མམངས་

THE LIBRARY
THE
REGENT'S
UNIVERSITY
OMNIBUS
ARTIBUS
OF
MINNESOTA
CLASS 812M626
BOOK OP
ج
وٹ

CHAMPNE
"Now, sir, that's a real Arab you've picked up."
PETER'S STRANGE STORY;-
OR,
Providence at Both Ends.
BY LUCY A. MILLS.

BOSTON
D. LOTHROP COMPANY
1893
COPYRIGHT, 1874,
BY
D. Lothrop and CompanY

CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
BEGGING FOR BABY
5
CHAPTER II.
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR
21
CHAPTER III.
SEEKING A WAY
38
CHAPTER IV.
DEATH IN THE GARRET
54
CHAPTER V.
SEEKING NEWS
68
CHAPTER VI.
MISHAPS AND STRUGGLES
89
CHAPTER VII.
TRYING TO FIND GOD
105
•
CHAPTER VIII.
A CALL FOR HELP
119
CHAPTER IX.
IN SEARCH OF SUMMERVILLE
. 135
CHAPTER X.
STRUGGLING ON
164
CHAPTER XI.
A TIMELY FRIEND
189
CHAPTER XII.
LOST IN THE SNOW .
212
1214952
iv
Contents.
PAGE.
CHAPTER XIII.
MR. SUMMER'S PUZZLE
228
CHAPTER XIV.
THE RIDE TO THE FARM
248
CHAPTER XV.
COMING TO HIMSELF
270
•
CHAPTER XVI.
THE BIRTH - MARK
287
CHAPTER XVII.
QUESTIONINGS
. 310
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE LOST FOUND
327
CHAPTER XIX.
STRUGGLING WITH A SECRET
343
CHAPTER XX.
ANXIETIES AND PLANS
358
CHAPTER XXI.
PASSING OUT OF SIGHT
375
CHAPTER XXII.
THE STORY TOLD
390
CHAPTER XXIII.
HOME IN THE CITY.
108

PETER'S STRANGE STORY :
Or,
Providence at Both Ends.
CHAPTER I.
BEGGING FOR BABY.

ABY'S cryin', Granny; do n't ye
hear her?"
"I hears her, Peter."
"She's a - hungry, Granny."
"I s'pose she be, Peter."
"There ain't no bread nor nothin' in the box,
Granny; nothin' for baby to eat."
"Oh dear! Well, lay her 'long side o' me,
on the bed; Peter, and go out on the street;
mebby you can beg a couple shillin's of some-
6
Peter's Strange Story.
body, and, harkee, if ye do, boy, get me a little
drink!"
"It's night now, Granny; do n't ye see how
dark 'tis ?"
'I did n't think ye was afeard of the dark,
Peter; it's light on the street.”
Peter did not make any reply to this insinua-
tion against his courage, but crawled along the
floor to the pallet on which the old woman was
lying, and placed the wailing child carefully by
her side.
Ce
Keep her warm, Granny," he said,
won't be gone long.”
" and I
"I'll warm the noisy critter!" muttered the
old dame.
Do n't hurt her, Granny, do n't," implored
the boy; "she'd lie still if she warn't so hungry,
-and she's only a baby," he added, apologeti-
cally.
Peter now moved quickly away from the bed,
felt for the rickety door upon the dark wall, and,
Begging for Baby.
having opened it, went out. It was just as dark
without, but the boy knew the way, and, with
one hand groping on the wall, he clambered down
the narrow stairs to a landing below. Over the
uneven floor of the landing, and down another
flight of stairs, he walked in the same careful
manner, for there was not a glimmer of light to
guide him. On the second landing, loud voices
and the shining of a lamp came from the open
door, the latter somewhat dispelling the obscuri-
ty. Peter plodded through the passage, and,
descending two more staircases, came out upon a
crooked, lonely alley.
It was scarcely lighter here than in the dis-
mal house which he had left. Tall buildings,
standing near together, overshadowed the narrow
way, making it gloomy even in the broad day-
light. Peter looked up between the black walls
of the houses to the sky beyond; he could see
only a strip of deep blue, in which two stars had
appeared, and like two pleasant eyes were twink-
8
Peter's Strange Story.
1
ling down upon the boy as though they had no
other business to do.
ર There, the stars be out; 'tis night," said
Peter, speaking to himself, as he set off on a
run up the alley. He met a number of people
before he left the dark, crooked street, but he
did not stop to ask anything of them; he knew
they were probably as poor as himself. Turning
a corner, Peter issued upon a wider street lighted
by a solitary gas lamp. Crossing this, and
threading another long and narrow one, he came
to a broad thoroughfare gay with open shop win-
dows, brilliantly lighted and thronged with peo-
ple. Here the boy stopped before the open door
of a butcher's shop. Men and women, with and
without baskets, were passing in and out.
Within, the butcher and his boys were busily
cutting and weighing slices of steak, loins of lamb
and beef, and legs of mutton. The windows
were filled with ducks and turkeys hanging by
their legs; outside upon pegs were suspended
1
9
Begging for Baby.
2
whole sheep and venisou and pigs, and strings
of grouse with the beautiful spotted feathers still
smooth upon their necks and breasts.
Peter, who had stopped near the door, did
not look at any of these nice things; he was look-
ing at the faces of the customers as they passed
him, and waiting until the right face came in
sight before he begged. He did not have long to
wait before a short, stout, elderly gentleman,
carrying a heavy cane and wearing large, round
glasses, came with a brisk step up to the door.
Peter held out his hand.
"Please to give me something?" he said.
The gentleman stopped, and, fixing his eyes
through the large glasses upon the boy, answered:
"How is it that a great boy like you are beg-
ging? Why don't you work, hey?"
"I have to take care of Baby," said Peter.
"You take care of a baby? That's a fine
story, indeed. What baby do you take care of,
hey?"
10
Peter's Strange Story.
#
i
"It's Granny's daughter's baby, and I left her
a- cryin' 'cause she's hungry. Please to give
me something to buy her a piece of bread!'
"Babies do n't eat bread; they eat milk; you're
telling me a story," said the gentleman, bringing
his cane down with a whack upon the pavement.
"No, I'm telling it true," said Peter; "she's a
baby, and she eats bread, too; she never had
any milk to eat.”
Ahem! Where 's her mother?" inquired the
gentleman.
"She ain't got no mother; there's nobody but
me and Granny. Please to give me something;
please, for her?" pleaded the boy.
Why don't you ask for yourself and your
granny? Ain't you hungry?"
