowledge of my duty. Dear mother, do not make 
 it harder for me." 
 
 She drew his golden head closely to her and 
 kissed it, as she had been wont to kiss it when he 
 was a baby-boy. 
 
 " You have never given me pain, you have always 
 been such a good son to me," she murmured. 
 
 " And you must pray that I may be a good son 
 to my country," he said cheerfully. " Do not be 
 downhearted, dear mother. Many go forth to battle 
 after battle, and return to their homes again." 
 
 " Yes, and many do not return at all," she said, 
 catching her breath with a sob. 
 
 He did not answer, his lips closed firmly, and an 
 earnest look settled in his eyes. If he did not 
 return at all ? What then } Ray's song floated 
 
SHADOWS. 
 
 105 
 
 softly through the room, and burnt into his brain 
 and heart. 
 
 " When I awake up after Thy likeness, I shall be 
 satisfied with it!' 
 
 They talked together until late into the night, 
 and Forbes promised, that in making the necessary 
 arrangements for his departure, he would not be 
 absent from her longer than he could help, so that 
 a farewell visit of two clear days was all he allowed 
 himself for the Hermitage. 
 
 The first afternoon he went over to the Old 
 House by the River to tea, and he and Ray rowed 
 down in the evening to the cottages, to see how 
 the poor woman fared. 
 
 They found her better, mother and daughter 
 were both kind to her, and she seemed to improve 
 a little each day. Still, even if she recovered, she 
 would not be fit for work, except perhaps work 
 now and again, and that of the lightest description. 
 Forbes had already decided she should be his 
 charge, and he lightened her troubles by telling 
 
io6 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 her so, and setting her mind at rest. She could 
 talk sufificiently to make her story clear to them. 
 It was simple enough. 
 
 She had been married to a farm labourer who 
 died, and left her destitute. Her only other rela- 
 tion, a brother, was clown in a travelling circus. 
 This same circus employed her to take the money, 
 and do odds and ends of work. This lasted for 
 some time, until one inclement winter she caught 
 a severe cold, and from not being able to nurse it, 
 grew very ill. She was such an encumbrance then, 
 that it ended by their putting her out at Stopford, 
 through which they were passing, and telling her 
 to go to the Workhouse Infirmary to be nursed, and 
 that upon their way back, some weeks later, they 
 would inquire, and if she were better, give her her 
 old employment again. 
 
 But with the usual dislike of the poor to the 
 workhouse she had preferred living in the fields, 
 begging a few crusts and broken meat from house 
 to house, sleeping under hedges, until, at last, one 
 
SHADOWS, 
 
 107 
 
 evening she felt so ill she thought she must die, 
 and devoured with a burning thirst, from the 
 rheumatic fever which had taken possession of her, 
 she dragged her aching limbs down to the river 
 to quench her thirst, and die beside the refreshing 
 cool of the water. It was there Forbes and Ray 
 found her. 
 
 They quitted the cottage, happy in thinking 
 the poor woman would be better cared for, for 
 the remainder of her life. As they rowed home 
 they were unusually silent, each occupied with 
 his own thoughts. I think it is the perfection of 
 friendship, to be able to be silent for a while, if 
 so it pleases you. Forbes was the first to break 
 that silence, looking straight at Ray as he spoke. 
 
 " Do you remember, in our last row down the 
 river, I told you I should not be much longer 
 here ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I could not say more than that then, for I 
 wished to tell my mother the news first. I have 
 
io8 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 exchanged into a regiment going to the Cape, 
 which will probably see some active service, and 
 I leave England for Africa in a little more than 
 a month's time." 
 
 Ray's face flushed, his eyes opened wider, and 
 shone with an unusual excitement. 
 
 " How I envy you," he cried passionately. " You 
 are going out into the world and can do great 
 deeds. Fight for GOD and the right, help those 
 who are in trouble ; take the part of the defence- 
 less, and oppressed, and the weak. Oh ! how I 
 wish I were going with you." 
 
 This excitement in the usually composed and 
 quiet boy startled Forbes. He had never seen 
 Ray so carried away before. 
 
 " Stay," he said. " Look at the matter calmly. 
 I am only going to do my duty after neglecting 
 it for so many years. And as for the battle for 
 'the right,' — ah! well, Ray, I have lived many 
 years longer in the world than you have, and I 
 am afraid I cannot always hold England * right' 
 
SHADOWS, 
 
 109 
 
 in her policy with foreign powers. I have no- 
 thing to do, I am thankful to say, with the 
 declaration or non-declaration of war. As I am 
 a soldier I have only to obey implicitly, and follow 
 where my superior directs that I shall go." 
 
 " I have read so much about it," answered the 
 boy, "how the knights went forth in olden time 
 to succour the oppressed, do battle for the right 
 and win their gold spurs by deeds of gallant 
 daring, and I have longed to do the same now." 
 
 I understand, substituting for the gold spurs 
 the modern equivalent, the Victoria Cross. But 
 consider the difference in our ages. You are 
 fifteen, I am thirty-six. And I have only now 
 wakened up to the thought of duty and its 
 necessity. My life has been wasted — a mere idle 
 dream and nothing more. Now your duty seems 
 to me clear at present. A soldier's is obedience, 
 surely yours is obedience also. Obedience to 
 your father and his wishes. The rest will come 
 in God's own good time." 
 
no 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 " Yes, I have thought that," said Ray wistfully, 
 "but the longing is stronger than myself — some- 
 times." 
 
 " Then look upon me as your true knight sent forth 
 by you," said Forbes smiling. " For it was really 
 the words you sang in the music room at the 
 Hermitage which changed the current of my life." 
 
 Ray flushed scarlet. 
 
 " They set me thinking. They answered a feel- 
 ing I had had for years, which almost drove 
 me wild. A longing, a yearning for something, 
 what I could not tell. Nothing satisfied me. I 
 have the feeling still at times, but I know the 
 answer to it now, and though it is pain, it is 
 no longer unrest." 
 
 " It was through that same feeling," said Ray, 
 *'that I composed the music to those words. It 
 helps me when I play it." 
 
 "Yes, and it set me thinking, and I saw that 
 if we are to have a perfect satisfaction there^ it 
 can only be through the path of duty here." 
 
SHADOWS, 
 
 III 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The lights in the windows of the Old House 
 by the River shone a friendly welcome upon 
 them from the semi- darkness of a dull autumnal 
 evening. Ray accompanied Forbes to the stables 
 for his horse and saw him ride off. The minutes 
 with his friend now were precious indeed. 
 
 The next day was Forbes' farewell visit. He 
 had tea with the children in their own room, 
 looking out upon the view he had grown to 
 admire as much as they themselves — that silver, 
 shining river winding among its picturesque banks 
 clothed with life and verdure. 
 
 Afterwards they all crossed the copse and went 
 into the church for some music. The sun was 
 much lower in the heavens than the afternoon 
 upon which Ray had composed his song, and 
 the little stiff saints in their niches were left 
 grey and unflecked with warmth and colour. If 
 you watched those saints for long you could almost 
 fancy they were watching you, and you would 
 
112 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 grow to wonder whether, within those breasts, over 
 which their carved hands were so meekly folded, 
 there was not some mighty knowledge hidden ; 
 the secrets perhaps of many of those who had 
 knelt and worshipped in the seats beside them. 
 Did they know, as the party filed in that after- 
 noon and took their seats in nooks and corners, 
 that soon, ah ! how very soon, they would be 
 scattered ; some in Paradise, some at the other 
 side of the world ? 
 
 Ray's song was the last, by a special request 
 from Forbes. Afterwards they all remembered 
 that it had been so. 
 
 He said his good-byes outside the garden door, 
 upon the banks of the river. 
 
 Denys said he hoped he would have a good 
 deal of fighting. Miles wished for an assegai 
 when he came back. Enid said they should often 
 think of him, and miss the pleasant afternoons 
 when he had ridden over and had had tea with 
 them, and she wished him a happy and safe re- 
 
SHADOWS. 
 
 113 
 
 turn. Cecily said she hoped he would be very 
 successful, and come home covered with honours 
 — the V. C. among them. 
 
 He promised her he would do his best, and 
 turned to Hope. She could speak no word, only 
 held out her hand, and it caused her the severest 
 pang she had suffered yet when she found he 
 did not miss her GOD-speed, did not notice the 
 omission, or ask for a good wish. She saw and 
 heard the remainder, as one in a dream, and 
 wondered dumbly how much hearts could bear 
 and not break. He bent down his golden head 
 when he came to Ray, and pressed his lips upon 
 the boy's, for he loved him as a brother. And 
 only Ray knew how, beneath that soft moustache, 
 the lips trembled and quivered. He lifted his hat 
 to all, mounted his horse and rode slowly off, 
 turning at the farthest bend where they could see 
 him to wave a last farewell to Ray, who went back 
 into the church as soon as he was out of sight. 
 
 " I wonder if he was sorry to go," said Cecily. 
 I 
 
114 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 " Why should he be ?" said Hester. " I am sure 
 it is very nice for him. If I was a man I would 
 go too." 
 
 " He looks different somehow," said Enid, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Grave ?" said Cecily. 
 
 " Yes, very grave, but he is always that. That 
 was not what I meant." 
 
 " I know," said Cecily, quickly. " He has lost 
 that don't care, bored look he had when we first 
 saw him at the Hermitage." 
 
 "Yes. Hope, do you remember what you said 
 about him then ?" 
 
 There was no answer. They all looked. In 
 the general talking Hope's silence had been un- 
 heeded, and she herself had quietly stolen away. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 JABEZ STRONG. 
 
 * * Lessons are in diamonds ; which the more closely cut the 
 more brilliant and varied is their phasis." 
 
 " T TELL you, you have come to the wrong 
 ^ house. And if you won't believe me, I 
 can't waste any more of my time in telling you." 
 
 "And I tell you IVe had my orders, and I 
 can't go agin them. 'You take this to the Old 
 House by the River,' Mr. Jackson says, ' and,' says 
 he, ' don't be longer nor you can help, for I want 
 you back agin.' Here it is in black and white, 
 and if ye read it you'll find it kur-reck." 
 
 " You must have made a mistake, it isn't for us 
 
ii6 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 Be off about your business, and don't hinder me. 
 IVe no time to listen to idle tales." 
 
 " IVe a bit of a note somewheres, from Mr. 
 Simpson the magistrate. P'raps that will ex- 
 plain it." 
 
 Janet and a policeman were having this alter- 
 cation at the back door, the policeman holding 
 out a large official document which Janet refused 
 to take. When, however, after some fumbling in 
 his pockets, he produced a note plainly directed to 
 " G. Forrest, Esq.," Janet was obliged to give in, 
 however incredulous she still continued to be. 
 
 "And why couldn't you have given me that 
 letter at once, instead of letting me waste all these 
 words upon you ?" she said snappishly, and holding 
 the corner of her apron out she took the note from 
 the man and walked into the kitchen to read it, 
 leaving the policeman outside with the larger 
 document still undelivered. 
 
 That the note was connected with something 
 unpleasant there was little doubt in her mind. 
 
JABEZ STRONG. 
 
 117 
 
 But she soared no higher than a possible unpaid 
 bill, though so far as she was concerned she tried 
 to pay their way regularly, for she had a whole- 
 some horror of debt. She had full authority from 
 her master to act for him in everything connected 
 with the house and its expenses, and she had no 
 scruple in putting on her spectacles, breaking the 
 seal, and sitting down to read the note. The 
 contents took her breath away. Mr. Simpson, one 
 of the magistrates of Stopford, the nearest town, 
 was the writer, and he briefly stated that a ticket- 
 of-leave man, Jabez Strong, was in the hands of 
 the police upon suspicion of having stolen some 
 valuable jewels, diamonds and opals, which had 
 evidently been the setting of a miniature portrait 
 or locket. He had tried to sell the jewels to Mr. 
 Lawrence a jeweller, who had, however, had him 
 arrested upon suspicion. The police had great 
 difficulty in capturing him, for he fought des- 
 perately, and injured two of them. He persisted 
 in declaring that the jewels had been given to him 
 
ii8 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 by a young gentleman of the name of Raleigh 
 Forrest, who lived in the Old House by the River, 
 and that they had been given to him to sell, for the 
 purpose of procuring food and a doctor for his sick 
 wife. The examination of Jabez Strong was to 
 take place the next day, and they were obliged to 
 subpoena Mr. Raleigh Forrest to appear as a 
 witness to contradict the man's absurd story, and 
 also to explain how and where the jewels were 
 missed, should they belong to Mr. Forrest or any 
 member of his family. 
 
 The moment Janet glanced over the note she 
 saw that it was true, and going quickly out, she 
 took the subpoena from the policeman's hand, saw 
 him safely off the premises, and came back to think 
 the matter over. 
 
 The jewelled setting belonged to Ray, of that 
 there was no doubt. The choice had been theirs, 
 about three years back, of something from their 
 mother's treasures as a special remembrance of her. 
 The portrait was amongst them, for Mr. Forrest 
 
JABEZ STRONG. 
 
 119 
 
 possessed a better likeness of his wife, which he 
 had had mounted in a locket, and wore constantly. 
 Enid and Cecily had been caught by a shimmer of 
 gold and white, for Enid had chosen a set of yellow 
 topazes, Cecily a set of pearls, so the portrait had 
 been left for Ray; and Janet remembered how he 
 pounced upon it at once, as if afraid that one of 
 the others might have a longing for it too, and 
 how he had pressed it to his lips when once he had 
 gained possession of it. 
 
 And there was no doubt in Janet's mind but 
 that Mr. Simpson was wrong in his conjecture, and 
 that Ray had of his own free will given away the 
 jewels to Jabez Strong for the use which the letter 
 mentioned. It was just the very thing Ray would 
 do. Nor did she blame the boy, even in her 
 thoughts. The whole family had grown into the 
 habit of looking at what Ray did and said as being 
 peculiar to himself, but perfectly right. Janet did 
 not blame the action, but she regretted the con- 
 sequences. 
 
120 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 Directly the Forrests returned from boating, 
 Janet waylaid Ray, took him aside, and told him the 
 story. He read the letter, and his face grew pitiful. 
 " It is all my fault," he said with tears in his eyes. 
 It is I who have brought this trouble upon that 
 poor man ; and there is his wife alone, perhaps 
 dying. Janet, I will go off at once, tell Mr. Simp- 
 son the truth, and he will let the man out of 
 prison." 
 
 "No," said Janet, "I have asked John, and he 
 says the man must stand his trial. The examina- 
 tion is to-morrow. Master Ray, dear, and it is only 
 one night more in prison, and being a ticket-of- 
 leave man it won't hurt the likes of him. It isn't 
 as if he was an honest man and had a character 
 to lose." 
 
 Ray turned upon her, his gray eyes dim with 
 sympathy, his sensitive lips quivering. 
 
 " But, Janet, do you not see that that is just the 
 very thing that makes it harder for the poor man ? 
 If he was honest, people would believe him, but no 
 
JABEZ STRONG, 
 
 121 
 
 one now will trust him, or think that he is speaking 
 the truth, and yet — and yet he may mean to be 
 honest and truthful, just as much as you and I, 
 Janet. Oh ! there can be nothing harder to bear 
 than the knowledge that no one believes in you, no 
 one trusts you. It is enough of itself to drive 
 people into doing wrong. Oh ! Janet, I think it 
 is a very cruel world — for other people." 
 
 Janet soothed him as she had soothed him when 
 he was a child, forgetting for the time that he was 
 growing to man's estate. 
 
 " Hush, dearie, hush ! Don't fret over what you 
 can't help. There's nothing carries one to one's 
 grave so quick as fretting. It knocks many a nail 
 into a person's coffin. I'm not over in love with 
 the world myself. Master Ray, dear, but there it is, 
 and we must make the best of it." 
 
 **At any rate," said Ray, throwing his head 
 proudly back, " I can tell them all how much this 
 poor man was misjudged, and prove his innocence 
 to those who have doubted him." 
 
122 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 " And don't go worrying yourself any more 
 about it, or you'll not get a wink of sleep to-night, 
 and look like a ghost, or the ghost of a ghost to- 
 morrow. You'll do all you can to set it right, and 
 don't think no more about it." 
 
 He promised dreamily he would try to sleep, 
 and Janet's eyes followed him wistfully as he 
 walked off. 
 
 " He's got the heart of an angel," she spoke her 
 thoughts aloud, "but I wish for his own sake it 
 was a trifle harder. He lives half-a-dozen lives to 
 other people's one. Well, I hope it will end all 
 right to-morrow." 
 
 Ray would rather have gone alone to Stopford, 
 but the family insisted upon accompanying him, 
 when Janet told the story. Indeed, Miles would 
 not be pacified, fearing lest some great harm would 
 happen to his dear brother, unless he was there to 
 see fair play, and Denys got up at sunrise to walk 
 over to the Hermitage at the request of the girls, 
 to beg that Hope would meet them at Stopford. 
 
JABEZ STRONG. 
 
 123 
 
 She had seen so much of the world that her com- 
 pany would be a help and a comfort to them. 
 
 Jabez Strong stood in the dock, but surely only 
 Ray, half of whose soul was in the land of chivalry 
 and the other half in heaven, could throw any 
 glamour of romance around him. 
 
 His face was of the lowest type of human nature, 
 with coarse hair nearly meeting his eyebrows, small 
 eyes set very close together, a wide mouth, over- 
 hanging upper lip, and receding chin. He was 
 dressed in a suit of corduroy, and wore a bright 
 red neckerchief knotted lightly round his short, 
 thick neck. 
 
 The evidence of the jeweller, Mr. Lawrence, was 
 the first taken. He identified the man as being 
 the one who had brought the jewels to his shop 
 — three diamonds and two opals, and asked him 
 to buy them. He said they were starving, his 
 wife dying, and that these jewels had been given 
 him, instead of money, by a young gentleman who 
 told him he could sell them and buy the necessaries 
 
124 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 of life and procure a doctor. Mr. Lawrence dis- 
 believed the story and taxed the man with having 
 stolen them. Jabez Strong swore fiercely and de- 
 manded the jewels back, but Mr. Lawrence kept 
 them in his grasp and refused to part with them. 
 Strong was preparing to snatch them by main 
 force, when, a policeman happening to be pass- 
 ing, Mr. Lawrence called for help. Strong dashed 
 out of the shop and was half-way up the street 
 before the policeman realised what was required 
 of him. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence's description of the prisoner how- 
 ever was sufficient to ensure the capture of Strong 
 before he could quit the place, hampered as he was 
 with a sick wife and child. The police tracked 
 him to a damp cellar in a close, back street, and 
 they described the difficulty they had had in 
 capturing him, for he fought like a wild cat. 
 Two of the policemen had their heads bound 
 up, and Strong's eyes rested upon them with 
 malicious satisfaction, while a snarl — meant for 
 
JABEZ STRONG. 
 
 125 
 
 a smile of delight — distended his mouth from ear 
 to ear. 
 
 Next came Ray, and upon him Strong turned 
 savagely — a wild animal brought to bay. We all 
 judge others by ourselves, and as Strong's view of 
 matters was of the narrowest and lowest description, 
 he had come to the conclusion that he had been 
 caught in a trap, and that Ray had given him 
 the jewels merely to bring him into trouble, and 
 revenge himself upon him for the beating Strong 
 had given him. 
 
 Strong's look of hatred was lost upon Ray, who 
 was only intent upon proving the innocence of the 
 man, who at that moment hated him with so 
 deadly a hatred, that had he had the power he 
 would have slain him upon the spot. 
 