"I'm always hungry, but I don't mind it
much if Baby ain't!" he replied.
"Ahem! Come in here to the light, I want
to look at you?" said the gentleman.
Peter followed his questioner into the shop,
Begging for Baby.
11
and under the glare of a cluster of gas lights
which hung in the center of it. When there, he
certainly did not present a very creditable ap-
pearance. He was barefooted; a pair of stringy,
tattered pantaloons, too short at the top and the
bottom, hung to his legs, seeming to hang by
nothing, for he constantly held on to one leg by
his hand; an old coat as much too large as the
pantaloons were too small, and evidently made
for a man, hung down his back nearly to the an-
kles, and reached in greasy, dilapidated cuffs
beyond his fingers, whence they were turned back
upon the sleeves. The boy's head, like his feet,
was uncovered except by a shock of knotty, long,
brown hair, which stood out in all directions, and
depended over his forehead down to his eyes;
these, large and blue, and with a dash of honesty
in them, were fixed upon the gentleman's own,
which in turn roved scrutinizingly from top to
toe over the poor child.
९९
How old are you, hey?" was the first
譬
​12
Peter's Strange Story.
question he put after his searching survey.
"I don't know," replied Peter.
'
"Don't know how old you are?" exclaimed
the interlocutor in an astonished tone, and with
another emphasis of his cane upon the floor.
"The fact is, Mr. Summer," said the head
butcher, who had approached and overheard the
question and answer, "the fact is, these boys do n't
know much except wickedness. Now, Sir, that's
a real Arab you've picked up, one of the street
scum. He do n't know his age, but I'll be bound
he knows enough to fleece any one of us here.
I've no faith in that trash ! "
"Well, well; I'll see," said Mr. Summer ;
"I mean, I'd like to see if he is as bad as that,
or better. Where do you live?" he continued,
addressing Peter.
On Flint street, number thirty - nine, up at
the top of the house," answered Peter, prompt-
ly.
Well, you seem to know that," said Mr.
Begging for Baby.
13
Summer, taking down the number in his note -
book; "do you know your name?"
"Yes, Sir,- Peter!"
"Peter what?" inquired Mr. Summer.
"Peter, that 's all I know," replied the boy.
Oh, oh!" exclaimed the butcher; "he 's mis-
leading you, Mr. Summer.
You'll not find
that boy living in that place, if you look.”
"Yes, I does," said Peter, stoutly, turning to
the butcher; "I lives there, and Baby and
Granny."
"What's your granny's name?" asked the
butcher.
"It 's Granny!" said Peter.
ee
Ah, ah!" cried the butcher and two or three
of his boys in chorus; "I told you so; he 's off
the street; he's chaffing you, Mr. Summer."
But Mr. Summer seemed a man that thought
for himself; at all events, after another hard,
prolonged look into Peter's eyes, he said to
him,-
14
Peter's Strange Story.
୧୧
Now I'll see if you have spoken the truth.
I'll try you; here!" and he took out his wallet.
"Here's a half dollar for you,-see, two twenty -
five cent pieces to buy something for your baby
and yourself to eat.
And I'll look you up; I'll
go to your place the first
spare time I get, and if
you have told me a lie, boy, why,— the worst
will be yours for it!
""
"I've told you true, I have, Sir," said Peter,
as he took the money; and I thank you,- oh,
I do thank you!" and without another word he
slipped through the throng of people and out into
the street.
Peter ran on past a dozen doors or more, un-
til, coming opposite a baker's shop, he stopped,
and, carefully removing one of the twenty-five
cent pieces from the other, he entered. A loaf
of bread and some sweet cakes were soon pur-
chased, paid for, and wrapped in brown paper,
and with the package under his arm,— his hand
still grasping his pantaloons by the leg, he
Begging for Baby.
15
hurried down the street to a corner grocery,
where he supplied himself with a couple of can-
lles. With this addition to his stores, Peter
proceeded towards home. But on the way he
remembered Granny's request for something to
drink, and he stopped once more at a dram - shop.
Taking a small black bottle from the pocket of
his coat, he asked for some gin, and having brok-
en the remaining quarter of a dollar to pay for it,
he again started homeward.
Peter coursed through the streets and the nar-
row, dark alley as swiftly as a rabbit. It seemed
lighter within the house than when he left it; one
or two candles, or lamps, gleamed at intervals on
the lower floor. He approached a room from
which one of these shone, faint as a glow - worm,
and asked if he could light his candle there.
"Sure, an' ye can, an' welcome," replied a
tall, good-natured Irish woman; "an' it's good
luck yer in, Peter, to be havin' a whole dip to-
night!"
里
​16
Peter's Strange Story.
Peter ignited his long candle by his neighbor's
light, and then climbed nimbly up the remaining
distance to his home in the loft. He opened the
door carefully into the attic; the low sobbings
from the bed on the floor in the corner revealed
to him that the baby was still crying. The boy
hastened to stick a rusty nail,- which protruded
from the wall, near the door, and which served as
a candlestick when they were so fortunate as to
possess a candle,- through the taper which he
carried in his hand; then, placing his package
on the floor, he hurried to the pallet, lifted the
small bit of humanity which he called the baby,
brought it to the light and sat down with it in his
arms.
Baby got her supper, now; good supper,
too," said he, in the tone which a mother would
use in talking to her child, while he unfolded the
paper and took out a sweet cake; "good supper
for Baby, see!"
He put a cake in the little hand which was
Begging for Baby.
17
stretched out famishingly towards it, and the
child, with a gurgling sound, between a laugh
and a cry, eagerly devoured it. Another quickly
followed the first, and the third was in process
of being eaten before Peter thought of himself,
and broke off from the loaf a piece of bread and
began to satisfy his own hunger. Without speak-
ing a word, the two children now ate together.
The candle, faint as it was, was yet sufficient
to illumine the destitution of the small room. It
was bare of furniture except the bed, which con-
sisted of a bundle of straw, covered with strips
and old pieces which had once worn the dignity
of bed - quilts, and the box of which Peter had
spoken as having nothing in it, and which ordi-
narily served as a cupboard for the scanty store of
food which they might chance to have beyond the
need of present appetite. The light also flared
on the children's woeful faces and garments. The
baby, who was a child of some five or six years
of age, though small as an infant of eighteen
18
Peter's Strange Story.
months, had a face pale and aged through want
and cold. She was wrapped in an old shawl,
under which appeared, while she ate, her two
naked, bony arms.
The children were still silently eating, when
the woman, who was lying on the bed, and who
had been sleeping or feigning sleep, now opened
her eyes and asked in a complaining voice,-
Why didn't ye get some drink for me,
Peter?"