 The usual forms were gone through, and then 
 one of the magistrates said, 
 
 " Your name ?" 
 Raleigh Forrest." 
 
 " Your age ?" 
 
126 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 " Fifteen." 
 
 "Were these jewels ever in your possession?" 
 and the magistrate held up the setting, battered 
 and bent out of all shape, for Strong was too 
 cunning to attempt to sell it as it was, and had 
 forced from it a few of the jewels, the ones he had 
 taken to Mr. Lawrence and offered for sale. 
 
 Ray looked at the jewels and answered, 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "They are family jewels, I presume, from the 
 style and antique setting ?" 
 
 " They were my grandmother's." 
 
 " When were they stolen from you ?" 
 
 "They were never stolen from me," and Ray's 
 voice clear and distinct rang through the room. 
 " They were given by me to the man Jabez Strong 
 who stands yonder." 
 
 The story had floated about, how that one of the 
 sons of the mysterious and eccentric Mr. Forrest, 
 who inhabited the Old House by the River, was 
 implicated in that day's proceedings. It was market- 
 
JABEZ STRONG. 
 
 127 
 
 day too, and the court was thronged with idle 
 people, mostly ladies, some country, some town, 
 who came out of curiosity to see what Mr. Forrest's 
 son was like. This answer of Ray's took the ma- 
 gistrate and audience by surprise, indeed the former 
 repeated his question sharply and received the 
 same answer, this time, if anything, in a voice 
 clearer and more emphatic. After whispering 
 together the magistrates came to the conclusion 
 that the boy was half-witted, and the same opinion 
 seemed prevalent in the court, for a titter ran 
 through it, which was however entirely lost upon 
 Ray. From the moment that he had entered the 
 witness-box he had forgotten himself entirely. His 
 heart and soul were possessed with the divinest 
 pity for the repulsive man whose innocence he had 
 come to prove. Repulsive he was, but also a 
 human being made in the likeness of GOD — one of 
 those mysterious " other people," who so strangely 
 mingle sometimes in our lives — a man in whom 
 no one but Ray believed, " whose hand was against 
 
128 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 every man, and every man's hand against him." 
 Before the magistrates had decided what course 
 to take, Ray spoke again, bravely and firmly. 
 
 " I came across the Strongs — by accident. The 
 wife was starving and ill — dying I thought from 
 want of food and a doctor's care. I had no 
 money, for we are poor, and I gave them these 
 jewels thinking they might sell them, and get 
 money with which they could procure the help 
 they needed." 
 
 "They begged of you, I suppose," said one of 
 the magistrates contemptuously, "and when you 
 had nothing to give them the man no doubt 
 threatened you, and under fear of his threats you 
 were induced to bring him these valuable jewels. 
 I hope they were your own to give away ?" 
 
 Truly these nineteenth century days are very 
 different from the ages of chivalry and romance, 
 when even a boy's honour could not have been 
 traduced and trampled into dust with impunity. 
 It was like talking to a girl, a poor weak girl, who 
 
JABEZ STRONG. 
 
 129 
 
 could do nothing in self-defence but give in, and so 
 save herself. Ray flushed a deep red, and for full 
 a minute made no answer. When he spoke, it was 
 gently, but firmly. 
 
 "The jewels were quite my own, to do with 
 them as I pleased, and the man used no threats." 
 
 Round Jabez Strong's brain had been gradually 
 working the knowledge that Ray was innocent 
 of the scrape into which he had fallen through 
 his own audacity, when driven by want to despe- 
 ration he had offered the jewels for sale, and a 
 dim sense of justice made him break in, loudly 
 and fiercely. 
 
 " No, I'll Stan' by 'un and say he's no coward. 
 He's a plucky 'un, he is, he took his — " 
 
 " Silence," said the magistrate. " You are here 
 to be tried. Silence, I say." 
 
 " I am sorry that I gave the jewels," said Ray, 
 turning to the magistrates in general, " as they have 
 brought this poor man into such trouble. I did 
 not mean to bring suspicion upon him. It was 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 my ignorance and stupidity which led me astray. 
 You must pardon me that I have caused so much 
 trouble. I did not mean it. I did not know what 
 I was doing." 
 
 There was a ring of such thorough manliness in 
 this apology, gently as it was spoken, and in the 
 quiet self-possession of the boy himself, that the 
 magistrates looked somewhat foolish, and the one 
 who had spoken the most contemptuously fingered 
 the jewels shamefacedly. 
 
 But they would not give up their point. They 
 happened, all of them, to hold the same theory, 
 namely, that tickets-of-leave were not only injudi- 
 cious, but absolutely wrong and injurious to the 
 country. It had seemed such a splendid opportu- 
 nity that day for them to air their opinion, prov- 
 ing it too by such a practical instance ; they had 
 hoped the London papers might notice it, and 
 some good results follow, and their expectations 
 had been torn into pieces and scattered to the 
 winds by the romantic folly of an imaginative 
 
JABEZ STRONG, 
 
 boy, reared by the most crotchety of fathers. 
 They would not give up even yet ; the man was 
 better in prison than out of it, and his daughter 
 must be examined to see if she would give corres- 
 ponding evidence. 
 
 She was sharply questioned, and roughly handled, 
 but the Sue whom Ray had shielded had seen 
 strange sights, and been accustomed to rough usage 
 in her short ten years of life. And she remained 
 stolid and unshaken throughout. She was just 
 as miserable looking as on that summer's night, full 
 two months ago, that Ray had borne her beat- 
 ing. She had made a step in the right direction 
 though, for she had evidently attempted to wash 
 herself cleaner, but as she had only succeeded in 
 doing it in streaks and patches, the effect was 
 ludicrous. 
 
 " How does your father live T 
 
 " By what he can git." 
 
 "What do you mean. Does he steal V 
 
 " No. By what jobs he can git give him." 
 
132 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 When did the gentleman standing there give 
 these jewels to your father ?" 
 
 Two days arter Stopford fair." 
 " Why did not your father try to get rid of them 
 before, to sell them 
 
 " 'Cause he were afeard." 
 "Afraid? Of what?" 
 
 " Of the perlice, 'cause he thought that they'd 
 think he'd a-stolen of them, and he hadn't." 
 
 " Then why did he sell them at last ? Now, 
 speak the truth" (sharply.) 
 
 'Cause we were well-nigh clemmed." 
 
 "Your father had reason to be afraid of the 
 police. And what have you lived upon these two 
 months 1 What has your father done to get food 
 for you and your mother to eat ?" 
 
 " Farmer Stubbs give him some harvesting, and 
 we scraped along upon that somehow." 
 
 " How did Mr. Forrest come to find you out r 
 
 " Eh 
 
 "Arc you deaf? I asked you how it was that 
 
JABEZ STRONG. 
 
 133 
 
 the young gentleman, who gave you the jewels, 
 came to find you out ?" 
 
 " We were camping out," said Sue, speaking fast 
 and low, " as we alius do in the summer, and father 
 was a-thrashing of me one evening, and the young 
 gentleman heerd me hollering, and he came run- 
 ning along, and asked father not to beat me." 
 
 " And your father left off beating you ?" 
 
 " He said he'd finish it out another time." 
 
 The magistrates were deeply interested. They 
 began to think they might make a case of it yet. 
 The boy evidently bribed the man not to beat the 
 girl, by giving him the jewels. 
 
 " What happened then ? speak out, Susan Strong. 
 Don't be all night over it." 
 
 " The young gentleman said he would be beaten 
 for me, and he axed father to thrash him instead 
 of me." 
 
 And your father did T 
 
 " Yes, he give it him pretty hard, he did. And 
 the young gentleman did not cry out, not once he 
 
134 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 didn't," with notes of admiration in her shrill 
 voice. 
 
 " Well spoke up, Sue," said her father. " Til keep 
 my word to the gentleman yet, and I'll not thrash 
 you again." 
 
 ^'Silence!" 
 
 An audible laugh ran through the gay throng 
 assembled there. To them it was a matter of 
 amusement only, that a boy in a gentleman's rank 
 of life could be found who would allow himself to 
 be beaten to save a dirty, ragged, uninteresting 
 child, from what was, no doubt, a well deserved 
 punishment. The thought filled them with sur- 
 prise, and was in their sight a fitting subject for 
 ridicule. They fluttered their fans, chattered and 
 tittered over it, and thought nothing of the pain 
 they were causing the sensitive boy who stood with 
 pale cheeks flushing, lips quivering, as some of the 
 remarks fell upon his ears. 
 
 But here Ray's noble nature asserted itself again. 
 He quieted himself by a strong effort, lifted his 
 
JABEZ STRONG, 
 
 135 
 
 head, and remained composed and tranquil under 
 the fire of eyes directed at him : and the unflinch- 
 ing yet gentle manner of the boy, whose pure, pale, 
 earnest face seemed more in heaven than on earth, 
 commanded some respect from them, even as they 
 laughed him to scorn. And as they trooped gaily 
 out into the autumn sunshine, there were a few 
 who longed to go to him, and shake him by the 
 hand, to atone for the rudeness which he must have 
 heard. 
 
 Jabez Strong was sentenced to a month's impri- 
 sonment for assault upon the two policemen, and 
 the jewels were given back to Ray. He managed 
 to tell Strong that his wife and child should be 
 cared for during his imprisonment, and then, when 
 the others joined him, he drew Enid and Hope 
 aside and asked their advice concerning the dis- 
 posal of the disputed jewels. Hope seeing many 
 inquisitive lingerers, proposed they should take 
 a walk and consult together how to help the 
 man. 
 
136 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 It was two months ago that Ray had stretched 
 out his hand to pluck the red Rose of Charity. 
 Surely he could add two other flowers to his nose- 
 gay that day — the Violet of Humility, the Sweet- 
 briar of Patience. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN AFTERNOON TEA. 
 
 Yes, they are more our own, 
 
 Since now they are God's only ; 
 And each one that has gone 
 
 Has left our heart less lonely. 
 He mourns not seasons fled, 
 
 Who now in Him possesses 
 Treasures of many dead 
 
 In their dear Lord's caresses." 
 
 IV /r RS. Irvine had driven into Stopford in her 
 ^ carriage, and the remainder of the For- 
 rests returned with her. Hope said that Enid, 
 Ray, and herself would go back in a fly later on in 
 the afternoon. 
 
138 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 That matter settled, they devoted themselves to 
 the vexed question of the jewels. Hope, after 
 thinking it over, suggested they should take Mr. 
 Lawrence, the jeweller, into their confidence. He 
 was evidently a respectable tradesman ; he would 
 price the jewels for them, and perhaps advise them 
 as to how they could best help first Strong's wife 
 and child, and afterwards Strong himself, when he 
 came out of prison. 
 
 They found Mr. Lawrence both obliging and 
 interested. But he evidently was very loath that 
 Ray should part with the diamonds and opals for 
 the benefit of Jabez Strong. He held them quite 
 tenderly in his hand while he praised the size and 
 brilliancy of the diamonds and the pureness of 
 the cloudy opals in which they were set. He 
 advised the young gentleman to keep them, but 
 if he was bent upon selling them, to bring them to 
 him and he would give a fair price for them. 
 
 " I shall have great difficulty in getting rid of 
 the opals, though," he said, smilingly. " I do not 
 
AN AFTERNOON TEA. 
 
 139 
 
 keep them in my shop now, for I find I have no 
 sale for them." 
 
 " Why not ?" asked Hope. " They are such a 
 pretty stone, I always think." 
 
 "Yes," said the jeweller, "when they are good 
 ones, as these are, they are beautiful to look into. 
 There is such depth in them. But the reason I 
 have no sale for them is because of the superstition 
 which has gained ground of late years that they 
 are so very unlucky. Opals and misfortune, people 
 say, always go together." 
 
 " I did not know English people were so silly," 
 said Hope, with a shade of contempt in her voice. 
 " Why over our side of the water we think nothing 
 of those things." 
 
 " And here it is just the reverse, for numbers of 
 people who are superstitious over nothing else 
 believe implicitly in the wearing of the opal bring- 
 ing misfortune. But before you do anything about 
 these jewels, Mr. Forrest, I wish you would go to 
 our Rector and ask his advice as to how you can 
 
OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 best help Jabez Strong and his family. I will 
 show you where he lives, and I am sure you will 
 never regret having gone to him." 
 
 Mr. Lawrence conducted them to the outskirts 
 of the town, to a house shut in on each side by 
 high walls. He opened a small door in the wall 
 that had neither bolt, nor bar, nor lock, and then 
 left them. 
 
 The garden to which they were admitted was 
 wild and uncultivated. The path leading to the 
 house was covered with moss, but on either side 
 were groves of trees picturesque with autumn 
 creepers, shining hollies, mountain ash, shrubs, and 
 berries of every description. 
 
 They rang the bell of what seemed to be the 
 back door, but no other presented itself, and they 
 were obliged to try this. The words they heard, 
 as the door opened, were. 
 Mind the books." 
 
 And the warning was needful, for Hope, who 
 had turned quickly at the opening of the door. 
 
AN AFTERNOON TEA, 
 
 141 
 
 caught her foot in a book and fell straightway 
 upon a pile of them that were as near to the door 
 as they could possibly be placed. 
 
 They followed the servant, an elderly woman in 
 a high, stiffly-starched white cap, through several 
 winding passages. The house seemed large and 
 rambling, but large as it was it evidently was too 
 small for the occupier, for the sides of the pas- 
 sages were lined with bookcases filled with books. 
 At the end of a dark narrow passage their con- 
 ductor pulled up, and knocking at a door until 
 the answer was "Come in," she admitted them 
 into the presence of the Rector of Stopford. 
 
 The room was only lighted by an oriel window 
 of stained glass. The Rector sat in his easy chair, 
 literally knee-deep in books. He was an old man, 
 with snow-white hair, dark, deep-set eyes, and a 
 kindly smile. He looked for vacant chairs upon 
 which to seat his visitors, but there were none, they 
 were every one piled high with books, and there 
 was no space, if the books were cleared, upon 
 
142 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 which to put them. There were narrow passages 
 in which to walk, but that was all. 
 
 Hope, with the ready adapting of herself to 
 circumstances which was her great charm, came 
 to the rescue. 
 
 " Shall we hurt these large books, sir, if we sit 
 upon them i^" 
 
 " Not at all," he answered, much relieved. " I 
 often sit upon them myself when I want to catch 
 the waning light." 
 
 So they sat themselves down upon some pon- 
 derous flat volumes which fitted very comfortably 
 into the recesses of the window. Then Hope, who 
 was to be spokeswoman, explained their errand. 
 
 Everybody has some pet theory for which he is 
 ready to fight to the death, and the Rector's pet 
 theory happened to be that there is no human 
 being so utterly degraded but that there is some 
 soft spot in them, responsive to higher and nobler 
 instincts. And that if once this soft place is found, 
 by patience and perseverance the whole moral na- 
 
AN AFTERNOON TEA, 
 
 143 
 
 ture of the man is capable of undergoing a com- 
 plete change and reformation. 
 
 Now here was a man of the lowest type, seem- 
 ingly as hardened as any human being could well 
 be. The Rector's dark eyes lighted up with the 
 gravest and deepest interest ; he asked question 
 after question, listened to remarks, and gave advice, 
 finally promising that both the man and his family 
 should be under his care, and that he would not 
 lose sight of them until he was able to settle them 
 comfortably and respectably. The question of 
 money was rather a difficulty, for Ray was bent 
 upon selling the jewels, and would have liked — as 
 a recompense for the trouble he had brought upon 
 the man — that the whole of the sum the jewels 
 realised should be spent upon Strong and his family. 
 But the Rector maintained that it was better to 
 provide the family with necessaries, but only until 
 the man could be put in the way of earning an 
 honest livelihood, and that then it would be kinder 
 to him to let him maintain himself and his family 
 
144 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 by the labour of his hands. Nothing ruins people 
 like idleness, and if Strong knew there was help to 
 be had for the asking, he would not be likely 
 to rouse himself to exertion, even though work 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 So he argued, and at last won Ray over to 
 see matters in the same light. It was settled 
 the Rector was to use his own discretion, where 
 the Strongs were concerned, and the remainder of 
 the money was to be spent upon the sick poor of 
 Stopford. There were many sick and suffering, 
 he said, in that large, untidy, straggling parish 
 of Stopford. 
 
 Then the Rector consulted his watch and rang 
 for tea. They must stay and keep him company, 
 for he always had tea about this time — and they 
 were nothing loath to remain. 
 
 The next thing was to make room for the tea — 
 a matter of ingenuity. They all set to work to 
 help, the good old man chattering on meanwhile, 
 as cheerfully as a child or a boy let loose from 
 
AN AFTERNOON TEA. 
 
 145 
 
 school. They had a merry laugh over the clearing 
 of the table, for, put the books where they would, 
 they could only rest them upon other books, and 
 as often as not they toppled over with a crash 
 upon the top of other books, knocking those over 
 in their turn ; and so soon as those were picked 
 up, down would come another heap, and then those 
 had to be picked up, and so forth. 
 
 It was the quaintest, and serenest, and happiest 
 of tea-drinkings. 
 
 " Well, we have had a good time," was Hope's 
 remark, as they were going home, and the good" 
 had an emphasis and a deeper meaning than she 
 usually gave to it. 
 
 The Rector sat upon a pile of books to make 
 tea ; Hope, Enid, and Ray sat upon books around 
 the table ; and the tea was piloted to them through 
 narrow spaces between the books. The tea-service 
 was of the homeliest, the tea-pot of brown earthen- 
 ware such as are seen in most cottages, the cups 
 dark blue common ware, — the only wealth was the 
 L 
 
146 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 wealth of books, yet all three felt they had never 
 enjoyed anything as they did this most unique 
 afternoon tea. The light from the oriel window- 
 fell upon them in gold, and rose, and blue, staining 
 them with colour as it did the little grey saints in 
 the old church by the river, and falling upon the 
 Rector's white hair and kindly face as he hospi- 
 tably and cheerily dispensed his tea and bread- 
 and-butter. 
 
 " It is not often I have company to tea," he said, 
 " unless it is my boys. I am getting on in years. 
 I passed my eighty-first birthday last Sunday. 
 But I hope to keep to my work to the last, if it be 
 God's will. To wear out, not rust out, and to die 
 in harness is my desire." 
 
 " Is there much work ?" asked Enid. 
 
 " Much. I get up at four in the summer, and 
 five in the winter. Then I read and study. After 
 breakfast I visit in the district until noon. Then 
 read and study again. From seven until half-past 
 eight I am always at home to everybody. They 
 
AN AFTERNOON TEA. 
 
 147 
 
 all know this, and those who have any trouble or 
 want anything come to me then, though of course 
 in cases of necessity I can be seen at any time." 
 
 " Do many come ?" asked Hope. 
 
 " They vary. Sometimes few, sometimes many. 
 Last night I had seventeen visitors, each with a 
 care or want. To-night perhaps I may have only 
 two or three." 
 
 " Have you always lived alone ?" asked Ray. 
 
 " Only the last few years. You would be sur- 
 prised what a family of sons I have. Here are 
 letters from some of them," and he put his hand 
 upon a large pile of letters that stood by his side. 
 " These came this week. I took pupils until I grew 
 too old for the double work, and I believe each of 
 my boys loves me as a father, and I love them as 
 sons. It is quite a business answering their letters, 
 I assure you. They write to me in their joys, sor- 
 rows, or difficulties, and come to stay with me 
 whenever they have a holiday from their work, for 
 they are all out in the world doing something. 
 