"I did, Granny," answered Peter, quickly
seating the child on the floor, and drawing the
bottle from his pocket; "I did, here 'tis !”
He hastened towards the bed and put it in
her hand.
"There's bread, Granny, too, a whole loaf;"
he added, eagerly; "a gentleman gave me fifty
cents, and Baby's got a supper.
""
"Then she 'll stop her whining, I s'pose," said
the old dame, lifting herself on her elbow, and
putting the bottle to her lips.
Begging for Baby.
19
"Won't you have some o' the bread, Granny?"
inquired Peter, waiting by the bedside.
"No, no, boy," said the poor woman, taking
another swallow of gin from the bottle; "this is
bread, and meat, and everything, for me."
Peter went back and sat down by the side of
the child. She had eaten all the cakes, and her
hunger being appeased, a gleam of true childish
pleasure came into her face for a moment, as she
grasped the boy's coat collar in her thin hands
and strove to get back into her place upon his
lap.
Baby had all the supper she wants?" asked
Peter, as he took the little creature back on his
knees and patted her cheek.
The child nodded, leaning her head on his
shoulder.
"Was it good cakes?" he asked.
She nodded again.
"Then Baby must go sleep 'long Granny,"
he said; and lifting her without opposition on her
20
Peter's Strange Story.
J
part, he placed her under the ragged covering
of the bed, by the side of the old woman.
!
Peter now put the bread into the box, covered
it carefully, and, extinguishing the light, nes-
tled himself on the foot of the bed and was soon
fast asleep.


CHAPTER II.
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR,

HE room in which Peter had fallen
asleep was situated directly under the
roof, which, slanting low down upon
one side,
side, nearly touched the floor.
There was
a single small window, let into the
slanted side, and which, looking out upon house-
tops, spires and the sky above, admitted light in
the day and served also, through its many aper-
tures to admit the air.
When Peter awoke, the morning after we have
first seen him, he opened his eyes full upon this
22
Peter's Strange Story.
little window in the roof.
1
}
The sun
The sun was already
a long time up, and the world without was alive
with its light, and its mellow October radiance,
but Peter's meager room being on the north side
of the house, its inmates consequently received
none of the warmth, and very little of the light
of this luminary. Peter's eyes, therefore, falling
upon the dusty window, naturally passed to a
bright object beyond it, which lay just in the
range of his vision; this object was a church
spire surmounted by a cross which glittered and
flashed with silvery luster in the morning light.
This symbol of faith and love, shining against
the dark window, and meeting the boy's wakeful
eyes, conveyed to them none of its beautiful sig-
nificance beyond the pleasure which it gave to the
sense of sight. But so rarely had Peter noticed
such a brilliant object, that his gaze became fixed
upon it in admiration. He looked, and, for a
moment, smiled to himself unconsciously; then,
with his eyes still fixed, he fell to thinking gladly
An Unexpected Visitor.
23
of the bread in the box,- that they had all got
a breakfast, with money enough left to purchase
a supper, for the indulgence of a midday meal
was never even thought of by this young head of
the household.
From thinking of the bread, Peter's thought
went naturally a step back of it to Mr. Summer,
the giver of it, and he hoped that that gentleman
with the big stick would never come there. Not
that he was exactly afraid of him, but he should
be ashamed to have him see their miserable
rooms; for, poor and ragged as he himself look-
ed when out of it in the opinion of the world, he
knew that his garb was quite respectable when
compared with the degrading aspect of his home.
Thinking thus, Peter lay quite still for an hour
or so, partly for the reason that there was noth-
ing for him to do if he arose, and
partly because
he did not wish to disturb the child who was
soundly sleeping.
But the little girl, having slept soundly upon
24
Peter's Strange Story..
a well-filled stomach, awoke presently,
and
good-humoredly stretched her small hands out
to Peter to be taken up. He leaned forward
over the sleeping woman, raised the little crea-
ture, and with a caress seated her on the foot of
the bed by his side; then pointing his fingers at
the bright shining cross seen through the window,
he asked,-
"Does Baby see the church top a - shining?
"
She looked in the direction and responded by
a queer, short nod of acquiescence, and a ray of
something that looked like an attempt at smiling
broke over her lips, but it faded away and left the
face as stolid as before.
"Sit still now," said Peter in a whisper,
"while I get the breakfast."
He left her, and, softly moving across the
floor to the box, uncovered it and looked in; then
doubling his fist he made believe strike at some-
thing therein, but instead of dealing the blow
he merely took out the bread and looked at it
An Unexpected Visitor.
25
with a grimace. A mouse had found its way,
during the night, into the boys' store - house, and
nibbled away a large piece of the bread. Peter
brought the loaf to the little girl, and, with an-
other grimace and shaking of the fist, showed
her the damage upon it; then breaking off a
large piece for her and another for himself, he
deposited the remainder in the box; then they
sat down together and began their silent breakfast.
While engaged in their meal, Peter heard a
heavy step in the passage, and immediately after
a knock at the door. He hastened to wipe his
mouth, thrust the piece of bread in his coat pock-
et, and then opened the door. There stood Mr.
Summer. He had been true to his promise, to
search out the boy. He looked around the room
before entering, and then, stepping over the
threshold, said, in his loud, bluff voice:
"Well, it seems you did speak the truth; you
are the boy, Peter, hey?"
"Yes Sir," answered Peter, in a timid voice,
26
Peter's Strange Story.
!
still holding on to the door as though doubtful
what was to be done.
"And that's your baby, I suppose," continued
Mr. Summer, pointing with his cane to the
child sitting on the pallet.
{
१९
"Yes, Sir, that's the baby!" replied Peter.
Humph!" ejaculated the gentleman.
a child; she's no baby, boy!'
"
"She's
"She's a baby," persisted Peter, who had
called her by that name for so long a time that
he did not suppose any other could be applied to
her.
How-
"She's a child!" said Mr. Summer, bringing
his cane down on the floor as an emphatic period
to his sentence; "and you ought to know that."
Peter was silenced but not convinced.
ever, he discreetly forbore to pursue the argu-
ment, and as Mr. Summer had proceeded another
step farther into the room, he closed the door
behind him, and then took up a position at the
foot of the bed, by the side of his little charge,
An Unexpected Visitor.
27
who continued to eat her breakfast with entire in-
difference to the presence of the stranger. But
the gentleman's attention was now turned from
her to the sleeping woman and the black bottle
which stood by her side on the floor.
"Humph!" he muttered to himself, "no won-
der!" Then he added aloud to Peter, indicating
the bottle with a gesture. "That's where my
fifty cents went last night, to buy gin?"
"No Sir," cried Peter,
little of it. I bought the
eagerly; "no, only a
bread first, see,” and
he ran and took out the half eaten loaf and held
Ce
it up;
see, I got this, a whole one, and half a
dozen cakes, and Baby she eat 'em last night,
and I eat the bread, and she's eating some now,
and here's my breakfast," he added, taking the
hidden fragment from his pocket; "I was eatin'
it when you knocked."
"Didn't you spend any of the fifty cents for
that gin?" inquired Mr. Summer, in a sharp
tone.
28
Peter's Strange Story.
{
1
"Yes Sir, after I got the bread; but Granny
do n't eat bread,
eat bread, nor nothin',- nothin' but
gin!"
"And I suppose she has a good and regular
appetite!" observed Mr. Summer.
"Sir?" inquired Peter, who could not under-
stand the gentleman's irony.
"Does she get the gin every day?"
Most every day," replied Peter.
"And you beg the money to buy it for her, I
presume.
"
"Not all the time," replied Peter; "sometimes
I sell something."
"You don't seem to have much.to sell, now,"
said Mr. Summer, looking around upon the scant
room.
ce
"We did," said Peter; we had some chairs
and a table, and a bed, a real good bed, too,
once, but we've been selling 'em off, and now
there ain't much left."
"I should think not much," said Mr. Summer.
An Unexpected Visitor.
1
29
}
"What will you sell next, when you do n't raise
the money by begging, hey?"
"Granny said, one day, she'd sell Baby, if
she could, only nobody'd buy her; but I wouldn't
sell her; I'd run away first!"
"I should think you would run away and look
out for yourself, boy. Why don't you?" asked
Mr. Summer.
"And leave Baby!" exclaimed Peter, in a
tone of wonder that such a suggestion could be
offered him.
CC
Why, she's nothing to you, is she? Are you
relations?"
No, she's no relation; her mother took me
off the street when I was a little thing like her,
and then after that she died, and so I can't ever
leave Baby!" said Peter with decision.
"Is the child's father dead, too?" demanded
Mr. Summer.
"Yes, they're all dead but me an' Granny and
her!"
30
Peter's Strange Story.
"Well, this is a pretty poor way for a boy of
your inches to be living," said Mr. Summer;
"you ought to be starting in some business,
selling matches or newspapers, or something be-
sides begging, to get bread for this little girl and
gin for that woman.'
"I can't leave Baby only a little while, 'cause
Granny, when she wakes, is cross to her, and
beats her. I've seen the bruises on her back and
arms. Granny is pleasant when she can have
her drink, and can sleep, and I get the gin before
I get bread; but last night Baby cried so hard,—
she was so hungry."
"Do you like Peter,-you little girl?" in-
quired Mr. Summer, addressing the child.
She replied to the question with a nod.
"Well, you are old enough," he continued, "to
take care of yourself, a little while, every day,
and let him go and earn some money to buy you
some clothes and food; ain't you?"
The child nodded affirmatively again.
เ
An Unexpected Visttor.
31
Can't you speak?" he inquired.
She ha'n't never spoke yet, and Granny says
she's dumb," said Peter.
"Poor thing!" exclaimed Mr. Summer.
"Yes, she is poor," said Peter; "just look at
her arms!" and he moved the shawl which en-
veloped her and exposed to view the emaciated
limbs.
J
"Bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Summer, "don't
you get any meat to eat?”
Sometimes somebody gives us some cold
meat,” replied Peter.
"You have no place to cook here, I see," he
said, glancing around the small apartment, "if
you had it!"
"But if I had it, I might cook on Mrs. O'Bri-
en's stove, on the first floor; she cooks every day
for her husband," said Peter, quickly.
୧
Well, can you cook it yourself?" interrogated
Mr. Summer.
}
}
९९
Oh yes; but I never have it!
"
32
Peter's Strange Story.
"You shall have some to - day," said Mr. Sum-
mer. "You go to the butcher's where I saw
you last night, and ask for a pound of beefsteak,
and then come home and cook it for the child
there, and yourself, to eat; and you eat it all,
do you understand? the whole of it; and
then go again to-morrow and get some more!"
"They won't let me have it," said Peter.
"Yes they will, if I tell them to, and that is
what I'm going to do directly I go from here;"
and Mr. Summer moved towards the door.
"You are very good to us," said Peter as he
sprang to open the door for his visitor.
"Tush! Can I see children starve when I know
it? But you had better be looking out for work;
there is plenty of work in this great city, and you
can earn your own meat and your baby's, too."
"But who'd take care of Baby, then!" in-
quired Peter, looking wistfully after Mr. Sum-
mer.
"I'm sure I don't know," was the response,
An Unexpected Visitor.
33
as his visitor hurried through the passage on his
way down.
Peter closed the door, and sat down by the
side of the little girl and gave her a loving
squeeze.
Beefsteaks," he whispered, "would n't I like
to see you eat one, Baby! Ye don't know what
them be, but I do. I've smelt 'em in the cook-
shops lots o' times; ain't they strong, though?
But 'tain't likely he'll remember it; he'll go and
forget 'em! You sit still," he added after a mo-
ment," and I'll run down and ask Mrs. O'Brien
to lend her frying pan."
Peter's request to his neighbor met with im-
mediate success. Not only was the frying - pan
put at his service, but the unextinguished coals
with which Mrs. O'Brien had cooked her beef-
steak, and which still glowed through the broken
stove, were freely offered. Peter, with the de-
sire to see Baby eat a beefsteak increasing every
instant, set off on a run for the butcher's shop.
34
Peter's Strange Slory.
Arriving there, he slipped in with the customers,
and stood looking around for some one to whom he
might apply for his promised provision. One of
the butcher's boys, who had laughed loudest the
previous evening at Peter, stood near him waiting
for a market basket.
"What do you come crowding in here for?"
he asked in a surly, querulous tone; "there's
no room here for beggars."
"I'm on my own business," said Peter.
"That's thieving our beef and pork, I s'pose,"
answered the boy.
"I don't thieve; you thieve yourself!" retort-
ed Peter.
"Just let me catch yer outside, and I'll set-
tle your accounts," muttered the boy; and with-
out stating what the accounts were, he marched
off to the farther side of the shop where the prin-
cipal stood behind a desk, and said :
"Here's that beggar boy again; that one that
was here last night."
An Unexpected Visitor.