148 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 Boys, do I call them ? ah ! they are still boys to me, 
 though you, young ladies, would laugh at the 
 bearded men I call my boys. I have had over a 
 hundred from first to last, — many of them were 
 boys without parents, whom their guardians sent 
 to me, and to these you may be sure I feel the most 
 closely knit. They all of them call me father. 
 Some God has called to Himself, and are waiting 
 for me in Paradise. Sometimes I feel set betwixt 
 two stools. I should will, if the good GOD willed 
 it, to be spared a little longer to those here who 
 love and need me, but weary nature cries out for 
 the rest that remaineth when the pilgrimage is 
 ended. So many of my boys will be there to 
 welcome the old man. Only the other day the 
 youngest and the brightest of them — he was com- 
 ing to stay with me, and would have been here 
 now — wrote me a long letter to tell me of his 
 doings. He was going by the night-mail to Scot- 
 land, and after that would be with me. I put the 
 letter by my side, and the next morning sat down 
 
AN AFTERNOON TEA, 
 
 149 
 
 to answer it. The post came in, I took up the 
 letters, and the first I opened told me of his death. 
 There had been a railway accident, and my boy 
 was one of the victims. His death must have been 
 instantaneous, thank GOD, for he lay — they told 
 me when they wrote again — with a smile upon his 
 parted lips." 
 
 The Rector's voice grew husky, and tears welled 
 into the bright, dark eyes. He had been wont to 
 call Alan Scott " the child of his old age," for he 
 was his last pupil, the youngest, brightest, mer- 
 riest. He had hoped great things from him too, 
 for he was clever. The old man mourned him, 
 even though he knew the time, at its farthest, 
 could not be very long ere he and Alan would 
 meet again. 
 
 The trio were silent from sympathy, and Ray 
 was strangely interested. A colour was in his face, 
 as was the case when much moved or excited, and 
 his eyes were moist with sorrow for the old man's 
 grief 
 
OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 " But I am saddening you," said the Rector, rous- 
 ing himself, " and I do not wish to do that, for I 
 should like you to come and see me again if you 
 will. I hope this is only the beginning of a lasting 
 friendship. You must come and have tea with me 
 whenever you can spare the time. I shall be al- 
 ways glad to see you, and you will not grudge the 
 hours you spend upon an old man." 
 
 They assured him warmly that they would love 
 to come, and he knew they were speaking the truth 
 — and that the words came, as indeed they did, 
 from the heart, and were not merely lip-words of 
 civility. 
 
 " I couldn't have anybody^ you know," he said 
 with a merry twinkle in his eyes ; " I couldn't ask 
 any grand fashionable lady to come and have tea 
 with me, and offer her a seat upon a pile of books. 
 In the first place she would never get so far as 
 the window, for there is no room for a sweep- 
 ing train through those passages of books. No ! 
 I can only have visitors who are compressible and 
 
AN AFTERNOON TEA, 
 
 amenable, and you are both. Now, you will come 
 again ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Hope, we will. Will next week be 
 too soon for you, sir "> Next Thursday ?" 
 
 " Not a bit too soon. Then say next Thursday, 
 — that will be this day week. I shall look forward 
 to it. In the mean time I will do what I can for 
 the Strongs ; I will find them out at once, and 
 move the woman into a better room and provide 
 her with food. That must be done this very day, 
 and next week, my boy," laying his hand kindly 
 upon Ray's shoulder, " I hope I shall have a good 
 account to give you of them. I will send my ser- 
 vant with a note to the doctor too, to ask him to 
 call upon the woman so soon as he is at liberty 
 to-day." 
 
 He acted as their pilot, not only to the door, but 
 across the garden also. 
 
 " I cannot afford a gardener," he said, " and since 
 my boys have gone Nature has been my gardener, 
 and she manages very well for me. In the spring 
 
152 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 I have a perfect carpet of violets, primroses, blue- 
 bells, and ferns, in my little copse. Later on Mar- 
 guerites, wild-roses, and honeysuckle. But it is in 
 the autumn Nature has provided most liberally 
 for me. There is every kind of berry you can 
 name, virginia-creeper, clematis ; and here you see 
 is a splendid tuft of pampas-grass which one of 
 my many sons brought me. But I must not let 
 you go without introducing you to my well. The 
 boys call it saucily my chef-d'ceuvreT 
 
 He led the way, and they followed, through a 
 tangle of briars and brambles. In the innermost 
 part of the copse where it was darkest was a rude 
 natural well. There were some shallow steps lead- 
 ing down to it, covered with fresh, green moss and 
 lichen. Close beside the steps grew the most bril- 
 liant scarlet fungi, — a splendid bit of colour against 
 the cool green, and in the dim, tree-shaded light. 
 
 It was admired as much as even the old Rector 
 could desire. 
 
 " The dear boys, how they teased me about it," 
 
AN AFTERNOON TEA, 
 
 153 
 
 he said wistfully, as he led them back and opened 
 the door for them. 
 
 Good-bye until next Thursday," were his last 
 words. 
 
 They turned, when they had gone some few 
 steps, to wave a last adieu to the kindly face, 
 framed now by a black skull-cap which covered 
 the white, silky hair. And they chatted eagerly 
 and gleefully upon their way home of the pleasant 
 time they had had, and of the visit they would pay 
 him the following week. Is it not better for us 
 that God has so mercifully kept from us the know- 
 ledge of the future 1 That we cannot even tell 
 what will happen to us from hour to hour ? And 
 they little knew, as they laughed and chatted, that 
 two out of the three would see the old Rector's 
 kindly face no more in this world. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 ray's champion. 
 
 We maun dree our weird." 
 
 nr^HE day after Jabez Strong's trial, Miles 
 appeared in the evening with a pair of un- 
 deniably black eyes. They were both so black 
 and swollen that there was no doubt what answer 
 would be given to the stern question of, 
 " How did you get them 
 
 " Fighting," said Miles briefly, the pain was great. 
 
 " You bad boy," said Hester severely, " I am 
 ashamed of you. What did you fighi about r 
 
 But here Miles's lips were closed, and he would 
 say never a word. All entreaties were in vain, no 
 
j^AY'S CHAMPION. 
 
 155 
 
 more could be got out of him than that one brief 
 word — fighting. 
 
 Janet was cross with him, and sent him to bed. 
 He had to be kept out of his father's sight, and 
 she told him that bed was the best place for boys 
 who would take to fighting. He had a bad few 
 days of it, poor little Miles ! 
 
 The fight occurred in this wise. He had gone 
 over to the Hermitage for cricket, and some of the 
 boys playing happened to have been at the trial. 
 They made great fun of Ray, for Denys was not 
 there, and Miles was so small that they did not 
 trouble themselves about him. But they had to 
 learn that if Miles was small, he had a loving 
 heart, and Ray he would defend with his life if 
 necessary. A battle was fought, the boys having 
 the fairness to choose the nearest in size to Miles, 
 but even he was much bigger and older, and had 
 learned to box with science, whereas poor little 
 Miles had only right and love upon his side, and 
 these, alas, had the worst of it in the contest. 
 
156 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 It was strange that no one guessed the true 
 state of affairs, except Hope Lifesay, and she, 
 inquiring, found her conjectures were right. One 
 day when Miles was allowed to appear, still, how- 
 ever, with his face in a very streaky condition, she 
 called him aside, and imprinted a fervent kiss upon 
 his cheeks, at the same time presenting him with a 
 five shilling piece, brand new from the Mint. Miles 
 had no idea why the kiss and bright money were 
 bestowed upon him ; the former he rather resented, 
 for he considered himself too old to be kissed, but 
 the latter he accepted gratefully, for the Forrests, 
 now they came to mix with " other people," some- 
 times felt the want of money, and Miles was as 
 delighted with his tip as any boy of the same age 
 would have been. 
 
 In a fortnight later the Hermitage would be 
 vacant. Mr. Forrest received the news most 
 thankfully. Lessons could be resumed, and old 
 habits also, and the quiet life in the Old House by 
 the River could flow on as peacefully as if no 
 
J^A Y'S CHAMPION, 
 
 157 
 
 disturbing outer influences had ever interrupted its 
 even tenor. Only another fortnight, only two 
 more weeks, two more weeks with the usual seven 
 days in each of them. 
 
 It was the Wednesday after Jabez Strong's trial, 
 and Enid and Ray were looking forward to their 
 promised visit to the old Rector upon the morrow, 
 when, after luncheon, Hope Lifesay drove over in 
 the large old-fashioned family carriage with a 
 request from Mrs. Irvine that the Forrests might 
 return with her for a few hours. She would send 
 them back in the carriage when it got dusk. 
 
 The day was a peculiar one. Thick, dark clouds 
 had hung heavily about the sky the whole morn- 
 ing, yet no rain came, only the air was oppres- 
 sively close. Mrs. Irvine laughingly told the For- 
 rests that she had sent for them to cheer them all 
 up, for every one was so gloomy, and over each of 
 them hung a presentiment of coming evil. This 
 feeling increased rather than diminished ; the 
 young people were infected by it, and even the 
 
158 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 very animals, by some secret sympathy, seemed to 
 understand it also, for the dogs crept about slowly, 
 nestled closely to their mistresses, pricked up their 
 ears, and whined occasionally. People moved 
 languidly or sat dreamily about in the garden, and 
 if a more venturesome spirit tried to be cheerful or 
 lively, it was a spasmodic attempt and soon fell flat. 
 
 At sunset they stood on the terrace fascinated. 
 No sun was visible, but bars of an intense blood- 
 red shone angrily through the black mass of clouds 
 overhanging the western sky. It was evident that 
 a fearful storm was not far distant. 
 
 The house was deserted for the garden, even the 
 servants turning out. Inside they could scarcely 
 breathe, the air was so stifling and close. A weight 
 — more than the atmosphere — lay upon them all, 
 an oppression they could not shake off. There 
 was little attempt at conversation, and the slow 
 hours dragged wearily on. 
 
 It was the second week in October, and the 
 evenings had been generally cold enough for fires, 
 
I^AV'S CHAMPION. 
 
 159 
 
 yet that evening they stood or sat in the garden, 
 lightly clad, gasping for breath. Everybody said 
 it was a most unusual experience. It was as if the 
 sky were descending upon them, as if they were 
 wrapped round in hot, fleecy clouds, or as if they 
 were caught in a furnace and entangled in cobwebs 
 from which they could not free themselves. Mrs. 
 Irvine detained the gardener as he was passing. 
 
 " Martin, what do you think of the weather ^ 
 
 "There's a fearful thunder-storm on the road, 
 mam. Such a storm as there hasn't been in this 
 country in my time, for I never felt so crushed 
 beneath such a load of burning heat, nor did I 
 ever see, afore this, such a curious sky." 
 
 " It would not be safe for the Miss Forrests and 
 their brothers to return home ^ 
 
 " It would be most unsafe, mam. Thompson 
 would not take the horses out such a night as this 
 is going to be." 
 
 " You hear," said Mrs. Irvine, turning to Enid, 
 who stood beside her. " Now if Cousin Geoffrey 
 
i6o 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 blames me for keeping you to sleep, you must 
 explain to him that it was impossible you could go. 
 The storm might come on at any moment, the 
 horses would take fright at the thunder and light- 
 ning, to which they are not accustomed, and there 
 would be a terrible accident. You have no choice, 
 you must stay here, and I will arrange where we 
 can stow you." 
 
 It was a relief to them to know they were not 
 to go home, for they had been dreading the re- 
 turn. They had caught the infection of gloomi- 
 ness, and they were fearful. The Hermitage was 
 unusually full, for a Mrs. Stevenson was there with 
 five small children, and a Mrs. Mordaunt with 
 three, besides several other ladies and gentlemen. 
 Counting the servants there were about twenty-six 
 people sleeping in the house, so it was like a puzzle 
 to consider how six more could be put up for the 
 night. But Mrs. Irvine was not easily daunted, 
 and she soon made her arrangements and disposed 
 of her new guests. 
 
/^AY'S CHAMPION. 
 
 i6i 
 
 Enid and Cecily were to share Hope's room, in 
 which there was a large sofa which could easily be 
 turned into a bed, while Hester had a bed made 
 up in a tiny dressing-room, leading out of Hope's 
 room, and hardly larger than a cupboard. Ray 
 was to sleep upon the sofa in the library, Denys 
 and Miles in the day nursery, which was to be 
 given up to them. The rooms in the Hermitage 
 were not large, though fortunately there were 
 plenty of them. 
 
 At eight o'clock they unwillingly went in doors 
 for a late tea. But none of them could eat. Cups 
 of tea were in demand to quench their thirst, but 
 even the boys played with their knives and forks, 
 and left the food untasted. They were glad to 
 turn out again into the painfully still night air. 
 Some of them wandered as far as the river for 
 the chance of feeling its coolness, but even there 
 it seemed as if the river was in harmony with 
 the rest of nature. Even the waters that night 
 moved as if life had gone out of them, and instead 
 
 M 
 
OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 of pressing cold and strong against the feverish 
 hands dipped into them, trickled languidly through 
 the open fingers, lukewarm and faint from the 
 heat of the atmosphere. No one retired until 
 past midnight, and then it was only to crowd 
 to the wide open windows of their rooms, gasp- 
 ing for breath. Still the storm dallied, seeming 
 shy of coming ; still the clouds gathered in one 
 dark overhanging mass slowly sw^ooping nearer, 
 nearer to the earth, as if it were some bird of 
 prey, hovering with outspread wing over its victim, 
 so secure in its sure possession that it could afford 
 a space of silence ere it struck. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 AT THE DAWN OF DAY. 
 
 " Hear'st thou in the red morn, 
 The angel's song ?" 
 
 IT was not until between three and four o'clock 
 that the dark clouds were torn asunder by a 
 vivid flash of lightning, succeeded by a heavy roll 
 of thunder. Then the heavens opened and the 
 rain descended in a sheet, beating heavily and 
 straightly upon the ground. The storm was a 
 perfect torrent, but lasted only a short time, ceas- 
 ing almost as suddenly as it had begun, though the 
 lio-htnine and thunder continued without any in- 
 termission. 
 
OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 The rain brought power to breathe and refreshing 
 coolness, and some of the visitors in the Hermi- 
 tage went to bed much relieved, while others 
 stayed up to watch the storm. Of these latter 
 were Hope and the three Forrest girls, who were 
 grouped round Hope's window, Cecily and Hester 
 rather in the background, for they were somewhat 
 afraid of the lightning. 
 
 It was now the darkest hour in the night, and 
 the flashes of lightning came at longer intervals, 
 while the peals of thunder sounded farther off, 
 when Hope suddenly started up and leaned out of 
 the window. 
 
 " Come nearer, girls, and lean out. Is it my 
 fancy, or do you smell a queer smell ?" 
 
 The girls could smell nothing, and Hope rested 
 content, thinking her sense of smell, which was 
 peculiarly sensitive, must have deceived her. 
 
 " I think we had better go to bed," she said. 
 " The storm has pretty well spent itself now, 
 I guess. I never felt anything so deliciously 
 
A7 THE DAWN OF DAY, 
 
 refreshing as that rain. — Oh ! girls, what is 
 thatr 
 
 A thrill of terror ran through them all as they 
 leaned out with ears strained to catch the next 
 sound. 
 
 It followed quickly upon the first, a shrill scream 
 as of some one in an agony. The girls clung to- 
 gether, their faces white with a nameless horror, 
 which rendered them for the moment dumb. 
 
 A quick tramping of feet caused them to breathe 
 more freely and unloosed their tongues. Then 
 other screams succeeded, so pitiful that Hope 
 wrung her hands. 
 
 " If we could only see," she moaned, " but it is 
 so black, so black. The darkest hour before the 
 dawn. Oh ! girls, stop your ears or you will never 
 forget these screams. What can it be ? Is no one 
 awake but ourselves? Why haven't they roused 
 the whole house by now ? The screams are away 
 from the house, not in it. They have stopped. 
 Ah ! here is some one coming," and leaning out 
 
OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 she called as clearly as her trembling voice would 
 let her, " Who is there ?" 
 
 " Is that your voice, Miss Lifesay ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It's me, miss : Thompson. The stables has been 
 struck by lightning. Martin has gone for the 
 engines, he rode one of the horses ; but there's no 
 engines nearer than Stopford, and it won't be safe 
 for any of you to stay in the house, as the wind 
 blows the sparks this way. Wake them all up, Miss 
 Lifesay, please, and tell them to turn out as soon 
 as they can. There's no desperate hurry, you un- 
 derstand, but there's such a sight of people in the 
 house that the sooner they are out of it the 
 better." 
 
 " What were those horrible screams we heard 
 just now V 
 
 "The poor horses, miss. They was terribly 
 frightened, and no wonder." 
 
 " They seemed such human cries. Were the 
 horses hurt ?" 
 
AT THE DA WN OF DA V, 
 
 167 
 
 " No, miss. We have got them safe out." 
 I can just see the flames," said Enid. Look, 
 Hope." 
 
 Through the dark trees the red flames were 
 visible, blowing steadily, with what little wind there 
 was, towards the Hermitage. 
 
 " Come, girls. We will take our candles, throw 
 open the doors into all the rooms, and wake up 
 the people thoroughly. I know the house, and it 
 shall not be our fault if any one is left uncalled. 
 God grant that we may all come safely out of 
 this." 
 
 The wildest confusion soon ensued. Every one 
 lost their heads when they turned out into the 
 darkness, which was only from time to time re- 
 lieved by the vivid flashes of lightning. People 
 ran frantically to and fro, exclaiming that so-and-so 
 was missing ; that Bobby or Totty would catch 
 his or her death of cold ; that everything would be 
 lost, and were the things insured ? and so on. 
 
 It really was a serious matter what to do with 
 
i68 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 the children, until Hope reminded Mrs. Irvine of a 
 large roomy summer-house, some distance off, at 
 the end of the kitchen garden. Mrs. Irvine caught 
 at the idea ; the children were collected together, 
 so far as they could be in the darkness and con- 
 fusion, wrapped up in shawls, and sent with some 
 servants and any one else who liked to go to the 
 summer-house. But most of the visitors preferred 
 to stay, fascinated by the terrors of the fire. 
 
 The men-servants and gentlemen were busy in 
 saving what they could from the house, which had 
 soon caught on fire, and so much of it being of 
 wood, and that old, was burning steadily and 
 quickly. The stables were unfortunately so near 
 to the Hermitage, the wind set that way, and 
 Stopford was so far off, there seemed little hope 
 that the engines would arrive in time to do any 
 good. The men worked with a will until they 
 declared it was unsafe to venture into the house 
 again, when they gathered upon the lawn and 
 watched the progress of the fire. 
 
AT THE DAWN OF DAY, 
 
 169 
 
 All traces of the storm were swept away from 
 the heavens, and to the relief of everybody the 
 dawn was near. Already a narrow line of red was 
 seen in the East, and it was light enough for them 
 to distinguish each other, pale ghosts they looked 
 in the morning mist. 
 
 " How quickly it burns," said Hope, turning to 
 Ray. " And the beams are falling in every direc- 
 tion ; listen to that heavy thud. Oh ! I am so 
 thankful we are all safely out of it. Never mind 
 the house now that every one is safe.'' 
 
 The words were hardly spoken when a sorrowful 
 wail, coming from the right-hand wing, the one 
 as yet unburnt, startled them all into watchful- 
 ness. 
 
 The cries continued, sounding like the cries of 
 a frightened child, who wakes up suddenly and 
 finds itself alone, and in the dark. 
 