35
"Tell him to come to me," said the butcher.
The boy returned and gave the message to
Peter with the additional phrase of, "You'll
git it."
Peter crept through the throng of people to
the place where the butcher stood behind his
desk. The man looked at him as he approached,
and said,
"Mr. Summer has just been here telling me
about you; here, Job," speaking to a workman,
"cut this boy a pound of beefsteak, and he's to
have the same quantity of meat every day 'till
further orders, charge the same on Mr. Sum
mer's bill, Job!"
Peter stood silently by while the man cut,
weighed and placed the meat in a paper, then
with it griped tightly in his hand he hurried out
of the shop and ran home. With Mrs. O'Brien's
assistance, he soon had the meat in the saucepan
and placed over the coals.
An' why did n't the butcher give ye some fat
* 36
Peter's Strange Story.
to fry it in?" inquired the woman as the beef
began to sputter against the dry, hot iron; "that's
the rule!"
"I did n't know that," said Peter.
"An' why should ye know it?" replied the
obliging neighbor; "ye 've not been in the way
o'buyin', an' they 've saved it an' chated ye."
"To-morrow, I'll ask the butcher for it,"
said Peter.
er
Air ye going for another bit to - morrer?"
"Yes, the gentleman told me to go every day
for it," replied the boy, as he attempted to pull
the meat with his neighbor's fork, and turn it
up
over.
You're a lucky boy, Peter;
lucky boy, Peter; but wait, I'll
do that for ye; an' here's the sasoning for it,”
and Mrs. O'Brien sprinkled some salt over the
beef, and then vigorously shook her pepper
box above it. "Ye must sason 'em while they 're
cookin'!"
"I wish there was onions on 'em," said Peter;
An Unexpected Visitor.
37
}
"them in the shops has onions! They must be
nice!"
"Ye have ter buy the onions at the grocer's,
an' cook 'em together, if you want 'em that way,'
said his ready teacher.
"I'll get some, then, tomorrow, if I can
save money from Granny's whiskey," replied
Peter.
"How's Granny?" asked Mrs. O'Brien.
She's poorly; she lies a bed all the
time."
"An' drinks all she can get, I s'pose?" said
Mrs. O'Brien.
"Yes, I get some every day, when I have the
money; and when I don't they let me have it at
the corner for her, for nothing."
They know she's spent her money on 'em,"
said the Irish woman.
The steak was now cooked, and Mrs.
O'Brien placed it on a deep, blue-edged, old
her as a platter, and
plate which served
4.
38
Peter's Strange Story..
which she lent to Peter for the occasion, charg-
ing him to be careful and not break it, and
with the steaming dish in his hand he disap-
peared up the stairs on his way to the gar-
ret.


ม
CHAPTER III.
SEEKING A WAY.

LESS my soul!" exclaimed Mr.
Summer, as he emerged from the
dark, noisome habitation where Peter
lived, into the narrow and not less
noisome lane, and expectorated right and left.
ec Bless my soul! what a smell, what an air!
And human beings live there, and thrive; and
children grow to manhood in such holes? why,
my pigs in their country pig - pens would disdain
such a home! Phugh!" and he spat again and
40
Peter's Strange Story.
thumped his cane on the stones as he hurried out
of the neighborhood.
That evening, as he returned from his business
office to his fine house up town, and let himself
into it with his latch-key, the remembrance of the
poor lad whom he had provided with beef in the
morning, came vividly to mind. Not that Mr.
Summer had forgotten Peter altogether during the
day, for several times the recollection of the ten-
ement house, with its wretched inmates, and the
brave boy struggling in his solitary care of the
dumb little baby, as he called her, had crossed
the active brain of the business man. For Mr.
Summer was one that, having once got an idea
into his head, was in no danger of soon losing it;
it became like a vane on a church steeple, which
might go round, and round, and round, but
would never quit its place.
Mr. Summer accordingly went down to dinner
revolving the thought and arranging with him-
self how he could best lay it before his wife and
Seeking a Way.
41
insure her sympathy for his scheme, and for the
boy.
His dining-room was not exactly a modern
one. It had been constructed on the theory that
plenty of light is as necessary as plenty of food,
and the whole of one side, or rather of one end
of it, was composed of window glass. This end
faced the south, but the handsome curtains which
during the day were looped far back to admit the
health - giving beams of the sun, now fell in
graceful folds of blue silk and lace along the
front of it, shutting in the pleasant room to it-
self and its inmates.
Opposite this large window stood a dark,
wooden sideboard surmounted by a pair of
branching elk horns, which arched up and touched
the high ceiling above it. The shelves of the
sideboard glittered with cut glass and silver.
Several large paintings hung upon the walls.
One was a copy of Hogarth's picture of himself
under arrest in a country village of France. The
42
Peter's Strange Story.
painter was represented as standing before the
magistrate, surrounded by an alarmed crowd of
peasants, and looking on with assumed demure-
ness while the clerk of the court held up the hu-
morous sketches of himself and the magistrate,
which had been found in the great painter's port -
folio. There were other paintings of deer hunt-
ing, and game, and fruit. In the grate a fire
of cannel coal was sending out a wavering, elfish
glow upon the polished furniture and the pict-
ures.
A round table stood in the center of the room;
-this was the dining - table; and here sat Mr.
Summer. His round, ruddy face, looking
rounder and ruddier in the light of the gas and
the fire, had acquired an unctuous look during
the courses of soup and game. His spectacles
were lying by the side of his napkin ring on the
table - cloth, and his blue eyes, uncovered by the
glasses, looked deeper and handsomer as he
glanced across the table to his wife who sat op-
Seeking a Way.
43
posite. His method of approach was being
slowly matured.
Mrs. Summer was the antipode of her hus-
band,- spare and delicate in form, with a long,
thin face and small, hazel eyes,
nervous movement seemed to take
whose quick,
in everything
She was now
that was occurring around one.
eating a cracker with a salad; and as she looked
up and saw her husband regarding her with more
earnestness than usual, she quickly inquired:
"What's the matter, Henry? Have you any-
thing to tell me?"
"Yes," he replied; "I have,- have,
some-
thing to tell; but it can wait; it's in no partic-
ular hurry to get out.”
ee
"Now don't bother me," she continued ; you
know how I do dislike to be kept waiting. Pray,
what is it? "
ee Do you wish your
dinner spoiled?" inquired
Mr. Summer.
"No indeed!
"
44
Peter's Strange Story.
"Then finish it before you question me too
closely!"
Under this injunction the lady did complete her
dinner, but rather more hurriedly than usual;
and Andrew having removed the cloth and shut
the door, and Mr. Summer having turned from
the table towards the glowing grate, she again
asked,-
ଝ
"Now, Henry, do tell me what it is; I'm all
curiosity."
Ce
So I see," said the gentleman as he adjusted
his spectacles and crossed his legs. "Well, it
amounts to this. I've made a discovery that
people can live without air to breathe or food to
eat."
What do you mean, Henry?" asked Mrs.
Summer; "you will joke at my expense al-
ways."
"I mean what I say," said Mr. Summer. "I
saw a family this morning, a family of three,
that don't have anything to eat, nor”—
Seeking a Way.
45
"Now, Henry, where did you go this morn-
ing?" asked the lady, cutting her husband's ex-
planation off in the middle. "It takes you such
a long while to tell; just use as few words as
possible!
""
"Well, I am going to; but if you keep inter-
rupting me in this way, I shall never even begin
my story. Now then,- this morning, before I
went down town, I crossed over to the east
side of the city to see a little acquaintance
which".
"What acquaintance?" interrupted Mrs. Sum-
mer.
There, another interruption; I shall never
get through my story, if you do n't let me go on
with it!"
୧୯
"Well, tell me what acquaintance, and then
go on."
"An acquaintance which I picked up at the
butcher's last night,”—
"The butcher's!"
!
46
Peter's Strange Story.
A
"There, there, Mrs. Summer, I see you are
determined not to hear me out.”
"No, no, Henry, do go on; upon my word,
I will try and not interrupt again; but what ac-
quaintance could you pick up at the butch-
er's?"
"That of a ragged little boy; poor, hungry -
looking child who begged me for money to buy
bread."
୧୯
Oh, that's so common an occurrence; just
a beggar asking for bread.
bring him home with you?
Why did n't you
didn't
There's always
plenty, in the cold meat box, at night, you
know."
"I know-I know," said Mr. Summer, speak-
ing slowly, as though he was thinking intently.
"But I had no time for that; besides, the child
awakened my interest in quite a new direction
from that of feeding him out of our cold meat
box."
"How was it? Do tell about it."
Seeking a Way.
47
1
୧୯
Well, he said he had a poor little baby at
home that was hungry, crying for bread, he
-
put it, and he begged for money to buy
some."
Ce
I hope you gave him some, Henry; you re-
member what it says in the Bible about giving
to the poor and lending to the Lord!
"Yes, I remember, I remember; that's the
best investment that I know of, too,-yes, I
gave him a few shillings, and then took down his
address, resolved to make the boy a call, and
find out if he had told the truth."
"And where did the poor thing live?"
"In Flint street, at the farther end, in an old,
rickety tenement house, four or five stories high,
and at the very tip - top,-I found him there
this morning."
"And did you go into that horrible place?"
asked Mrs. Summer, with a shiver; "oh, I'm
afraid you've caught the small-pox, or something
else, the typhoid fever, may be."
!
48
Peter's Strange Story.
"I'm not afraid of diseases, my dear; you
know I'm as proof against them as a rubber over-
coat against rain."
<<
Oh, you can't tell; you don't know," re-
torted his wife.
"Well, if I can render help to any poor mortal
soul, and get it started right on the Lord's road
to heaven, don't you think that would be very
cheap for me, even if I get off with a fever or
the small-pox?
""
"How can you talk so, Henry? I should n't
wonder if some day you did catch something!"
said the lady, in an aggrieved and angered
tone.
"Nor I, either, and I expect to catch some-
thing, too; the apostles were fishers of men, and
why shouldn't I try in the same waters?'
"Don't be sacrilegious; do n't, Mr. Sum-
mer ! "
"No, I won't; I'll only be religious,—if I
can."
เ
Seeking a Way.
49
"You might as well attempt to cleanse the
waters of the sea, as to go to help those swarm
ing multitudes of children;" continued Mrs.
Summer.
"They are like the spawn in numbers, I know,
but naturalists tell us that only one egg in every
ten thousand, on an average, develops into a
fish; and why should n't it be better than that
with little humans? Besides, you have n't any
curiosity to know what I found up there!"
"Oh yes, indeed, I have;
find?"
what did you
"An old woman, drunk, with an empty gin
bottle by her side, one of those creatures who
grow thin by drinking, wan, and wasted away
to a skeleton, and with the awful marks of her
past life stamped upon her face."
"Poor creature! A very old woman?" ques-
tioned Mrs. Summer.
"Yes, sixty and more!"
"And the boy who begged,- did he buy gin
1
50
Peter's Strange Story.
with the money that you gave him last even-
ing?"
"He said he did, but he also bought bread to
feed another poor thing,—a puny girl no larger
than a baby,—and himself."
"How dreadful!"
"The want of food, and warmth, and cloth-
ing has doubtless done that," said Mr. Summer,
letting fall the daily evening paper, and rising
and placing himself with his back to the fire;
९९
and," he continued, clasping his hands behind
him, and going to the window, "until that is
remedied, we'll be finding children like that,
year after year."
"Have those poor people nothing to subsist
upon?"
१९
Nothing!"
"I hope you did something for them, Henry.
As long as you were so imprudent as to thrust
yourself into that infected and dangerous neigh-
borhood, you might have used your time to some
Seeking a Way.
51
good advantage.
We should run risks only to
do good."
Ce
Well, I did not do anything for them, per-
manently,-
"Oh dear! you could not leave them to starve,
could you?
""
"Oh no. I aided them a little by ordering
some beef for them, every day, for a while; that
will stave off hunger; but there was nothing to
be done until I talked with you about it.”
"If we could get the child, the baby, up
in the country where it could breathe the fresh
air, and drink fresh milk, it might grow; now,
don't you think so?" suggested Mrs. Sum-
mer.
Yes; but then there's the boy; he is worse
off than the girl in one sense. The care and
love of the baby, as he calls her, has saved him,
kept him off the street, and kept a real natural
affection burning in his heart. Take the baby
away from him, and unless we provide some-
{
52
Peter's Strange Story.
thing to take her place, he will surely and hope-
lessly go down.”
"It's a fearful question,- this poor question,"
said Mrs. Summer; "what's to be done with
all our poor?"
"No, no; you are mistaken; it is not such
a fearful question; only no man makes it his
business to ask himself the question; but asks
it of somebody else. Now we've only to do,
at present, at least, with this one poor family;
but we are, as I hold it, now that we know
about them, responsible in a degree for their fu-
ture. That is one of our talents, the next
thing is to choose the way to work."