 Mrs. Irvine wrung her hands. 
 
 " It is impossible there can be anybody in the 
 house. You called everybody, Hope ?" 
 
I70 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 " Everybody. Each door was thrown wide open, 
 and every one was aroused. And I know each 
 room in the house, and where they all slept. I did 
 not overlook any." 
 
 "And the most sound sleeper could not have 
 slept through this noise and confusion," said a 
 Mrs. Leslie. " Dear Mrs. Irvine, do not distress 
 yourself." 
 
 But the cries continued instead of abating, and 
 Mrs. Irvine's lips grew white, for a servant sug- 
 gested the very thought that had crept so unwill- 
 ingly into her own mind. 
 
 " The nurseries are in that wing, mam ! could 
 one of the little children have been left behind by 
 accident ?" 
 
 She spoke low, and intended only her mistress 
 to have heard, but unfortunately, Mrs. Stevenson, 
 who was not far off, caught the whisper, and started 
 forward. 
 
 " The children, oh ! my children ! It is my 
 Mabel's cry, the baby, the youngest of all. Nurse 
 
A T THE DA WN OF DA Y. 
 
 171 
 
 must have forgotten her. I will give everything, 
 all I possess, if somebody will save her. Will no 
 one save my child ? Ah, she is crying again ! Oh, 
 save her, save her !" 
 
 She was perfectly beside herself, and required 
 two of the strongest of the gentlemen to hold her. 
 She screamed, and begged, and entreated : while 
 the pitiful cries continued unabated. Hope turned 
 to her sternly and said, 
 
 "Mrs. Stevenson, I am sure you told me the 
 children were all safe, and had gone down to the 
 summer-house with the nurse. Now try and re- 
 member." 
 
 " I kissed some of them, but I am not sure ; 
 and I could not have kissed Mabel, or I should 
 have remembered ; besides, that is Mabel's voice, 
 those are Mabel's cries, oh, will none save my 
 child ?" 
 
 " Denys has run down to the summer-house to 
 see if the children are all safe." 
 
 "And in the mean time she will be burnt to 
 
172 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 death," and Mrs. Stevenson's cries and screams 
 redoubled. 
 
 Ray could bear it no longer. He sprang for- 
 ward to make the effort of going into the burning 
 house. 
 
 Hope saw his intention and caught him. 
 " Let me go, Hope, there is no time to lose." 
 "At least wait until Denys returns. Oh, do, 
 dear Ray." 
 
 " And by then it may be too late. Even now I 
 do not know if it is possible, but I shall try." 
 
 She wished with all her heart, afterwards, that 
 she had not loosed her hold of him, but if she had 
 not done it, he would have broken from her. The 
 Scotch proverb is true, " we maun dree our weird," 
 whatever that " weird" may be. 
 
 He dashed into the burning house, and up the 
 staircase where the smoke seemed to suffocate 
 him. 
 
 If he had paused for a moment he could not 
 have continued, as it was, he shut his eyes, dashed 
 
AT THE DAWN OF DA Y. 
 
 173 
 
 blindly on, and upon reaching the landing, fell 
 down senseless. He recovered and turned into the 
 right-hand wing, which was as yet untouched by 
 the flames, but the sparks were alighting upon the 
 roof, and every moment rendered it more unsafe. 
 He made his way to the top of the house from 
 whence the pitiful cries came. 
 
 By this time, many strange people had seen the 
 flames and had joined those upon the lawn. When 
 it was known that Ray had gone into the burning 
 house, anxiety was too deep for words. Enid, 
 Cecily, Hester clung around Hope, who felt she 
 wanted all her strength to support herself in these 
 terrible moments. Even the mother hushed her 
 cries, and turned with strained eyes to the blazing 
 house. 
 
 They were all watching the door with beating 
 hearts, not moving or uttering a sound, when a 
 window thrown open in an upper story of 
 the unburnt wing caused them to raise their 
 eyes. 
 
174 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 Ray stood at the window of a room in the second 
 story, and in his arms he held — -only a dog. 
 
 A little silver-grey Skye terrier who clung shiver- 
 ingly to him, beating his soft, brown paws against 
 Ray's shoulder, and whining, partly a whine of joy 
 at his rescue, partly suffering still from the terror 
 with which he had heard the roaring of the flames, 
 and the falling timber around him. He slept in a 
 basket in a linen-room upon the same floor as his 
 mistress's bedroom ; and she, in her fright, had 
 totally forgotten him. She had not even remem- 
 bered his existence until she saw him in Ray's arm. 
 He had stayed quietly sleeping, until wakened by 
 the unusual sounds of falling timber close beside 
 him. Then, a dog's instinct told him that some- 
 thing dreadful had happened and that he had been 
 left to his fate. He had sought, in his terror, the 
 darkest corner of the room, and cowering down 
 into it, lifted up his voice and wept loudly and 
 pitcously, sobbing like a child, and it was there 
 that Ray found him. 
 
AT THE DAWN OF DA V. 
 
 175 
 
 They gathered close to the window, and Ray 
 spoke, quietly and steadily. 
 
 " The flames have caught the main staircase, and 
 I can get down no farther than this. The smoke 
 drove me back. Can you get a ladder V' 
 
 There was a general rush for the ladders. But 
 the Hermitage for many years had been let only 
 for a summer residence, and was deficient in many 
 things which would otherwise have been thought 
 necessaries in a house of its size had it been lived 
 in the whole year round. They brought one ladder, 
 but only quite a short one, which was used for 
 training the espalier trees, and it failed to reach 
 the window by several feet. 
 
 " There must be another somewhere about ; we 
 could tie them together," cried Hope quickly. 
 
 " That's the only one there is to be seen any- 
 wheres, miss, — and Martin, he's not here." 
 
 " I must wait for the engines," said Ray. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Enid, ''there must be another 
 ladder. We will go and search." 
 
176 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 " 'Tain't no manner of use, miss ; we have looked 
 everywheres." 
 
 " There's a short ladder down at our cottage," 
 said a man present, and he ran ofif for it as hard as 
 he could go. 
 
 The crowd upon the lawn increased, and was by 
 this time frantic again, — some calling for ropes, 
 ladders, fire-escapes, some running ofif to see if the 
 engines were in sight, others crying and sobbing 
 and wringing their hands. Poor little Miles' grief 
 was terrible to see, and the others were hardly 
 better. Ray was the calmest of any, and it was 
 his voice that quieted Miles, and the little fellow 
 at last stood underneath the window quite cheered 
 and hopeful, saying every minute, 
 
 " The engines must come soon, must they not, 
 Ray ? In another minute I should think they 
 would be here." 
 
 The others too were quieter, but with more 
 anxious forebodings in their hearts than Miles. 
 
 The second short ladder appeared, and was 
 
AT THE DA WN OF DA K 
 
 177 
 
 seized with a shout of relief. Ray caressed the 
 frightened dog absently, but did not otherwise 
 move or speak. 
 
 Hope, assisted by some of the gentlemen, was 
 directing how the ladders could be most firmly 
 fastened together, so that there should be no chance 
 of their parting asunder, when — happening for an 
 instant to look upwards at Ray — her heart gave a 
 sudden leap of terror, and told her the story ere 
 it was completed. 
 
 His face was turned towards where, in the east, 
 the sky was flooded crimson with the rising sun. 
 The grey eyes, the pure straight profile, the very 
 turn of the head, were full of a strange, pathetic 
 yearning, the sight of which made Hope turn 
 quickly away again, and she bent over the ladders 
 to hide the bright tears which dropped fast upon 
 them. 
 
 The last knot was firmly tied, and the ladders 
 were being hoisted, when a glad cry echoed from 
 lip to lip. 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 " Make room for the engines, — the engines are 
 coming !" 
 
 " Oh, Ray, they are coming !" cried Miles, clasp- 
 ing his hands in ecstasy ; while a pair of strong 
 arms lifted the child out of the way of the clat- 
 tering engines. 
 
 They galloped up the avenue, and it was scarce 
 two minutes before men ran swiftly up a long 
 ladder to the patient, waiting figure in the window 
 over whose head the flames were now breaking, 
 and around whom the timber had been crackling 
 and falling from time to time. 
 
 " Take the dog, please," said Ray. 
 
 The trembling creature was quickly passed to 
 some one behind, and then — Hope never quite 
 knew how the rest happened. 
 
 The fire had penetrated to the room overhead, 
 and a burning rafter struck the boy, ere the man 
 had time to catch him in his arms. 
 
 It was over in an instant of time. Ray was car- 
 ried down the ladder, and some one threw a shawl 
 
PAGE 178. 
 
AT THE DAWN OF DA Y. 
 
 179 
 
 hastily over the damp grass. Upon this they laid 
 him gently — reverently. 
 
 Then for the space of a few seconds all stood as 
 if they had been turned from living, breathing 
 people, into motionless statues. The men bared 
 their heads, and the most intense and solemn si- 
 lence reigned — a silence in which Nature seemed 
 to share, for the birds ceased their twittering, nor 
 did the leaves of the trees rustle. Only the sunrise 
 flooded the sky, the smoke and flames ascended to 
 the heavens. 
 
 There was no sign of suffering upon the pure, 
 pale face of the boy, only the tender, yearning look 
 still parted the lips. Nor was there any visible 
 mark of the blow. It had been a light one, 
 scarcely ruffling the dark hair, but it had struck a 
 vital part, and its work was done. 
 
 Miles sprang forward. 
 
 " Ray ! why do you lie so still ? Open your 
 eyes ! look at me ! Speak to me, Ray !" 
 
 The child put his warm, living arms round his 
 
i8o 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 brother's neck, kissed his lips, and tried to raise his 
 head to draw it towards him. But the dusky head 
 fell heavily back, and Miles, with frightened eyes, 
 looked into the faces, sad and sorrow-stricken, 
 which were bending so pitifully over himself and 
 his brother. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ray's song again. 
 
 Music, that gentlier on the spirit lies, 
 Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes. " 
 
 IV /r R. Forrest was an early riser when the beauty 
 of the morning tempted him. Upon the 
 one after the storm, he was up at sunrise watching 
 the red light which flooded the entire east. He 
 mounted the ground at the back of the house to 
 see what havoc had been made in the night. 
 
 Nature was changing her dress daily, coquet- 
 ting with yellows, and reds, and browns, trying 
 which shade of colour suited her complexion best. 
 The wood, that morning, was piled with her cast- 
 
l82 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 off garments, and the trees were beginning to look 
 rather undressed — only the hollies shone fresher 
 and fairer from the storm which had beaten so 
 heavily upon them. 
 
 The birds flew to Mr. Forrest with pitiful stories 
 the moment he entered the wood. They told him, 
 twittering and chirping and making a grand bustle 
 over it, what a dreadful night they had spent, 
 and how some of them were homeless from the 
 cruel storm : and sadder far, for they were left 
 sound of wing and limb, how farther on in the 
 depths of the wood, many of their friends lay 
 upon the ground with broken wing, the white film 
 gathered over their eyes ; beaten down to the 
 death by the relentless storm. 
 
 This they told him in their own language. But 
 they could not whisper to him, nor tell him, whose 
 eyes were then looking at the red sunrise for the 
 last time, nor that one of his own birdies was 
 even then trying its wings and soaring away, 
 into the deep blue of heaven. 
 
RA rs SONG A GAIN. 183 
 
 Geofifrey Forrest had tried to keep from him 
 all sorrow and suffering, and aught that could 
 jar upon a refined and sensitive nature. For the 
 second time in his life the angel, whom we all 
 dread, had gathered his dearest in his arms and 
 flown with him to Paradise. 
 
 Ray was dearer to him than his five other 
 children put together. Specially noble and win- 
 ning as the boy's nature was, there was also much 
 in it that sympathised with his father, and the two 
 were closely knit together — like — yet most unlike. 
 
 The blow of his death stunned the father. He 
 shut himself up in his study refusing to see any 
 one, and rejecting any attempt that was made to 
 comfort him. When the children saw him they 
 were stricken with awe at the change that had 
 passed over him. His hair had grown from dark 
 to white, his back was bent, his head bowed down. 
 
 He spoke quietly and much as usual to those 
 who brought his meals, but not more than *yes' 
 or ' no' if it could be avoided. 
 
OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 And what could those say who loved Ray best, 
 except that it was better for the boy that GOD 
 had called him home ? His life could never have 
 been long, for it would have worn itself out in 
 a very few years, and what years of suffering those 
 must have been to such an exquisitely sensitive 
 nature, whose upbringing had only served to in- 
 tensify the sensitiveness without attempting to 
 show that there might be a remedy for the evils. 
 It was better for the boy that he should be taken 
 out of this world of pain, with its feverish struggles, 
 to " lie at rest in the quiet earth's breast, his soul 
 at home with GOD." 
 
 They chose his bed upon the sloping hill-side, 
 where a little brook ran laughing down and 
 scattered from side to side its crystal drops as 
 it hurried over the stones ; those crystal drops 
 which kept the grass beside it fresh and cool 
 even in the hottest summer days. And they chose 
 the spot underneath the shadow of the old grey 
 church, and as near to the organ as they could 
 
RA TS SONG AGAIN. 
 
 185 
 
 get it. The organ at which he had set to music 
 those words which were destined to sink into 
 many hearts, to change the current of the lives 
 of several — 
 
 " When I awake up after Thy likeness^ I shall 
 be satisfied with itP 
 
 The town and country from far and wide sent 
 a wealth of flowers for the boy, whose early death 
 brought tears to the eyes of many who did not 
 even know him. Those who had laughed at him, 
 only the week before, tried by the magnificence 
 of their offerings to wipe out the remembrance 
 of their mockery. And they all lamented what 
 they termed such " a dreadful waste of life," for in 
 their eyes he had thrown himself away, had given 
 up his rich young boyhood, love and friends, years 
 already full of promise of what the future might 
 be, and by so doing had saved — only a dog ! But 
 God, Who looks at the intention before the deed, 
 judged differently. Tenderly and truthfully the boy 
 lived his life and held it to be saved or lost only 
 
i86 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 as God willed it should be saved or lost, and he 
 soon found it again, this time so perfected, so 
 full of entire satisfaction, that the loss was gain 
 indeed. 
 
 They made his last bed most beautiful with 
 moss and flowers, and he was laid in it just as the 
 sun, slowly dipping into the west, touched the old 
 grey church, as if with a parting blessing, ere it 
 said farewell to the day. The yellow corn had 
 long been garnered in, in the sloping field, and 
 they lingered in the churchyard until the mists 
 were gathered over the river, a tiny silver crescent 
 hung out in the clear opal-tinted sky, and the 
 evening star appeared where the sun had been. 
 Then, under the quiet stars they left his body, 
 though his soul had long since soared away to 
 " where beyond these voices there is peace." 
 
 Mr. Forrest was an anxiety as the days wore on. 
 He had sorrowed for his wife silently and alone, 
 but he had not then shunned the society of his 
 
RA Y'S SONG AGAIN. 
 
 187 
 
 children as he did now. He did not ask for them, 
 and when he came across them by accident, he 
 hardly noticed them. Janet feared, and the two 
 elder girls were old enough to share her fears. 
 
 When their anxiety was greatest, little Miles, 
 unknowingly to himself, came to their rescue. 
 The boy had transferred to his father the love and 
 devotion he had given to Ray. It seemed as if he 
 could trace the likeness between the two, and so 
 tracing it, clung to it. He took his book and sat 
 by his father's side by the hour together, not 
 speaking or obtruding himself in any way, and Mr. 
 Forrest did not dismiss him. The two sat silent, 
 the father not noticing him at all, but perhaps the 
 child's companionship was not displeasing to him. 
 
 One afternoon Miles rose from his corner, put 
 aside his book, and coming to his father, twined 
 his arms round his neck as he had been wont to 
 do to Ray when he wanted to be very coaxing. 
 
 " Father ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 " I want you to come into the church and hear 
 me sing Ray's song." 
 " What song 
 
 " A verse Ray made into music. I was in the 
 church with him the afternoon he made it. He was 
 a long time over it. I blew for him. But it was 
 lovely music when it was finished. He taught me 
 to sing it, at least he began to teach me, and Enid 
 taught me the rest. Will you come, father ? Enid 
 will play for me, and Denys will blow." 
 
 "Yes, I will come." 
 
 " Thank you, father." 
 
 They all stole into the church, and sat about in 
 different seats, even Janet and John, while the 
 child sang to his father the song Ray had com- 
 posed only three short months ago. 
 
 His voice lacked the richness and expression of 
 his brother's, nor did it wake the echoes as Ray's 
 had done. But it was a clear sweet child's voice, 
 and it rose, like the song of a lark, amongst the 
 arches straight to heaven. 
 
J? AY'S SO JVC AGAIN, 
 
 Enid, Cecily, Hester, and Denys remembered 
 when last they had heard it, and wept tears of 
 gentle sadness. Miles was singing to his father, 
 anxious to do justice to Ray's beautiful music," 
 and forgot everything but the song. The little 
 grey saints in their niches looked on with folded 
 hands, and calm content expressed upon their 
 quaintly carved features. And as the last notes 
 died lingeringly among the pillars, they seemed to 
 bow their heads and say, 
 
 " With Jesus and the Saints." 
 
 The children crept out of the church as softly 
 as they had entered it, leaving their father alone, 
 with the remembrance of Ray, his music and the 
 words. 
 
 Ray had caught the full expression and meaning 
 of the verse, and chained it down to earth by 
 imprisoning it in the notes of music. There was 
 the sadness and the yearning, the plaintiveness 
 and wistfulness of an unexpressed want, and there 
 was also the glad triumphant certainty that some 
 
igo 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 time, but not now, that yearning void would be 
 filled up, that restless longing satisfied. 
 
 Very dimly Geoffrey Forrest began to realise 
 that God has placed us in this world, this prosaic 
 nineteenth century part of it, not that we might 
 shut ourselves away from all that is jarring, or re- 
 pulsive, or unpleasant ; but that taking our parts 
 manfully among the "other people," we might 
 share their burdens, bear their sorrows, and by so 
 doing lighten our own. 
 
 Another thought also worked in his brain. That 
 part of the suffering of our fallen nature is the 
 yearning after perfection in ourselves, and others, 
 and things around us. It is the longing for a 
 perfection which will only be realised when 
 awaking after His likeness, we shall be satisfied 
 with itr 
 
 Though there are some who lie so near to the 
 gate of Heaven that, being with them, we begin to 
 understand what our satisfaction will be like when 
 it is completed. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BROKEN THREADS. 
 
 Dear dead ! they have become 
 
 Like guardian angels to us ; 
 And distant heaven like home 
 
 Through them begins to woo us 
 Love, that was earthly, wings 
 
 Its flight to holier places ; 
 The dead are sacred things 
 
 That multiply our graces. 
 
 They whom we loved on earth 
 Attract us now to heaven ; 
 
 Who shared our grief and mirth, 
 Back to us now are given. 
 
192 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 They move with noiseless foot 
 
 Gravely and sweetly round us, 
 And their soft touch hath cut 
 
 Full many a chain that bound us." 
 
 T N a story, as in spinning, it is necessary to 
 ^ gather up the broken threads, to weave our 
 material into a perfect whole. 
 Our broken threads now are, 
 Forbes Dunbar, 
 Hope Lifesay, 
 Jabez Strong. 
 Ray's loss made a terrible blank in the home 
 circle of the Old House by the River, but not so 
 much as it would have done in many others. For 
 they seemed to feel him with them, though unseen, 
 and more especially in his favourite haunts in the 
 old grey church and upon the river. They talked 
 of him constantly, always in the living, present 
 tense, and not in the past, as is the case with most 
 people. They did not draw closer together at 
 meals, but left his chair vacant, where he once sat, 
 
BROKEN THREADS. 
 
 193 
 
 and always a vase with a flower or spray of leaves 
 and berries in front of it upon the table. 
 
 The spring of the following year, a spring which 
 was destined to bring sorrow into many homes, 
 brought a fresh one to theirs. The mother's pre- 
 sentiment of ill was realised only too soon. 
 Among the unnumbered heroes of Rorke's Drift 
 Forbes's golden head lay low, with so many heaped 
 around and upon him of the murdered and the 
 dying, that unattended and uncared for his brown 
 eyes closed in death. We speak so unconcernedly 
 of England always being victorious in the end, 
 and we do not pause to think, as we speak the 
 careless words, at what a cost that end is attained. 
 Each of the slain at Rorke's Drift left friends to 
 mourn him ; and consider the numberless homes 
 desolated, the countless hearts that were torn in 
 two, when the news came of that terrible massacre. 
 It certainly would seem as if that sad mistake of 
 the Crimean war ought to be sufficient warning for 
 a century at least, yet again and again we send forth 
 
 O 
 
194 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 picked men, the flower of our English people, to 
 pour out their blood like water against overwhelm- 
 ing numbers. Forbes died with no special record 
 of bravery beside his name, but where all were so 
 brave, and gallant deeds so frequent, that they 
 were counted only common acts, who can single 
 out one more than another and say he was the 
 most brave ? Forbes died as English soldiers love 
 to die, a brave man and true, and he and his com- 
 rades died as, alas ! they ought not to have had to 
 die, for they fought against such fearful odds as 
 made the battle simply a field of murder, sur- 
 rounded as they were by their foes, shut in by four 
 black towering living walls of relentless, cruel ene- 
 mies. Their courage never failed, but they could 
 only fight their bravest and die, — fallen but not 
 conquered. 
 
 It is our comfort to think that no life is ever 
 wasted which does its duty in the Eyes of GOD. 
 It is He Who inspires our soldiers and causes 
 England to win her battles, and we console our- 
 
BROKEN THREADS. 
 
 195 
 
 selves with the thought that man's mistakes, cruel 
 as they seem, are God's purposes, and that those 
 forms which lie so motionless upon the battle- 
 ground will be raised most fair in soul, most fair 
 in body, to live for evermore in the love of GOD 
 and of each other. 
 
 * * * 5i< 
 
 Hope could not take back the love she had 
 given, even though it had been given unasked, and 
 she watched for the papers with an hourly increas- 
 ing interest, while she eagerly scanned the war 
 news to see if the name which she dreaded to see 
 was among the fateful list. And she knew, so 
 soon as his mother knew, that among the gallant 
 24th, who did its hopeless work so bravely and so 
 well, her own hero had fallen in the unequal strife. 
 
 She had to lead her usual merry life of balls, 
 picnics, assemblies of various kinds, when, for her, 
 all the sunshine and pleasure had died out of them, 
 and they became a treadmill which she dreaded 
 and from which she longed to break free. She 
 
196 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 had no one to whom she could tell her sorrow or 
 show her grief, and perhaps she would utterly have 
 broken down had it not been that when the need 
 was sorest help came. 
 
 It came in the form of work. Her sister-in-law 
 died, and her brother wrote to ask her if she would 
 sacrifice her home and friends and make a home 
 for his motherless children and himself in the far 
 West. It was no sacrifice to her now, and she 
 gladly packed up and went, wondering what her 
 friends, who condoled and sympathised with her, 
 would say if they could read her heart. 
 
 And when her day's work is over she stands at 
 the window and watches the moon rise over the 
 mountains and the stars appear in the deep blue 
 sky, and then her thoughts wander at will among 
 those she loves most dearly, both living and gone 
 before, and ever associated with Forbes and Ray 
 are the words she can, in memory, hear sung by 
 a boy's voice with infinite pathos and tender 
 yearning, 
 
BROKEN THREADS. 
 
 197 
 
 " When I awake up after Thy likeness^ I shall 
 be satisfied with it^ 
 
 And, like the Forrests, she feels the dead are 
 very near to her in her quietest and holiest times, 
 and she has a fancy that GOD, Who has given us 
 hearts with which to love Himself and others, and 
 Who loves us so much Himself that our sorrows 
 are His sorrows — she has a fancy that GOD has 
 perhaps allowed Forbes to know that she is among 
 those who miss his place on earth and are looking 
 for him in Paradise. It is a cold creed which 
 would tell us that we shall not recognise each 
 other in the world to come. Our loves, as all 
 else, will be perfected there, and surely those we 
 love most fervently on earth, and especially those 
 whose intercourse has lifted us nearer to Heaven 
 in this world, will be most fully recognised by us, 
 and most fervently loved throughout the Eternal 
 Years. 
 
 And Ray's song spoke comfort to yet another, 
 for Forbes's mother, in looking over her son's 
 
198 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 things, came across an old blotting book, inside 
 which she found a scrap of paper with a date upon 
 it, and underneath the date was written in pencil, 
 " When I awake up after Thy likeness^ I shall be 
 satisfied with it!' 
 
 And after she had realised her son's faith and 
 hope she was content to wait. Picturing to her- 
 self the glorious future in store for them, she lived 
 her few years calmly, trustingly, until for her the 
 morning broke and the shadows fled away. 
 
 >K * * 
 
 The story of Ray's short life would be in- 
 complete if mention were not made of Jabez 
 Strong. 
 
 Strong was keen enough to see, in his first in- 
 terview with the Rector, that " the owld parson," 
 as he termed him, was one to whom it was better 
 to speak the whole truth, and that unreservedly. , 
 
 He told, with candour, exactly the number of 
 times he had been in prison and for what crimes. 
 Some for thieving, and some for poaching. Ray's 
 
BROKEN THREADS, 
 
 199 
 
 money was used judiciously by the Rector, the 
 wife regained her health, and the family were 
 respectably clothed and fed. 
 
 Then came the question as to how they were to 
 remain clothed and fed. They could be sent off 
 as emigrants without doubt, but the Rector had 
 not yet found the exact spot in Strong's moral 
 nature where an appeal to higher things met with 
 a response, and he did not like to lose sight of 
 him as he was, — hopeless and unreformed. 
 
 The wife and child would be easily influenced 
 if only Strong would allow them, but he ruled 
 his family with a rod of iron, and until he was 
 won his family must remain as they were, and the 
 citadel be unconquered. 
 
 Amongst the pile of letters that crowded the 
 Rector's table one morning was one which seemed 
 to interest him unusually, judging from the time 
 he sat with it in his hand. 
 
 It was the postscript alone which caused him so 
 much thought. 
 
200 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 " P.S. My keeper, poor old Markham, is dead. 
 Such a steady, respectable man. Do you know 
 any one who would be handy for the place T 
 
 When the Rector sat down to answer the letter 
 it was to ask that the vacant shoes of Markham 
 might be filled by a man in whom he was much 
 interested. And he briefly sketched the portion 
 of Ray's life which had touched that of Jabez 
 Strong. 
 
 The Rector was one of those people, and there 
 are some such, for whom their friends will do any- 
 thing, unhesitatingly, without asking questions, 
 with perfect trust, and at once. 
 
 The answer, wired back, for the post was too 
 slow, was a genial one. 
 
 Send them at once. The house and furniture 
 go with the place. They can step into it any 
 moment. Only wire back when they are coming. 
 
 Now this boy of the Rector's, grown years ago 
 to man's estate, was one of those he called his 
 specials, those to whom, for they had no parents. 
 
BROKEN THREADS, 
 
 201 
 
 only guardians, he had been both father and 
 mother. This young man had come of age a 
 dozen years ago, and he was a respectable squire 
 of a respectable village in the most respectable 
 county in England. In fact it made up in tidiness 
 and respectability for what it lacked in pic- 
 turesqueness and beauty. What should we do if 
 Nature were to turn suddenly tidy } If she were 
 to smooth her hills into level plains, still the ebb- 
 ing of the sea, send to bed the fleecy, baby 
 clouds that nestle so lovingly upon their mother's 
 breast, reduce angles and curves to straight lines, 
 move into marching order the trees that stand 
 about, tuck away the trailing ivies and creepers, 
 snip off the autumn leaves as they change colour, 
 as dead and worthless, trim the bearded barley, 
 cut down all foliage to an uniform height, call each 
 wild flower into proper line, arrange the pebbles at 
 the bottom of the brooks until they form a level 
 floor, check the silver cascades that catch and 
 imprison the rainbow lights in their impetuous 
 
202 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 descent, chide the sunbeams for dancing, straighten 
 the windings of river and brook, rake the sea-weed 
 into decorous heaps, and make bonfires of them 
 upon the yellow sands, and rebuke the nightin- 
 gale for singing when its fellows are asleep — oh 
 what should we do if Nature were to be seized 
 with a sudden fit of tidiness ? The birds, beasts, 
 and insects would go out of their minds, and we 
 should have to build asylums in which to keep 
 them. 
 
 Nature in this particular county had little in 
 her own hands, and the little she had she resigned 
 in despair to other people. They did the best 
 they could. They could not be beautiful, they were 
 even too flat to be picturesque, so they " caved in" 
 gracefully and made up their minds to be exceed- 
 ingly respectable. And in time the county became 
 a model county, abounding in model farms, model 
 cottages, model squires, and model people. 
 
 There was not a person in the village, where the 
 Rector's squire reigned, who did not go to church 
 
BROKEN THREADS. 
 
 203 
 
 once every Sunday, most went twice. The black 
 sheep of the village, and he was very black indeed, 
 had once, long ago, been seen tipsy. Now Mark- 
 ham, whom the squire lamented, had been a very 
 excellent man, but a most indifferent keeper. He 
 was very timid, the squire kindly said ; cowardly 
 would have been nearer the mark. 
 
 The consequence was poaching abounded, and 
 the squire's preserves were always badly stocked, 
 as his friends found out, if he did not, when they 
 came to stay with him for the shooting. The 
 poachers came from a distance, the train brought 
 them, which ran close by, and they returned with 
 well-stocked carpet bags ere yet it was light. 
 They could not be traced, and the railway authori- 
 ties were loath to interfere, for though they might 
 suspect certain carpet bags, yet many people 
 travel with carpet bags, and it might just chance 
 that they might after all hit upon the wrong ones. 
 So poaching held its own right merrily. 
 
 It was to this most respectable village that 
 
204 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 Strong and his family came. When Jabez pre- 
 sented himself with a written invitation from the 
 Rector, the squire's heart sank, and he leaned back 
 in his chair startled beyond words, as he looked at 
 his new keeper. Strong was washed clean and 
 well clothed, but no washing could remove the 
 marks in his face that life-long habits had given, 
 nor the cunning of the eyes, nor the villainous 
 expression of the large coarse mouth. The squire 
 clutched at a straw and said, 
 
 " You are the messenger sent on with this note, 
 not the keeper whom I had engaged, and of whom 
 my friend writes here T 
 
 " I be the man his-self," was the reply, and 
 Jabez smiled a smile meant to be re-assuring, but 
 which so terrified the squire that he turned away 
 from it and soon dismissed the man to his new 
 abode. 
 
 But such was the love and trust the Rector 
 inspired, that " his boy" made no remonstrance, but 
 put up with Strong even though it was a sore trial 
 
BROKEN THREADS, 
 
 205 
 
 to have to face that respectable county and its 
 inhabitants with their shocked expressions. The 
 poor squire even felt as he walked abroad as if he 
 had been guilty of all the bad doings which had 
 left such tangible marks upon Strong's face. 
 
 " It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good," 
 and the black sheep grew so white by comparison 
 that Jie did not grumble at Strong's arrival among 
 them. 
 
 But the poachers' day was ended, as they found 
 to their cost. Strong had been a poacher himself, 
 and knew their ways and dodges, and had the 
 greatest satisfaction in overhauling their nets and 
 traps. One night there was a terrific fight between 
 Jabez Strong and four poachers, in which the 
 former came off victorious, not, however, before he 
 had been very roughly handled, but for this he did 
 not care, for justice was dealt out to the poachers, 
 Jabez appearing as a witness for the prosecution. 
 And certainly the villagers were as much afraid of 
 him as the poachers, for any of them would go a 
 
206 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 mile out of the way sooner than meet Jabez Strong 
 on a lonely road by night or day. The squire was 
 able to write to the Rector with a clear conscience, 
 to say, in praise of his new keeper, that his friends 
 all said that his preserves were never so well filled 
 as they are now. But for all that, in his heart I 
 think he regrets poor Markham. He did no good 
 as a keeper, but then he was such a respectable 
 man. 
 
 The Rector still clings to the hope that Strong 
 may live to be more than respectable. There was 
 an improvement even in a short time, for Sue was 
 allowed to go to school, Strong remarking as he 
 gave the permission, that "Larning didn't seem 
 somehow to make 'em less plucky, and Sue had 
 better get what she could. He wor a plucky 'un 
 and he spoke like a book." 
 
 Sue was also made to read to him what she had 
 learnt. And his wife clings to the hope, like the 
 old Rector, that the church bell may not always 
 call them in vain to church. 
 
BROKEN THREADS, 
 
 207 
 
 Jabez Strong's most valued possession is a stick 
 — a willow stick whittled as white as hands and con- 
 stant attention can whittle it. It has the post of 
 honour beside the eight day clock in the keeper's 
 pretty lodge, and often in the evening he takes 
 the stick down and passes his hand many times 
 athwart its smooth surface. His wife knows she 
 dare not interrupt him when he is so employed, 
 and he often sighs as he returns it to its place, 
 generally saying under his breath, 
 
 " He was a plucky 'un, he was." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MILES'S CHOICE. 
 
 Mon premier est le premier de son espece ; mon second n'a pas 
 de premier; et mon tout, comment le dirai-je 
 
 T Midsummer of the year of Forbes Dunbar's 
 
 ^ ^ death, the even tenor of Mr. Forrest's Hfe 
 was once more disturbed. This time it was by 
 a letter from an old uncle of his, Mr. Hubbard, 
 who had spent all his life, nearly, in India, and 
 now wished to settle down, as near as he could to 
 his only relation, his nephew Geoffrey Forrest, and 
 his family. With this intention he purchased a 
 house at Stopford, and being both active and 
 energetic for his years, he furnished and took 
 
MILES' S CHOICE, 
 
 209 
 
 possession of it much sooner than Mr. Forrest 
 could have thought such a thing possible. In- 
 deed his arrival followed very closely upon his 
 letter. 
 
 The children were upon the river, when he paid 
 his first visit. Mr. Forrest received him in his 
 studio. It was not a year ago that Mrs. Irvine, 
 sitting in that very room, had been so amazed at 
 his youthful appearance. She could not have said 
 the same now. Trouble had brought about in a 
 very short time what years had failed in doing, 
 and Geoffrey Forrest was now an old man. 
 
 Mr. Hubbard was a big, stout person, with a 
 quick manner, and an abruptness of speech that 
 was quite startling. 
 
 I haven't been long in finding you out, nephew. 
 I only came from India on the second, and here I 
 am, bag and baggage. I have bought a house, 
 had it furnished, and am now shaking down in it. 
 It doesn't do to let the grass grow under one's feet. 
 Must keep pace with the times, nephew. But 
 
 P 
 
2IO 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 where are my great-nephews and nieces — I hope 
 they are at home ?" 
 
 " They would have been if they had known you 
 were coming. As it is I am sure they will soon be 
 in. They are gone for a row upon the river ; but 
 their tea-hour is five o'clock, and it is near upon 
 that now." 
 
 , "Very healthy exercise, rowing. I was very 
 fond of it myself when I was a lad. I will stay 
 and have tea with them, then I can make their 
 acquaintance. You look but poorly, nephew. Do 
 you find the heat too much } Tm an old Indian, 
 and seasoned to it, but it's hotter here than in 
 India, or else perhaps it is that the houses in Eng- 
 land are only made for a middling temperature, and 
 not for the two extremes of heat and cold." 
 
 " I enjoy the heat. It is never too hot for me." 
 
 "That is being sensible. But haven't you a 
 more hospitable chair to give me than this one, 
 nephew ? It finds my weight too much evidently, 
 and is creaking as if it was breaking down." 
 
MILES' S CHOICE. 
 
 211 
 
 Poor Mr. Forrest had been on thorns, and he 
 rose with alacrity to bring forward a large black 
 oak chair with arms. Mr. Hubbard settled himself 
 in it with a sigh of satisfaction. The chair upon 
 which he had been sitting was a fragile looking 
 chair with spidery legs, twisted and intricate, but 
 it was never intended to bear such a heavy weight 
 as Mr. Hubbard. 
 
 They talked upon indifferent subjects, Mr. Forrest 
 every now and then glancing wearily from the 
 clock to his open book, wishing the children would 
 come and relieve him of his visitor. Then there 
 was a long pause. Each had finished what he had 
 to say, and Mr. Forrest half closed his eyes, and 
 went off into a dream, which was roughly broken 
 however by the abrupt voice of his uncle. 
 
 " I have something to say, nephew, and I may as 
 well say it to-day, and have it off my mind. I 
 have heard all about you and your children from 
 your cousin, Mrs. Irvine. She says the boys ought 
 to go to school, for it is time the eldest one was 
 
212 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 working up for a profession. And she had an idea 
 that you did not send them because you could 
 not afford it. Is that the case ?" 
 
 Mr. Forrest's face grew cloudy and severe. He 
 certainly could not afford it, but the plain, almost 
 coarse way, in which Mr. Hubbard stated the fact 
 made Geoffrey Forrest wince with pain. He did 
 not answer. 
 
 " I conclude your cousin is right," said his uncle, 
 who was watching him narrowly. " Now I am 
 going to make a proposal. I have no kith or kin, 
 save you ; I am fairly well off, and when I am gone 
 everything I have will be your children's. But I 
 should like to spend some of it upon them now, 
 and I will undertake the education of the three 
 younger children at any schools you choose for 
 them, upon condition, that you allow me to have 
 one of the elder girls to adopt as my daughter. 
 Now is that a bargain, nephew T 
 
 But Mr. Hubbard had touched the wrong chord. 
 Since Ray's death, Mr. Forrest had been more or 
 
MILES'S CHOICE. 
 
 213 
 
 less uneasy about the children. He saw, now, that 
 life could not always glide on for them in the old 
 simple groove in which they had been brought up. 
 He saw that Denys would never be satisfied un- 
 less he were the soldier about which he was always 
 talking. And Miles? ah! little Miles. Between 
 his father and him there was a link which bound 
 them closely together, and — well, he could not bear 
 yet to think of parting with Miles ; besides, the boy 
 was much younger than Denys, and there would 
 be plenty of time to settle about him later on. 
 But Denys must be sent to school, and Hester too. 
 Enid was talking about her to Janet only the 
 other day, not knowing her father was attending. 
 Janet and Enid both agreed how much better it 
 would be if Hester could be sent to a good school 
 for a few years to find her proper level. She was 
 more than any of them could manage. Janet's 
 authority she set aside, Enid and Cecily she turned 
 into ridicule if they attempted to correct her. Yes, 
 Mr. Forrest was obliged to own that Denys and 
 P 2 
 
214 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 Hester must be sent away, and he had been pon- 
 dering how it could be done. But Mr. Hubbard's 
 offer roused the Hon in him : his dreamy eyes 
 flashed with a sudden fire, and standing upright, 
 he threw back his head, with the gesture of a 
 thoroughbred horse, while in his even, slow voice 
 he answered, 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, but poor as I 
 am, I do not sell my children. I shall find ways 
 of providing for them myself. In the meantime I 
 thank you for your offer, as no doubt it was kindly 
 meant." 
 