"Just so, Mr. Summer; and that's the dif
ficulty; if somebody would only tell us,― point
out the way when we get to a place like this.”
"We don't want it pointed out; I hope we
have got the common sense to do our own point-
ing, now that the Lord has chosen to give us the
material to work with."
Seeking a Way.
53
#
"Well, what do you propose to do with these
poor children?"
"I'm going to have the girl up to the farm,
but I'll leave the boy here for awhile."
"And the drunken old woman, what can be
done for her?” inquired Mrs. Summer.
"Nothing. She can not live."


CHAPTER IV.
DEATH IN THE GARRET.

AT WAS now four weeks since Mr
Summer paid his first visit to Peter.
The low attic room in the tenement
house had, during this interval, seen
some changes. A few articles of furniture had
been introduced, some warm, clean bed clothing
covered the prostrate woman, and there was
plenty of food every day in the room.
The baby, as Peter persisted in calling the
little human waif, was no longer there to claim
attention. She had been, through the advice and
4
Death in the Garret.
55
instrumentality of Mrs. Summer, removed to the
country wnere, it was hoped, kindness, fresh air,
and abundance of wholesome food might restore
health, and quicken the almost paralyzed nature.
Peter had boldly resisted the interference of these
good Samaritans among his household gods, and
it was not until he had been reasoned with, over
and over, and had been made to understand that
if the change was not effected the child would die,
he yielded and gave up his charge.
As it was, he clung unto her to the last, car-
ried her in his arms, hugged and caressed her,
while he explained to her weak mind that if she
would go away from him now, she would grow
strong, and large, and be able to run all around
the streets with him when she might return to
the city. Baby herself was hardly capable of
understanding what change meant, and it was
with a quiet and unruffled demeanor that she was
borne away in a carriage to the depot.
As for Peter, he had gone into business. The
56
Peter's Strange Story.
For
butcher, at whose shop we have seen him beg-
ging, through the recommendation of Mr. Sum-
mer, had consented to receive him on trial, and
pay him a small stipend for his work. This
work had taken him from home for some time
before his little companion was removed from it;
but it had furnished him with means to buy
bread and cakes for her and for himself.
the sake of this he had, at first, been very thank-
ful for the work; but it was not until the little
girl had been taken away, and he was left alone
with the old woman, that he began to take pleas-
ure in his occupation. He appeared now every
morning at an early hour, at his place of labor,
with his face and hands washed clean at the
street pump, his old clothes more tidily fastened
to his body, and having added somewhat to his
comfort, and to the grotesqueness of his whole
figure, by a tall hat, which Job, the butcher's
man, had given him; and though he received
a good many sharp reprimands, he bore them
Death the Garret.
57
with submission and patience, and endeavored to
improve in the eyes of his employer.
At this time the weather had changed from
warm, golden days which invariably come with
October, to shorter and colder ones. November
had come in with a prolonged, cold rain, which
continued a day or two at a time, and then broke
into a pale sunshine and gray sky that were
scarcely more pleasant than the falling water, and
then returned to mist and rain and east wind.
21
The dampness penetrated even into warmed
and luxurious houses; but in those where there
was never a fire, and which were open to the
beatings of the storms, it crept into the very
bodies of the poor.
A week of this weather told upon the poor old
woman up in the loft where Peter lived. The
gin provided for her did not keep off the chill,
which penetrated through the broken roof and
windows, and shook her aged limbs beneath the
bedclothes. Mrs. O'Brien, who had become in-
58
Peter's Strange Story.
terested in Peter, climbed up once a day, in his
absence, to look after her, and give her a short
neighborly chat. These visits were received very
gruffly, when they were noticed at all, but she
would often lie obstinately silent when her neigh-
bor spoke to her. One day she had preserved
this continuous silence, while her friend, who had
brought up something hot for her, urged her to
partake of it.
"An' it's feelin' better ye will, if ye 'll only
take a sup o' this broth," said the kind-hearted
Irish woman, pressing the steaming bowl upon
her.
She took hold of the old woman's arm and
shook her gently, but the latter did not open her
eyes nor speak, and finally, after waiting a short
time, and seeing that there was no probability of
getting any notice from her, Mrs. O'Brien placed
the bowl by her side on the floor and with-
drew.
But the old woman, whether she had heard her
Death in the Garret.
59
neighbor's kind words or not, did unclose her
eyes shortly after she was left alone. She did
not feel out as she was accustomed to for the gin
bottle, but looked about with that collected and
rational expression which often comes to the in-
ebriate and the insane just before death. She
turned herself a little on her side, and her glance
fell on the window, it being the one portion of
light in the dark, low room. The long, beating
rain, which had blurred the window during many
days, had subsided, and above the house - tops
the pale, clear blue of the November sky shone
serenely.
The old woman saw the sky bending so near ;
she saw also the cross upon the church spire,
which was lifted so high that it seemed almost
to touch the blue; and memory began to stir in
the old brain, now clearing off the mists of sin in
which her life had enshrouded it. The pleasant
and pure associations of youth, when she had
loved a cross and a church, and with other chil-
60
Peter's Strange Story.
dren had sung sacred songs, thronged back to the
heart which beat so faintly. What a pain the
memory of that life, long since past, brought with
it!—the sharp pain of remorse, the longing to
reach back over the chasm which lay between,
and touch again that happy, free period. She
groaned as she recalled it, or rather as it returned
unbidden, and with eyes fastened upon the cross,
she muttered to herself.
}
While she looked, a faint glow of crimson
began to spread over the shining surface. The
sun was setting in glory, and a river of red light,
which flowed up the western sky, shed its hue
upon the windows and walls of the great houses.
The cross, which stood in the full blaze of the
declining sun, reflected this ruddy glow from its
surface. The eyes of the old woman widened as
she beheld the bloody color with which it became
imbued; she lifted herself upon her elbow and
stared eagerly through the window at the glisten-
ing emblem. She felt the approach of death; she
Dea in the Garret.
61
knew the monitions within her breast; there was
no more longing for drink, nor any other longing
for earthly things, but a steady setting backward,
out of nature, of every desire and feeling which
had lately been powerful in its sway over
her.
She groaned again, and cried out in a sharp
whisper for help, for the Lord Jesus to save her;
then she sank back on the pallet, her hands fee-
bly catching at the bedclothes, as though she
would hold on to something that was slipping
from her. She tried again to turn her eyes to
the red cross, but they failed in their office and
closed together; and with another breath and a
gasp, the soul came out from its tenement, passed
outward and was gone. Let us trust that, like
the thief who died with our Saviour, her cry for
help was not too late.