 " Tut, tut, who talks of selling children Not I, 
 I am sure. But there am I in a large house that 
 I don't know what to do with, and I only ask you 
 to lend me one of the girls, you have two grown 
 up, to come and stay with me, and be a companion 
 to me in my old age. Well, nephew, I won't say 
 any more now. You think it over, we will talk 
 about it again." 
 
 " There are the children's voices," said Mr. 
 
MILES' S CHOICE. 
 
 215 
 
 Forrest, ringing the bell. " You would like to go 
 to them, I am sure. They always have tea in 
 their own room, but if I had known you were 
 coming — 
 
 " It will be quite good enough for me. I like 
 taking people as they are. I will go at once 
 and make their acquaintance, if you will excuse 
 me, nephew. We shall meet again soon, I hope. 
 Good-bye for the present." 
 
 Mr. Forrest most gladly excused him, and the 
 instant the door had shut upon him, he walked to 
 his writing-table and took his pen in hand. Then 
 his eyes ran over the room. In that, and in the 
 two beyond it, the furniture had been collected by 
 him when he was a young man, and including 
 pictures and china, had cost him some thousands 
 of pounds. He had forgotten the exact sum, but 
 something like ten or twelve thousand. The value 
 of many of the things was trebled now, for he had 
 picked them up in out-of-the-way foreign places, 
 one here, another there, and had brought them 
 
2l6 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 home, unbroken, at the cost of infinite labour and 
 care. He had made up his mind, however, in one 
 brief moment, and they must be sacrificed for his 
 children's sake. Only he would keep those articles 
 that had specially belonged to his wife. That chair 
 and couch had been bought for her, and all the 
 things they had purchased together he would not 
 part with, but the rest must go, though it was like 
 parting with a piece of himself, so dear were they 
 to his artistic mind. He sat down at once and 
 wrote the needful letter, perhaps he was afraid 
 if he waited that old habits and associations 
 would be too strong for him ; then sealed it, 
 dropped it into the letter bag, and went out into 
 the wood. 
 
 There, among his birds first, and afterwards at 
 his boy's grave, his ruffled spirit was soothed into 
 its usual tranquil calm. 
 
 And thus it came about, that the changes in 
 the Old House by the River were great as time 
 passed on. Denys and Hester went to school. 
 
MILES' S CHOICE, 
 
 217 
 
 Mr. Hubbard shook down into his house at Stop- 
 ford. The old gentleman drove over often, but 
 learnt to deal more discreetly with his nephew. 
 Cecily was invited to stay with him, by degrees her 
 visits grew longer and more frequent, and then she 
 became almost a visitor in her own home. That 
 left only Mr. Forrest, Enid, and Miles, but Denys 
 and Hester brought schoolfellows home for the 
 holidays, and Cecily contrived either to come to 
 the Old House by the River once a day or to have 
 Enid in to see her at Stopford. Stopford has 
 "gone with the times" too, for it wakened up to 
 the advantage of running a branch railway, and 
 one of the stations being very near the Old House 
 by the River, Enid can get into Stopford in a very 
 few minutes, and pay frequent visits to the old 
 Rector, who wins her love and admiration the more 
 she knows him. 
 
 Miles is devoted to his father, and prefers to 
 stay with him, though sometimes he accom- 
 panies Enid. Often Denys teases him — and Hes- 
 
2l8 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE, 
 
 ter, but they cannot make him change his 
 ways. 
 
 One day, when Mr. Hubbard and Cecily drove 
 over, they were all assembled in Mr. Forrest's 
 studio, now dismantled of most of its art treasures, 
 and Miles, as usual in a corner, was poring over 
 a book. 
 
 " Come here, Miles," said his great-uncle sud- 
 denly. "You read too much, my boy, and talk 
 too little. One would think you were going to 
 be a monk.'' 
 
 " I am not going to be a monk," said Miles 
 calmly, "but I am going to be a priest." 
 
 "And you think that is much the same, I 
 suppose i^" 
 
 " I shall have father to live with me," said Miles 
 dreamily. "And the very first anthem my cho- 
 risters sing shall be Ray's anthem." 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 And the child raising earnest eyes, and a face 
 that was growing strangely like his brother's, 
 
MILES' S CHOICE. 
 
 219 
 
 folded his hands somewhat after the fashion of 
 the Httle grey saints in the old grey church, as 
 he answered sedately and reverently — 
 
 When I awake up after Thy likeness^ I shall 
 be satisfied with itr 
 
 J. MASTERS AND CO., PRINTERS, ALBION BUILDINGS, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE. 
 
A LIST OF BOOKS 
 
 SUITABLE FOB 
 
 COMPEISING 
 
 TALES AND STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE, 
 BIOGRAPHY, AND POETRY, 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 J. MASTERS & CO., 
 
 78, NEW BOND STREET, LONDON. 
 
■4* 
 
 A CATALOGUE. 
 
 THE JUVENILE ENGLISHMAN'S LIBRARY. 
 
 l8mo. cloth. 
 
 Tales of the Village Children. 1st Series. By 
 
 the Rev. F. E. Paget. 2s. 
 
 Tales of the Village Children. 2nd Series. By 
 
 the Rev. F. E. Paget. 2s. 
 
 The Hope of the Katzekopfs; or, the Sorrows 
 
 of Selfishness. A Fairy Tale. By the Rev. F. E. Paget. 2s. 
 
 The Charcoal Burners ; a Story of the Rise of 
 
 a young Artist. From the German, is. 6d. 
 
 Godfrey Davenant; a Tale for Schoolboys. By 
 
 the Rev. W. E. Heygate. 2s. 
 
 Tales of Christian Heroism. By the late Rev. 
 
 J. M. Neale. 2s. 
 
 Stories from Heathen Mythology, and Greek 
 
 History. By the late Rev. J. M. Neale. 2s. ' ' 
 
 Tales of Christian Endurance. By the late 
 
 Rev. J. M. Neale. 2s. 
 
 The Manger of the Holy Night. A Sketch of 
 
 the Christmas Festivities and their attendant circumstances, 
 from the German. 2s. 
 
 School Geography, with a Chapter on the Eccle- 
 siastical Geography of Great Britain. By the Rev. H. Hop- 
 wood. 2s. 
 
Published by /. Masters ^ Co* 
 
 3 
 
 JUVENILE ENGLISHMAN'S HISTORICAL 
 LIBRARY. 
 
 Edited by the Rev. J. F. Russell, B.CL. 
 
 English History for Children. By the late 
 
 Rev. J. M. Neale. 2s. Limp cloth, is. 4d. 
 
 History of Scotland. By the late Rev. W. B. 
 
 Flower. 2s. 
 
 History of Ireland. Edited by the late Rev. 
 
 • T. K. Arnold. 2s. 
 
 History of Rome. By the Rev. Samuel Fox. 2s. 
 History of Greece. By the late Rev. J. M. 
 
 Neale. 2s. 
 
 History of Spain. By the Rev. B. G. Johns. 2s. 
 History of Portugal. By the late Rev. J. M. 
 
 Neale. 2s. 
 
 School Editions in limp cloth, is. each. 
 
 The Rev. W. GRESLEY, M.A. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo., cloth. 
 
 The Forest of Arden. A Tale illustrative of the 
 
 Eng-lish Reformation. 3s. ; cheap edition, 2s. 
 The author has here dUigently endeavoured to write on the Reformation 
 without the spirit of partizanship, to describe things as they were. 
 
 The Siege of Lichfield. A Tale illustrative of 
 
 the Great Rebellion. 3s. ; cheap edition, is. 8d. 
 The narrative commences early in the year 1642, and carries us through the 
 Great Rebellion, when England was convulsed with faction, showing the 
 sufferings and miseries that attended it. 
 
 SoPHRON AND Neologus ; or Common Sense Phi- 
 losophy. 3S. 
 
 Bernard Leslie. The Revival of Church Princi- 
 ples in England. 3s. 
 
 Bernard Leslie. Second Part. The Progress of 
 
 the Church Movement. 3s. 
 
 The Portrait of an English Churchman. A 
 
 new and cheaper edition. 2s. 6d. 
 
 This is an attempt to paint the feelings, habits of thought, and mode of 
 action which naturally flow from a sincere attachment to the system of belief 
 and discipline of our Church. 
 
 Holiday Tales. 16mo.- 2s. 
 
 Contents :— The Magical Watch, Mr. Bull and the Giant Atmodes, Old 
 Pedro, Adventures of a Bee. 
 
4 
 
 Published by J. Masters Co., 
 
 The late Rev. EDWARD MONRO, M.A. 
 
 Sacred Allegories of Christian Life and 
 
 DflSATH. Limp cloth, is. each; cloth boards, is. 6d. each. 
 In two vols, cloth, 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 The Dark River. An Allegory on Death. 
 
 The Vast Army. An Allegory on Fighting the good Fight 
 of Faith. 
 
 The Combatants. An Allegory showing how a Christian 
 
 should contend with and overthrow his enemies. 
 The Revellers. An Allegory on the Lord's Second 
 Coming. The Midnight Sea ; or the Great Pilot our 
 only Refuge in Storms. The Wanderer; or Sheep 
 without a Shepherd. 
 The Journey Uomk. Intended to illustrate some of the 
 
 leading features of the Christian life. 
 The Dark Mountains. A Sequel to the Journey Home. 
 A Fine Edition of the Allegories complete in one vol. 
 With Illustrations engraved by Mr. J. D. Cooper. Hand- 
 somely hound in cloth, crown 8vo., 7s. 6 d. 
 
 Walter the Schoolmaster ; or, Studies of Cha- 
 racter in a Boys' School. 4th edition. Fcap. 8vo., cloth, .Ss. 
 
 "Brings out the religious aspect of the Schoolmaster's office in its bearing 
 on the moral training of the Christian soul, to whom he is in some measure a 
 Pastor." — Guardiafi. 
 
 Basil the Schoolboy ; or, the Heir of Arundel. 
 
 A story of School Life. 5th edition. Small 8vo., clothe 3s. 6d. 
 
 "Intended to paint the characters of boys ia large modern Schools; the 
 characters have had their types in most Schools, and are painted with a «on- 
 sistency that gives a life-like character to every scquq."— Ecclesiastic. 
 
 True Stories of Cottagers. 18mo. Cloth, or 
 
 in a packet, 2s. 
 
 Eustace; or, the Lost Inheritance. A Tale of 
 
 School Life. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 
 
 " A remarkably interesting and religious story which in a very impressive 
 manner conveys to both old and young many wise lessons showing most pro- 
 minently the lasting happiness of those who strive faithfully to gain a heavenly 
 inheritance." — Leeds Intelligencer. 
 
 Pascal the Pilgrim. A Tale for Young Com- 
 municants. Fcap. 8vo. is. ; cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 Footprints in the Snow. Fcap. 8vo. Is. 
 
 Harry and Archie ; or. First and Last Commu- 
 nion, and the danger of delay, is. cloth. 
 
 Nanny. A Sequel to " Harry and Archie." 6d. ; 
 cloth, is. 
 
78, New Bond Street, 
 
 5 
 
 Harry and Archie, with Sequel. Fcap. 8vo., 
 
 cloth gilt, IS. 6d. 
 
 Claudian. a Tale of the Second Century. Fcap. 
 8vo., limp cloth, Is. 
 
 Tales for the Million. Fcap. 8vo., cloth gilt, 2s. 
 Midsummer Eve. 6d. ; cloth, Is. 
 
 Miss C. A. JONES. 
 
 Complete in 8 vols., handsomely bound in cloth, 2s. each. 
 In an ornamental box, suitable for presentation, 20s. 
 
 Stories for the Christian Year. A New Series 
 
 of stories for every Sunday and Holyday throughout the Year. 
 The Series is suitable for the Home or Parochial Library, and 
 forms an attractive Gift Book for the Young. 
 
 The Work may also be had in twenty-two Parts, 6d. each. 
 
 Very excellent and interesting. They are suited for children of all classes, 
 and we can hardly imagine a fitter or more welcome prize book." — Church 
 Quarterly. 
 
 " The Parts before us each contain four tales of twenty-four pages each, and 
 are capital sixpenn5rworths, both as to quantity and quality. We can strongly 
 recommend the work to those who have the care of children." — Church Times. 
 
 •'They are simple, pleasing, and good, and we hope they will please our 
 readers as much as they have pleased us." — Literary Churchman. 
 
 " These touching little Stories will prove both attractive and instructive to 
 young people," — yohn Bull. 
 
 " The Stories are undeniably pretty.*' — Church Bells. 
 
 Not quite a Heroine. Fcap. 8vo., cloth, 3s. 
 
 " A nicely toned quiet story of girhsh usefulness and influence. The thoughts 
 and purposes are all excellent." — Gtiardian. 
 
 " The circle into which the story introduces the reader is composed really of 
 ladies and gentlemen, and altogether we take it to be a success ; quite a book to 
 be borne in mind by those who have the charge of girls." — Literary Chtirchman. 
 
 " 'Not quite a Heroine' is a delig'htful story." — ^ohtt Bull. 
 
 " A pretty story of love and patience. There are several characters very 
 well drawn, and the events are well woven together. We have pleasure in 
 being able to commend it." — Church Bells. 
 
 Gertrude Dacre. Fcap. 8vo., cloth, 2s. 
 Stories of the Wonderful Kingdom and some 
 
 OF ITS Soldiers and Servants. With forty-two Illustra- 
 tions. Small 4to., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " This is a book we are very glad to see, as it will bring some of the noblest 
 scenes in Church History within the ken of the very smallest children, just as 
 Bible Stories are told to them. Thirty-eight stories in the simplest language 
 of Saints and Martyrs of all ages must give the little readers some sense of the 
 continuity and oneness of the Church. A child brought up on such stories as 
 these would hardly fail to know at least what is meant in the Creed by the 
 ' Holy Catholic Church.'" — Guardian. 
 
 A 2 
 
6 
 
 Published by J, Masters ^ Co., 
 
 The late Rev. J. M. NEALE, D.D. 
 
 Theodora Phranza ; or, the Fall of Constantinople. 
 
 Second edition. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 "The subject — the last days of the Byzantine Empire, and its final downfall 
 at the storming- of Constantinople — is a lofty one, and it is worthily treated. 
 The tale is full of thrilling interest both in its fictional and its historical aspects." 
 — Scotsman. 
 
 Stories of the Crusades. Third edition. Fcap. 
 
 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 " Displays an extraordinary acquaintance with the manners and customs of 
 the age, as well as great powers of description. Each page almost is a picture 
 which seems to us to fairly represent both what was good and what was evil 
 in the system which it illustrates." — Ecclesiastic. 
 
 The Egyptian Wanderers. A Tale of the Tenth 
 
 Persecution. Third edition. l8mo,,2s. 
 "Mr. Neale's command of the facts of early Church History is well known, 
 and his power of using his great knowledge in the composition of picturesque 
 and striking Children's Books, most of our readers are well acquainted with. 
 This book will be found by no means his least successful effort." — Guardian. 
 
 EVKNINGS AT SaCKVILLE COLLEGE WITH MY CHIL- 
 DREN. Second edition. l8mo., 2s. 
 
 Lent Legends. Stories for Children from Church 
 History. Second edition. l8mo., 2s. 
 
 The Followers of the Lord ; Stories from 
 
 Church History. Fourth edition. l8mo., 2s. 
 
 Sunday Afternoons at an Orphanage, contain- 
 ing Twenty-three Short Discourses addressed to the Children 
 of S. Margaret's Orphanage, East Grinsted, on the afternoons 
 of Sundays and Holy Days. Third edition. 18mo., 2s. 
 
 Tales Illustrative of the Apostles' Creed. 
 
 Second edition. Fcap. 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 The Triumphs of the Cross. Tales of Christian 
 
 Heroism. Sixth edition. 18mo., 2s. 
 
 The Triumphs of the Cross. Part II. Tales of 
 
 Christian Endurance. Fifth edition. 18mo., 2s. 
 
 Stories from Heathen Mythology. 18mo., 2s. 
 The Farm of Aptonga. A Story of the Times of 
 
 S.Cyprian. Second edition. l2nio.,cloth,2s.; wrapper, Is. 6d. 
 
 Hymns for Children. Three Series, in cloth, Is. 
 
78, New Bond Street. 
 
 7 
 
 Medieval Hymns, Sequences, and other Poems, 
 
 translated by the Rev. J. M. Neale. Second edition., 2s. 
 
 Seatonian Prize Poems. Fcap. 8vo., 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Rev. F. E. PAGET, M.A., Rector of Elford. 
 
 Homeward Bound: the Voyage, and the Voyagers: 
 
 th© Pilot, and the Port. Third edition. Crown 8vo., 4s. 
 
 " It is a review of the cares, the duties, the troubles of life ; the consolations 
 that enable souls to bear, the principles upon which it behoves them to act ; 
 the hopes that brighten the darkest prospects of the traveller through the 
 world. It is no unworthy gift to the Church from one who has served her so 
 well by his pen in past time." — Literary Chtirchjftan. 
 
 A Student Penitent of 1695. Crown 8vo., 4s. 6d. 
 
 " The whole book is a gem. But it is the latter part which charms us most. 
 It is full of suggestiveness, and that of a very delicate and beautiful kind. For 
 sick persons or for those who have much (or indeed anything) to do with the 
 sick it will be most valuable." — Literary Ch^irchman. 
 
 The Owlet of Owlstone Edge : his Travels, his 
 
 Experience, and his Lucubrations. Fifth and cheaper edition. 
 Fcap. 8vo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 The Curate of Cumberworth, and The Vicar 
 
 OF Roost. Second edition. Fcap. 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 S. Antholin's ; or. Old Churches and New. New 
 
 edition. l8mo. is. ; cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 Tales of the Village. A New edition. Three 
 
 Parts in One VoL Fcap. 8vo., 5s. 6d. 
 
 The Romanist— The Dissenter— The Infidel. 
 
 Tales of the Village Children. Sixth edition. 
 
 2 Vols. iSmo., cloth, 2s. each. 
 
 The Hope of the Katzekopfs; or, the Sorrows 
 
 of Selfishness. Fifth edition. l8mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 "We must not forget to recommend a book the moderate price of which 
 leaves no nursery library excusable for its absence. It is a charming story and 
 ought to be much more widely known than it is. We cannot recommend it too 
 highly to those who have not already made friends with it." — Aiint Jtidy's 
 Magazitte. 
 
 The Warden of Berkingholt. Fcap. 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 "Enters fully into the responsibilities which rank, property, and education 
 involve." — English Review. 
 
8 
 
 Published by J. Masters Sf Co., 
 
 ^ales for 13ot)s antr ^^irls, toitl^ Ellustrationis, 
 By STELLA AUSTIN. 
 
 Other People. A Story of Modern Chivalry. 
 
 Small 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Great-Grandmother's Shoes. Small 8vo., cloth, 
 
 3s, 6d. 
 
 "This is a capital story for children, being pervaded throuj^hout by a re- 
 markably High moral tone, although the author nerer descends to preaching or 
 lecturing. The story is full of interest, and will be eagerly read and thoroughly 
 appreciated by all children into whose hands it may Public Opinion. 
 
 Our Next Door Neighbour. Second edit. Small 
 
 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 A perfectly delightful little book which every child ought to be enabled to 
 enjoy. It is thoroughly natural and childlike, and Miss Austin is to be con- 
 gratulated on her success i\ixo\xg\\out."—Mor7iin^ Post. 
 
 Pat. Illustrated by C. O. Murray. Third edition. 
 Small 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 "A very delightful story. The boys and girls for whom it is intended will 
 fmd 'Pat' a very welcome and attractive present." — Johjt Bull. 
 
 Ben Cramer : Working Jeweller. Small 8vo., 
 
 cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 "It is not often that a pleasanter or better written story for children can be 
 met with than 'Ben Cramer: Working Jeweller.' The tone of the book_ is 
 thoroughly wholesome, and it is, in fact, one which any child may read with 
 profit, and which cannot possibly do harm to anybody."— 77t^ Scotsman. 
 
 Uncle Philip. Second edit. Small 8vo.^ cl. 3s. 6d. 
 
 "Stella Austin writes for both boys and girls. Her ' Uncle Philip' is a very 
 cheery tale, full of a healthy humour, and inculcating, without too directly 
 pointing, a most excellent moral." — The Times. 
 
 For Old Sake's Sake. 3rd edit. Small 8vo.,cl. 3s. 
 
 "Another pretty and natural story by the pleasant author of 'Rags and 
 Tatters,' with no lack of incident, humour, deHneation of character, or what- 
 ever else is essential to successful story-telling. Miss Austin has the mystery 
 of her craft, and knows how to blend the touching and pathetic with the hu- 
 morous and the graphic." — English Chtirchman. 
 
 Rags and Tatters. Fifth edit. Small Svo., cl. 38. 
 
 " 'Rags and Tatters' is a good book, and is written by a good writer, with 
 feeling, and piety, and common sense, three excellent things which do not 
 always accompany each other." — Iteming Post. 
 
 Stumps. Fifth edition. 16mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 Somebody. Fourth edition. 16mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 Wings. A Story for Children. 6d. ; cloth, Is. 
 
78, New Bond Street. 
 
 9 
 
 Mrs. C. F. ALEXANDER. 
 
 The Baron's Little Daughter, and other Tales. 
 
 Fifth edition. l8mo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 _ " The most delightful little volume that we have met with for a very long 
 time, — the poetry even surpassing the prose in beauty." — Ecclesiastic. 
 
 The Lord of the Forest and His Vassals. 
 
 Fourth Edition. 2s. 6d. 
 
 An allegory representing the real strife against Sin, the World, and the 
 Devil, which all have to fight. 
 
 FIFTYNINTH EDITION. 
 
 Hymns for Little Children. 18mo., wrapper, 
 
 6d.; cloth, is.; French morocco, 2s. j morocco, 4s. 
 
 Royal 32mo., wrapper, 3d. ; cloth, 6d. 
 
 Set toMusic by Dr. Gauntlett. Fcap.4to., 
 
 wrapper, 2s. 6d.; cloth, gilt edges, 4s. 
 
 Set to Music by E. C. A. Chepmell. Parts 
 
 I. and II., Is. each. 
 
 A new edition handsomely printed on 
 
 thick toned paper, with red border lines, l6mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 With Twelve Photographs, cloth, gilt edges, 5s. j mor. los. 
 
 Hymns, Descriptive and Devotional, for the use 
 
 of Schools. Royal 32mo. 2d. 
 
 Moral Songs, with Thirty-nine Vignette Illustra- 
 tions. l8mo., wrapper, 8d. ; cloth, is.; French morocco, 2s. 
 Royal 32mo., wrapper, 3d. 
 
 Illustrated. With Eighty-five engrav- 
 ings on wood, from original drawings by eminent artists. 
 Small 4to., cloth, gilt edges, 6s. 
 
 "Amongst the numerous editions of poems which have been published as a 
 kind of pretext for grouping together the choicest efforts of the wood-engraver's 
 art, it may be safely affirmed that few, if any, have excelled this of Mrs. Alex- 
 ander's. The landscape and marine sketches by Wimperis, Boot, Leitch, and 
 Skelton are lovely. Altogether it is hardly possible to conceive a more beau- 
 tiful present." — Church Times. 
 
 "A volume of real beauty and exquisite taste." — Literary Churchman. 
 
 Narrative Hymns for Village Schools. 3d. 
 
 Set to Music for one or two voices, by A. F. 
 
 Fcap. 4to., wrapper, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Poems on Subjects in the Old Testament. 
 
 Parts I. and II., each 6d., wrapper. In one vol., cloth, is. 6d. 
 
10 
 
 Published by J, Masters Co., 
 
 Miss FLORENCE WILFORD. 
 
 A Vantage Ground, and other Tales. Crown 8vo., 
 
 cloth, 4s. 6d. 
 
 " There is a great grace and sweetness, and some humour of a quiet and 
 playful sort in this book, and the deep undercurrent of the highest Church 
 doctrine is always felt, though never obtrusive." — The Gttardiaii. 
 
 A Maiden of Our Own Day. 2nd Edition. Crown 
 
 8vo., cloth, 6s. 
 
 " An eminently bright, delicate, and tender story — one pleasant to read, and 
 pleasant to think over." — Scottish Guardia^i. 
 
 Little Lives and a Great Love. Dedicated to the 
 
 Children of the Society of the Love of Jesus. 2nd Edition. 
 l6mo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 "Any one who wishes to see the highest Church Doctrine put before chil- 
 dren in the most wise and right principled way had better read ' Little Lives 
 and a Great Love,' which contains several noble stories in all of which the 
 • Great Love' is the constraining spirit and the one thought." — Literary 
 Churchman. 
 
 The Master of Churchill Abbots, and his 
 
 Little Friends. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 The King of a Day; or, Glimpses of French Life 
 
 in the Fifteenth Century. 18mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 "An historic legend of the turbulent times that preceded the advent of 
 Joan of Arc. The authoress has written a pretty story in a very pleasant way. 
 The volume will well repay perusal." — Literary Churchman. 
 
 Joy in Duty. 18mo. 6d. 
 
 An Author's Children. 18mo., cloth. Is. 
 
 "A very pretty little story. We cannot praise it higher than by saying that 
 it is not unworthy of the Author of 'A Maiden of our own Day.' " — Cttardian. 
 
 TALES FDR CHORISTERS. 
 
 In the Choir and Out of the Choir. 18mo., 
 
 cloth, Is. 
 
 " It is one of the best, if not absolutely the best story for a Choristers' or a 
 National School Library we have seen. We strongly urge all our friends to 
 buy it." — Literary Churchman. 
 
 Stories for Choristers. 18mo. 2s. 
 
 The Island Choir; or, the Children of the Child 
 
 Jesus. Third edition. 4d. 
 
 The Two Surplices. By Ada Camhridge. 4d. 
 
78, New Bond Street. 
 
 11 
 
 Trebursaye School ; or, the Power of Example. 6d. 
 
 The Chorister's Fall. By the Author of "Tre- 
 bursaye School." 4d. 
 
 The Choristers of S. Mary's. A Legend, a.d. 
 
 1143. 4d. 
 
 Little Walter, the Lame Chorister. 4d. 
 The Singers. By the Rev. F. E. Paget. 4d. 
 
 By the Author of " The Chorister Brothers." 
 AuLD Fernies' Son. Crown 8vo., cloth, 6s. 
 
 The reader's interest is fully sustained from cover to cover, and if the story 
 is not so exciting as a novel is expected to be, it is only because real life is 
 more prosaic than wild imagination fancies it. It is a church story free from 
 church cant." — Church Times. 
 
 The Chorister Brothers. Fourth edition. Fcap. 
 
 8vo., 3S. 
 
 " This is a thoroughly good book, and deserves a largely extended circle of 
 readers. We give it our very high commendation." — Chicrch Times. 
 
 " The story is told w^ith liveliness and simplicity, and we follow it with interest 
 to the end. The manner is much more than the matter in this sort of books, 
 and in this instance the manner is very good." — Guardian. 
 
 The Incumbent of Axhill. A Sequel to " The 
 
 Chorister Brothers." Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 " The tale is sensibly written, and free from follies or extravagances." — 
 Gicardiait. 
 
 " Though a sequel to ' The Chorister Brothers,' it is complete and intelligi- 
 ble as it stands. It is a clever and interesting story, and is likely to be a 
 favourite." — Church Times. 
 
 The Children of the Chapel. A Tale of the 
 
 Times of Queen Elizabeth. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 
 
 " A charmingly told tale. The author has the rare art of not only enlisting 
 but retaining the syrnpathy of his readers." — Public Opijiion. 
 
 " The Children of the Chapel is an old favourite. We hope the present 
 generation of readers will appreciate it as highly as it deserves, and as earlier 
 readers undoubtedly did." — Literary Churchman. 
 
 Mark Dennis ; or, the Engine-Driver. A Tale of 
 
 the Railway. Second edition. l8mo., 2s. 
 
 A Martyr Bishop, and other Verses. Fcap. 
 
 8vo., cloth, 3s. 
 
 "Contains some of the best sacred poetry we have read for some time. The 
 poems are happy in conception, felicitously expressed, and admirable in tone." 
 — Church Bells. 
 
 " One of the best volumes of sacred poetry which have issued from the press 
 for some time. It is particularly worthy of notice that the high level is main- 
 tained throughout." — Johti Bull. 
 
12 
 
 Published by J, Masters Sf Co.y 
 
 By Mrs. MITCHELL. 
 
 The Diamond Ring. A Tale. Illustrated by 
 
 H. Petherick. Crown 8vo., cloth, 5s. 
 
 Norton Hall. A Tale. Illustrated by C. O. Mur- 
 ray. Crown 8vo., cloth, 5s. 
 
 " A very pleasant, well-written story, which some will prefer to the two for- 
 mer ones as being more engaged with real modern life, thoygh there is romance 
 in it enough to content any one. There is no lack of fun in the story, and it is 
 altogether a fascinating book, which will be liked by all." — Guardian. 
 
 The Little Blue Lady, and other Tales. Illus- 
 trated by C. O. Murray. Small 8vo., cloth, 4s. fid. 
 
 "These stories are all interesting in their various ways, and are told well." 
 — Saturday Revie^v. 
 
 " All the stories are well written. There will be no hesitation on the part of 
 any one who reads the book in admitting that it is highly interesting, and is 
 possessed of much dramatic force." — Scotsmati. 
 
 "A charming collection. The volume is full of good things." — Morttiiig 
 Post. 
 
 The Beautiful Face. A Tale for Young and Old. 
 
 With Illustrations. Small 8vo., cloth, 4s. 6d. 
 " Mrs. Mitchell has shown great dexterity in a very difficult work in her story 
 of ' The Beautiful Face.' This is not precisely what would be called 'a Sun- 
 day book, 'yet there is in it a strong infusion of religious teaching. This infusion, 
 however, is never too perceptible ; it flavours, but it does not dominate Mrs. 
 Mitchell's story. It is a good bit of work of its particular class." — The Tipies. 
 
 Hatherleigh Cross. 18mo., cloth. Is. 
 
 Abbey Lands. A Tale. By W. S. Eockstro. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 " We must here take leave of the author, greatly commending the high tone 
 of principle and the devoted fervour with which his work is filled throughout. 
 .... The book is interesting, gracefully written, and rich in true and noble 
 \^Q\).^\s"— Ecclesiastic. 
 
 The Apple Blossom ; or, a Mother's Legacy. By 
 
 Onyx Titian. Fcap.8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Archie's Ambition. A Tale. 18mo., cloth, Is. 
 
 ••A most exquisite story; and though of extreme pathos yet without un- 
 reality or affectation. It has the warmest recommendation we can possibly 
 gi ve . "— Z, iter a ry Ch nrchm ait. 
 
 AviCE; or, a Page from the History of Imperial 
 Rome. By E. F. Pollard. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 " A charming little story of early Christian faith and struggles under Caligula 
 and Nero. The auther has taken much pains with the work, and the result 
 is the production of a most interesting book. In it will be found a delicious 
 freshness that would make the reputation of a bigger hook."— Ptiblic Opinioti. 
 
78, New Bond Street. 
 
 13 
 
 Adyentures of Olaf Tryggveson, King of 
 
 Norway. A Tale of the Tenth Century, showing how Chris- 
 tianity was introduced into Norway. By Mrs. J. J. Reed. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 " The authoress has happily combined amusement and instruction. It is no 
 light praise that Mrs. Reed has given us the information so pleasantly that 
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 Ben's Angel. By the Author of "Neddie's Care," 
 
 &c. l6mo. 6d. 
 
 The Birthday. A Tale. By the Author of 
 
 ** Gideon," ** Josiah," &c. Fifth edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 This valuable present book, by a late Noble Lady, contains the account of 
 the daily life of three or four young people, their failings and virtues. 
 
 The Bishop's Little Daughter. A Tale for 
 
 the Young. Sixth edition. l8mo. 2s. 
 
 Beatrice: a Tale of the Early Christians. By A. 
 
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 Baptismal Vows; or, the Feast of S. Barnabas. 
 
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 Book of Church History, founded on the Eev. 
 
 W. Palmer's ** Ecclesiastical History." 5th edit. l8mo. is. 
 
 Bethany, a Pilgrimage ; and Magdala, a Day by 
 
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 windsor, Dorset. Second edition. Fcap. 8vo. is. 6d. 
 "A graphic account of what Mr. Malan saw and felt. It will be of service 
 to a large class of readers." — Clerical Journal. 
 
 The Children of Rose Lynn. By Selina Hancock. 
 
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 " This is a capital collection of stories for reading in the nursery and school- 
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 Chapters on Animals; or, Annie Grant's Play- 
 mates. 32mo., cloth, is. 
 
 Chapters on Plants ; or, Marion's Herbal. 32mo. 
 
 cloth, is. 
 
 Chapters on the Te Deum. By the author of 
 
 Earth's Many Voices." l6mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 A 3 
 
14 
 
 Published by J". Masters 8f Co,, 
 
 The Child's New Lesson Book, or Stories for Little 
 
 Readers. l6mo. Is. ; cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 Christmas Present for Children. From the 
 
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 Gives a lively account of how Christmas-tide was spent by rich and poor, in 
 the village of Weld ; and the lesson is taught that riches, if spent entirely on 
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 Chronicles of S. Mary's ; or, Tales of a Sister- 
 hood. By S. D. N. Second edition. Crown 8vo., cloth, 6s. 
 
 "The book before us is not merely new, but it could not have been even 
 invented as a fancy sketch by the most imaginative writer a very few years 
 ago. And that because it deals with the now familiar work of Sisterhoods, 
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 to thank the author for some pleasant hours of reading, and most of those who 
 follow our example will gain besides much information which we had gathered 
 before in a more direct manner." — Church Times. 
 
 Cressingham ; or, the Missionary. By Charlotte 
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 Conversations with Cousin Rachel. 4 Parts, 
 
 in 1 vol. cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Cottage Homes ; or, Tales on the Ten Command- 
 ments. By H. Yorke. With engravings. l8mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 Charity at Home. By the Author of Working 
 
 and Waiting.*' 18mo. 2s. 
 
 " A pleasant and very profitable tale, showing how one member of a family, 
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 A Chronicle of Day by Day. By Miss E. S. B. 
 
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 The Church Catechism. With the Confirmation 
 
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 zine. 6d. 
 
 First Series in 40 vols, cloth, published at 3s. 6d. each, reduced 
 to 2s. each. Some of these volumes being out of print com- 
 plete sets cannot now be supplied. 
 
 Second Series, 6 vols, cloth, reduced to 2s. 6d. each. 
 
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 The Coasts of Tyre and Sidon, a Narrative. By 
 
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 •'No one can follow Mr. Malan in his reverent and truthful description of 
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 Companion. 
 
78, New Bond Street, 
 
 15 
 
 Classical Tales and Legends. By the late Rev. 
 
 W, B. Flower. l8mo. 2s. ; cheap edition, is. 
 
 These Tales are free translations from parts of Ovid and other authors, and 
 adapted to the minds of children. 
 
 Conversations on the History of England, for 
 
 the use of Children. By C. A. B. Edited by the Rev. J. 
 Baines. l8mo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 Curiosities of Superstition and Sketches of 
 
 SOME Ujntrevealed RELIGIONS. By W. H. Davenport Adams, 
 author of ** Heroes of the Cross," &c. Crown 8vo., cloth, 5s. 
 
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 By Cecilia Mac Gregor. Fcap. 8vo. is. 6d. 
 
 A Drop in the Ocean ; or, short Legends and Fairy 
 
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 Easy Readings from the History of England. 
 
 For the use of Little Children. By Mary E. C. Moore. Edited 
 by the Rev. M. W. Mayow, M.A. Second edition. l3mo. 2s. 
 
 Ellen Merton ; or, the Pic-nic. By Mrs. Stone, 
 
 author of "God's Acre," "The Art of Needlework," &c. 
 l8mo. is. 6d. 
 
 Esther Merle, and other Tales. By Mrs. Francis 
 
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 CONTENTS: — John Salter; or, the Inconsiderate Marriage. — Three Neigh- 
 bours ; or, the Envying of others, &c. 
 
 Evening Meetings; or, the Pastor among the Boys 
 
 of his Flock. By C. M. S. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 
 
 Fanny's Flov^ers ; or, Fun for the Nursery. With 
 
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 The Fall of Crcesus : a Story from Herodotus. 
 
 By the late Rev. W. Adams, author of "The Shadow of the 
 Cross," "The Old Man's Home," &c. New edition. Fcap. 
 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 " One of the most strikingly told stories culled from the annals of antiquity." 
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 First Truths for the Little Ones. By Ellen 
 
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 Frederick Gordon, or the Storming of the Redan. 
 
 By a Soldier's Daughter. Royal l8mo. is. 
 A Tale of courage and perseverance of a young officer in the Crimean War, 
 with an account of the founding of the Military Hospital at Netlay near 
 Southampton. 
 
16 
 
 Published hy /. Masters 8f Co., 
 
 FoNTNELL S. Chad. A Reminiscence. Crown 8vo., 
 cloth, 2s. fid. 
 
 Flowers and Fruit. For Little Children. 32mo. 
 
 cloth, is. 
 
 Gentle Influence; or, The Cousin's Visit. By 
 
 Miss F. M. Levett. Second edition. l8mo. is. 
 
 The Giant-Slayers. By the Author of "Clevedon 
 
 Chimes," &c. l8mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 Going Home. A Story. By F. G. W. Second 
 
 edition. l8mo., cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 Grace Alford; or the Way of Unselfishness. By 
 
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 Harry's Help. By Mrs. S. C. Rochat. Square 
 
 l6mo. is. 
 
 Henrietta's Wish. A Tale. By the Author of 
 
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 " We have seldom seen a book for the young less exaggerated, or more true 
 to nature. The gulf between good and bad is generally so wide that no child 
 can ever aspire to being so saintlike as the one, or dread being so criminal as 
 the other. ' Henrietta's Wish' is clear of these extremes." — Morning Chronicle. 
 
 " The characters, dialogue, the tenderness and beauty of many of the scenes 
 are remarkable ; the reality and vigour of the conversations are delightful." — 
 Christian Remembrancer. 
 
 Higher Claims ; or, Catherine Lewis the Sunday 
 
 School Teacher. Edited by the Rev. R. Seymour. l8mo. 
 cloth, Is. 
 
 Sets forth the great advantage that would accrue to the Church if the young 
 persons of the middle classes were aroused to consider the full extent of her 
 claims upon them, as well as on their superiors in wealth or station. 
 
 Hilary S. Magna; or, The Nearest Duty First. A 
 Tale. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 
 
 Holiday Hours. By the Author of *'The Little 
 
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 Holidays at S. Mary's ; or, Tales in a Sisterhood. 
 
 By the Author of "Chronicles of S. Mary's." Second 
 edition. l6mo. cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 " The stories are all good and worthy of their author. The last is so clever, 
 so original and bears a moral so valuable and yet so seldom enforced that we 
 are specially anxious it should not escape observation." — Literary Churchman. 
 
 " A delightful volume. The last story is almost worthy of I'x^cV.."— Union 
 Review. 
 
 There is pith in ' Holidays at S. Mary's.' The stories are both admirable 
 and effective. — Guardian. 
 
78, New Bond Street, 
 
 17 
 
 The Holy Church throughout all the World. 
 
 By the Rev. S. Fox. l8mo., cloth, is. 
 Being an account of the Church from the time of the Apostles to the present 
 day, simply told for the use of young people. 
 
 The Home at Heatherbrae. By the Author of 
 
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 Home for Christmas. 18mo., cloth, Is. 6d. 
 
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 story carries you on with unflagging interest." — English Churchman. 
 
 Home Trials ; a Tale for the Middle Classes. By 
 
 Mrs. Vidal. l8mo. 2s. 
 
 By no means unworthy of Mrs. Vidal's pen, .... Mrs. Vidal writes when 
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 dian. 
 
 Hubert Neville. A Tale. By the Author of 
 some of the *♦ Church Stories j" ''Stories on the Festivals," 
 &c. Fcap. 8vo. is. 
 
 Ion Lester. A Tale of True Friendship. ByC.H.H. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. 
 
 A Tale of one who, born to riches and with every inducement to make this 
 world his chief concern, yet devotes himself nobly to the good of his friends 
 and people, and passes unhurt through all the flattery and luxury consequent 
 on his position. 
 
 Ivo AND Verena ; or, the Snowdrop. By the Au- 
 thor of •* Cousin Rachel." Eighth edition. 18mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 A Tale of the conversion, life, and influence of an early convert to the Chris- 
 tian Faith, in the countries of the North. 
 
 IvON. By the Author of " Aunt Agnes," and Is he 
 Clever?" Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 KiNGSWORTH; or, the Aim of a Life. By C. R. 
 Coleridge. Small 8vo., cloth, 35. 
 
 Lessons for Little Children from the His- 
 tory OF THE Church. By C. A. R. Is. 
 
 "We have great pleasure in commending two little sets of 'Lessons for 
 Little Children,' by C. A. R. They are both written with much judgment." — 
 Church Times. 
 
 A Life's Search. By E. S. B. Sydney. Fcap. 8vo., 
 
 cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 •'It often happens to us to be asked to name some good popular book set- 
 ting forth the dangers of tampering with religious doubt. It very seldom hap- 
 pens that we can hit upon the exact thing that is wanted, and we are therefore 
 the more rejoiced at meeting with a really powerfully written book like ' A 
 Life's Search.'" — Literary Churchman. 
 
18 
 
 Published by J. Masters ^ Co., 
 
 The Little Comforters, and other Tales. 32mo., 
 
 cloth, is. 
 
 The Little Messmates. By the Rev. Frederick 
 
 W. Mant, author of "The Midshipman; or, Twelve Years 
 Ago." l8mo.,4d. 
 
 Little Mabel. A True Story. By the Author of 
 ** The Birthday Wreath." l8mo., 6d. ; cloth, gd. 
 
 Loving Service; or, a Sister's Influence. By Eliza 
 a. Bayliss. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Local Legends. By the Author of " Cecil Dean," 
 
 &c. l6mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 CONTENTS:— The Legend of the Founder's Dreams.— A Legend of S. Os- 
 mund's Priory.— The Barons' Tryst. A Legend of the " Roses."— The Last 
 Cantilupe. A Legend of Queenhope Manor. — Furzy Fallow ; or, the Legend 
 of Old Court.— Irene. A Legend of Sunshine.— Miss Mildred's Picnic; or, the 
 Legend of the Lake. 
 
 The Loyal Heart, and other Tales for Boys. 
 
 Translated from the German. By Frances M. Wilbraham. 
 W^ith Engravings. Second edition. iSmo. 2s. 6d. cloth j in a 
 packet, 2s. 
 
 The Loyal Heart— The Golden Locket— The Blind Boy ; or, Trust in Provi- 
 dence — The Young Robinson Crusoe — "Thou shalt not Steal" — A Tale of 
 S. Domingo. 
 
 Lucy and Christian Wainwright, and other 
 
 Tales. By the Author of "Aggesden Vicarage," **The 
 Wynnes," &c. Fcap. Bvo., cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Maiden Aunt's Tales. By S. M., author of 
 
 ** The Use of Sunshine," ** Nina," &c. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 "The moral of the whole is the happy influence of such a frame of mind, 
 sanctified by religion, on the less perfect characters with which it is brought 
 into contact." — John Bull. 
 
 Mary and Mildred. A Tale for Girls. Edited by 
 
 the Rev. Stair Douglas. Second edition, l8mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 Showing in the life and friendship of two girls the error of acting on impulse 
 without the aid of strict Christian principle. 
 
 The Meeting in the Wilderness. An Imagi- 
 nation, wherein Divine Love is set forth. By the Author of 
 *' The Divine Master." is. 
 
78, New Bond Street. 
 
 19 
 
 Memoirs of an Arm-Chair. Written by himself. 
 
 Edited by the Author of *■ Margaret Stourton," *• The Missing 
 Sovereign," &c. Square l6mo. is. 
 
 Mercy Downer; or, Church and Chapel. 12mo., 
 
 wrapper, 6d. ; cloth. Is. 
 
 " We can recommend this as the very best storybook for a parish or ser- 
 vant's hall library that we have met with." — Literary Churchman. 
 
 "A grotesquely real sketch of Dissent and its frequent causes." — Monthly 
 Packet. 
 
 Minnie's Birthday, and other Stories for Children. 
 
 By Marietta. With four Illustrations by Cuthbert Bede. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 
 
 Midsummer Holidays at Princes Green. By 
 
 Mrs. Eccles, author of *' The Riches of Poverty." l8mo. is. 
 
 A Tale on the duties of youngf children to their aged relatives. 
 
 My Birthday Eve. A Waking Dream. With or- 
 namental borders, is. 6d. 
 
 My Little Patient. A Tale of Hospital Life. 
 
 Second Edition. l8mo., 6d. 
 
 Neddie's Care; or, "Suffer the Little Children." 
 
 With eight Illustrations. l6mo., cloth, is. 
 
 The Noble Army of Martyrs. By the Rev. S. 
 
 Fox. l8mo., cloth, Is. 
 
 Containing short Lives of S. Stephen ; S. James; S. Barnabas ; S. Timothy; 
 S. Polycarp; S. Ignatius; S. Clement; S. Irenaeus ; S. Dionysius ; S. Justin 
 MartjT. Suited for a class-reading book. 
 
 " Just the book for circulation among children or a Parochial Lending Li- 
 brary : what we want in the Upper Classes of our National Schools." — English 
 Review. 
 
 NoRTHWODE Priory. A Tale, in Two Vols. By the 
 
 Author of **Everley." Fcap. 8vo. lOs. 6d. 
 
 A Noble Aim. By Annie Thomas (Mrs. Pender 
 Cudlip.) Published for the Benefit of the Devon House of 
 Mercy. Fcap. 8vo., is, 
 
 "Extremely well told, by a writer at once graceful and refined." — Union 
 Review. 
 
 Old Betty; a Sketch from Real Life. 18mo., 
 
 cloth, is. 
 
 The Old Court House. A Tale. 18mo. Is. 
 
20 
 
 Published by /. Masters ^ Co.j 
 
 One Story by Two Authors ; or, a Tale without 
 
 a Moral. By J. I., author of ** A Rhyming Chronicle ," and 
 F. M. L., author of "Gentle Influence," &c. Fcap. 8vo. 
 3s. 6d. 
 
 " Has the great merit of being original in the ideas it contains and the man- 
 ner in which it is treated." — Clerical Journal. 
 
 Parish Tales. Reprinted from the "Tales of a 
 
 London Parish." In a packet, is. 6d. 
 
 Contents :— Denis the Beggar Boy; The Old Street Sweeper; Honor 
 O'Keefe ; There's a Skeleton in every House ; Christian Flower's Story ; My 
 Catechumens ; The Hill-side Cottage. 
 
 Pearls Re-strung. Stories from the Apocrypha. 
 
 By Mrs. H. S. Mackarness, author of A Trap to Catch a Sun- 
 beam," &c. l6mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 The Queen's Isle. Chapters on the Isle of Wight, 
 
 wherein Scripture truths are blended with Island beauties. 
 By Rosa Raine. Fcap. 8vo. .3s. 6d. 
 
 Rainbow Light. Seven Stories by A. E. M., 
 
 author of "Sundays at Kingsmuir." 18mo., cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 Rainy Mornings with Aunt Mabel. ]8mo., 
 
 cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 An endeavour to inculcate in familiar and easy conversations a knowledge 
 of the early Christian Church, its struggles and triumphs, including the Cata- 
 combs, and early missions. 
 
 Rosa's Summer Wanderings. By Rosa Raine. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 Robert and Ellen. 18mo., cloth, Is. 
 
 " A tale told with more than average power. It is much beyond the common 
 range of stories for parish libraries." — Guardian. 
 
 The Root of the Matter ; or the Village Class. 
 
 is. j cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 Ruth Levison; or Working and Waiting. Is. 
 Savonarola, Scenes in the Life of. By C. M. P. 
 
 18mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Scenes of Suburban Life. By Anna B. F.Leigh 
 
 Spencer, author of "The Co-Heiress of Willingham," &c. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 " An entertaining and forcible sketch of mission work in a neglected London 
 district. The tale itself is full of interest, displaying the writer's happy power 
 of description and delineation of character."— £/«z(?« Review. 
 
78, New Bond Street, 
 
 21 
 
 Sermon Stories for Children's Services and 
 
 Home Readings. By the Rev. H. Housman, author of 
 " Readings on the Psalms." Second Edition, with two new 
 Tales. l6mo., cloth, 28. 
 " Having read the Easter Day Sermon story to a large congregation of 
 children, we can speak from experience of the interest excited by this touching 
 allegory, Avhich appears to be the gem of the book." — Church Bells. 
 
 " Will be found very helpful in children's services, readings at school, and 
 even in some of those Cottage Lectures which require to have some life and 
 interest in them." — The Guardian. 
 
 Shadows and Realities. By Mrs. Chatto. Crown 
 
 8vo., cloth, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Sisters of Charity, and some Visits with them. 
 
 Being Letters to a Friend in England. Two Engravings, is. 
 
 Snow-bound in Cleeberrie Grange. A Christ- 
 mas story. By G. E. Roberts. Dedicated to John Ruskin, 
 Esq. 2s. 6d. 
 
 " An attractive volume for the young, and not devoid of instruction either. " 
 — Christian Remembrancer. 
 
 SoMERFORD Priory. By Cecilia Mac Gregor. Crown 
 
 8vo. 2s. 
 
 Story of a Dream ; a Mother's Version of the olden 
 
 Tale of Little Red Riding Hood," wherein that tale is made 
 to bear a Christian lesson. 18mo. is. 
 
 Stories for Choristers. 18mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 One of the most suitable books we know for a prize or present to a choir 
 boy. One and all are thoroughly good and elevating ; and boys will be sure 
 to like them." — Literary Chttrchman. 
 
 Stories of Genesis for the Little Ones. By 
 
 Mary Caunter. i8mo., is. 6d. 
 
 Stories for Boys. Four Series. 18mo., cloth, 
 
 2s. each. 
 
 Stories for Girls. Four Series. 18mo., cloth, 
 
 2s. each. 
 
 Stories on the Commandments. The First Table : 
 
 "My Duty towards God." By the Rev. H. Hill. l8mo., 
 cloth, is. 
 
 Stories on the Commandments. The Second Table : 
 
 *' My Duty towards My Neighbour." By W. S. Rockstro. 
 18mo., cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 The Two Parts in 1 vol. cloth, 2s. 
 
22 
 
 Published by J. Masters ^ Co., 
 
 Stories and Lessons on the Festivals, Fasts, 
 
 AND Saints' Days. 32 books in a packet, 2s. In 3 vols., 
 cloth, 3s. 
 
 Stories of Christian Joy and Sorrow, or Home 
 
 Tales. By the Rev. H. D. Pearson. l2mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 Stories on the Beatitudes. By the Rev. G. F. 
 
 Pearson. 18mo., cloth, is. 
 
 Stories for Young Servants. By Anna Butler. 
 
 2nd edit., with an additional Story. With engravings. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Sunday WalS:s and Talks ; or, Conversations on 
 
 the Church Services. By the Author of "The Root of the 
 Matter ; or, the Village Class." l8mo., cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 Sylvester Enderby, the Poet. By Louis Sand, 
 
 author of ** The Voices of Christmas." Fcap. 8vo. is. 
 
 _ "The story is full of interest itself, well and pleasantly told, but its value 
 lies in the lessons it so forcibly teaches, — lessons of warning on the one hand 
 against the cares and riches of this world, and against that philosophical scep- 
 ticism which so invariably creates an evil heart of unbelief." — Church Review. 
 
 Scholar's Nosegay. A series of Tales and Con- 
 versations on Flowers. 32mo., cloth, is. 
 
 Scripture Reading Lessons for Little Chil- 
 dren. By a Lady. With a Preface by the late Bishop 
 Wilberforce. l6mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Tabby's White Hyacinth; or, Easter Offerings. 
 
 By the Author of " Neddie's Care," &c. l6mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 Tales for the Bush. By Mrs. F. Vidal. Fifth 
 
 edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Tales of Crowbridge Workhouse. By M. A. B. 
 
 With a Preface by Louisa Twining. l2mo., cloth, 2s. 
 
 "Great freshness and individuality distinguish these sketches. For those 
 who hke to study character there are many "genuine 'bits' true to nature, and 
 wrought up as minutely as a Dutch cabinet picture. Ladies and gentlemen 
 who do not wish always to read of life as a romance, and who are earnest 
 enough in thought and in aim to wish to know the hard realities of life, may 
 perhaps find in this book means of usefulness for which they will be thankful." 
 — Court Journal. 
 
78, New Bond Street, 
 
 23 
 
 Tales of My Duty towards My Neighbour. 
 
 32mo., is. 
 
 " Fourteen good stories for little children which cannot fail to be appreciated 
 by those for whom they are intended." — Union Review. 
 
 Tales of a London Parish, &c. By the Author 
 
 of " Tales of Kirkbeck." Second edition, 18mo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 Reveals by the help of a skilful and powerful hand, directed by deep reli- 
 gious earnestness, much of the sin, sorrow, the mental, moral, and spiritual 
 darkness which London hides from the world's gaze. A book to be read and 
 thought about." — IFest of Eyigland Conservative. 
 
 Tales for Me to Read to Myself. With Twelve 
 
 Engravings drawn by Macquoid. 3rd Edition. l6mo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 "These stories are intended to be put into the hands of little children, who, 
 though only able to master very easy words, may yet be wishing to read to 
 themselves. They were written to supply the want which is sometimes felt, of 
 a book sufficiently easy for this purpose, and yet more entertaining than the 
 short sentences in spelling books." — Preface. 
 
 " Is an excellent book, which will be found very acceptable to those for whose 
 benefit it was published. It is simple, and attractive at the same time."— 
 Union Review. 
 
 "A delightful little children's story-book."— C/twrc/e Review. 
 
 Tales of the Ancient British Church. New 
 
 and cheaper edition, with an additional Tale. By the late 
 Ven. Archdeacon Evans, author of "The Rectory of Vale- 
 head," &c. l8mo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 "We heartily welcome this new edition of these Tales, at less than half their 
 original price." — Churchmati's Companion. 
 
 Thinking for Oneself; or, an Adventure of the 
 
 Carewes. Reprinted from The Monthly Packet." l8mo., 
 2s. cloth. 
 
 The Tower Builders, and The Two Merchants. 
 
 6d. 
 
 Trust. By the Author of Beginnings of Evil." 
 
 18mo. 2s. 
 
 The Two Guardians ; or, Home in this World. By 
 
 the Author of *' The Heir of Redclyffe." Fifth edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 "Nothing can be finer than the heroine; an upright, truthful character, 
 wanting in tact, and not at first free from grave faults, yet full of deep feeling 
 and true religion; strongly consistent, winning her way and inspiring hearty 
 aflfection by her goodness, real kindness, and entire honesty." — Christian Re- 
 metnbrancer. 
 
 Voices of Christmas. A Tale. By Louis Sand. 
 
 With an illustration by Dalziel. Fcap. 8¥0. 2s. 
 
 " We have seldom seen a Christmas book which appeared to us more tho- 
 roughly successful. A hearty, English tale, full of piquancy and interest, with 
 considerable humour, in which an under-current of earnest feeling teaches one 
 of the deepest truths of our t^Xx^xon."— Ecclesiastic. 
 
24 
 
 Published by J, Masters ^ Co., 
 
 A Village Stoey for Village Maidens. In Three 
 
 Parts. Susan, Esther, and Dorothy j or, the Three Starts in 
 Life. 18mo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Voyage to the Fortunate Isles. Is. ; cloth Is. 6d. 
 
 An Allegory of the sea of life with its waves and tides, ripples and storms, 
 and each soul in a boat therein, with compass, sails, pilot, chart, &c. 
 
 Was it a Dream ? or, the Spirit of Evil-speaking — 
 
 and The New Churchyard; or. Whose will be the First 
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 Published by J. Masters ^ Co. 
 
 SIXPENCE. 
 
 Sister's Care; or, How a very young girl took care 
 
 of her little orphan sister. By the Author df ** Michael the 
 Chorister." 
 
 Stories on the Lord's Prayer. By the Author 
 
 of ** Amy Herbert." 
 
 Susan Spellman : a Tale of the Trials she met with 
 
 in the Silk Mills at Horton. 
 
 Sunset Reverie; an Allegory: in which Mirth 
 
 and Earnest pass through the trials of this world. 
 Sunsetting ; or, Old Age in its Glory. A story of 
 
 happiness, peace, and contentment. 
 
 Trebursaye School; or, the Power of Example. 
 
 a story for Choristers and Schoolboys. 
 
 The Two Birthdays, and other Tales. A packet 
 
 of Six Reward Books. By the Author of ** Harold, a Ghost 
 Story with a Moral." 
 
 The Twins. A Tale of Warning to Boys ; showing 
 
 the misery caused by giving way to angry and unkind temper. 
 
 The Two Friends ; or, Charley's Escape. 
 
 A tale of the influence of a good companion, and the warning of his sudden 
 death. 
 
 The Vicar's Guest. By Ada Cambridge. 
 Willie Collins and the Pony Frosty. By 
 
 B. E. B. 
 
 Young Churchman's Alphabet. The leading 
 
 events of our Lord's Life, illustrated in verse, with an 
 engraving to each letter. 
 
 The Young Soldiers, or, the Double Birthday; 
 
 and other Tales. In a Packet, or cloth. 
 
 Printed by J. Masters and Co., Albion Buildings, Bartholomew Close, E.C. 
 
OAK ST. HDSF