Peter, when he returned from his work, notic-
ing that neither the broth nor the gin by the side
of the bed had been tasted, looked closer at the
62
Peter's Strange Story.
old woman's face, and was frightened at its pal-
\
lor. He hastened down stairs and called his
friend on the lower floor, and with her returned.
to the room above.
'I did n't think she was so nigh gone," said
Mrs. O'Brien, "or I'd staid by an' seen the poor
crature out of the world; it's lonesome to be dy-
in' alone."
ter.
"What do folks do to die?" inquired Pe-
"An' they jist go out o' the body, an' sure an'
that's the ind of it, intirely!" replied the
woman.
"Where do they go?" asked the boy.
"Where? Oh, an' haven't ye heard, ye 've
got a soul, that goes off, when ye die,- off to
some place?
""
"How can it go?" whispered Peter as he gazed
at the pale, awful face lying on the bed; "has
the soul got feet?"
"I don't know 'bout its feet, but it's got
Death in the Garret.
63
wings an' flies away, so I've heard many oʻ
times."
"Then has Granny's soul gone away, fly-
ing?"
"I s'pose it has; it's likely; but we must 'tend
now to the body of the poor crature. She must
be buried, Peter; ye know that."
"Yes; shall we have a funeral in this room?"
"Sure an' we will; won't all the neighbors be
wantin' to come?
""
There was a funeral, and the last respects were
paid to the remains of the poor old woman, and
then they were buried.
After this event, Peter was quite alone in the
garret. When he came in at night, he took his
dinner down stairs with Mrs. O'Brien, who kind-
ly cooked his with hers and her husband's, and
after that he went up to sleep in the lonely, dark
room. He missed Baby far more than the old
woman, and his thoughts, if he had any, after he
took himself to bed, usually ran upon the little
64
Peter's Strange Story.
girl. Still, sometimes, after he had settled for
the night in bed, he wondered where Granny had
in her soul; and he would lie with his eyes
fixed on the window, half expecting the soul
would fly in there.
gone
The knowledge of the possession of a soul had
startled Peter. It was a new, hard thought for
him to master,—that there might be something
in him, belonging to him, and yet that was not
quite him, something that went away when he
died, and left him so cold and still, to be buried
in the ground. That he, and Baby, and every-
body, had a soul,- for so Mrs. O'Brien had said,
was a marvel to the unenlightened boy.
Without knowing anything of the soul's destiny,
- for the words heaven and hell, which he had
heard in oaths, conveyed no idea to him, it
seemed to him a difficult thing to understand
where it could go; and he doubted not that it
flew around in the atmosphere above like the
birds, and like them came and perched upon the
Death in the Garret.
65
house - tops or on the trees, looked in at windows,
and kept watch of old acquaintances.
But these thoughts were too complicated for
Peter to pursue. Indeed, they could scarcely be
termed thoughts, but rather shadows of them,
vague and uncertain, floating across his dark, be-
wildered mind. But, shadows as they were,
they suggested pleasant instead of painful images,
when they came. His happiest thoughts, how-
ever, were of Baby. He would often lie awake
after he had gone up to his bed on purpose to
think over what she had eaten for her breakfast or
dinner, or who had carried her about, and how it
looked at the country home to which she had been
carried. He wondered if she ever cried, and ever
wanted to see him; and he was stout in his belief
that she would never like anybody else quite so
well as she had loved him.
Peter remembered how soft the little girl's
small hands were to the touch of his, and how af-
fectionately she used to place them upon his
66
Peter's Strange Story.
cheeks and clasp him around the neck when she
was pleased, and how easily she conveyed to him
any wish. Her motions were plainer to him than
other people's words. He questioned of himself,
-"Who could understand Baby in that strange
place, and give her what she wanted?" Peter
would thus carry on the argument with himself,
as though he were able to give her everything she
desired; and as though it had been a great
wrong to take her away from him; but when he
had thought it all through, he confessed to him-
self that it was better as Mr. Summer had decided
it, and then he would fall asleep. But if Gran-
ny's soul could have looked in at the dirty win-
dow, it would often have seen the boy asleep
with the tears upon his face.
But nobody can be said to be truly unhappy if
possesses one subject of thought which affords
pleasure; and Peter, in his solitary life, found
that thinking of his pet was a great relief to his
loneliness. During the day he had no time but
Death in the Garret.
167
for his business, which was a good thing for him.
His master looked closely to his own affairs, and
he required every one under him to do the same;
no boy was allowed to loiter on his way with a
market basket, or lose a moment of time; and
Peter, after one or two failures in promptitude,
learned that he must have his thoughts
about him if he wished to retain his position.
With his mind and body thus occupied through
the day, and with little relish for the society of
Mrs. O'Brien, Peter's only solace lay in the
pleasant pictures which he conjured of Baby, and
of the time when they should again live together
in some more pleasant way than in the old, fear-
ful beggar life, which had proved so fatal to the
poor child.


1
CHAPTER V.
SEEKING NEWS.

NE DAY, after Peter had been
about two months in the employ of the'
butcher, he went to see his benefactor,
Mr. Summer. That gentleman had
told him that there would be news once a month
from the people with whom Baby lived, and that,
if he would come to his house as often as that,
they could give him information concerning his
little friend. Accordingly, Peter, who had
watched the weeks very narrowly, at the expira-
tion of the time, prepared for the visit. It was
Seeking News.
* 69
Sunday afternoon, the boy having chosen that
time because there was no other day to choose.
There was very little that he could do in the
way of preparation. The small wages which he
had earned had been used for food and rent, and
as yet he had not been able to purchase himself
any clothing, so that he was compelled to appear
in almost the same motley garb which he had
worn when he first saw Mr. Summer. But he
washed himself carefully, and Mrs. O'Brien
combed his hair, and brushed his coat, and took
a stitch here and there in the old pantaloons,—
which had some time before been furnished with
suspenders, where they had broken into large
rents; then with his tall hat overtopping the
whole, and nearly swallowing his head and face,
he started for Mr. Summer's house.
It was a frosty day. The ice lay in the gut-
ters, and a keen, snowy air quickened the steps
and the flow of blood in the passers by. Peter,
with reddening feet, and hands deep in his pock-
70
Peter's Strange Story.
}
ets, proceeded at a round pace. Mr. Summer
lived a long distance from the street where Peter
dwelt, and the walk, which sometimes fell into a
run, proved a long one; for it was in the middle
of the afternoon that he approached the tall,
brown stone house, situated on the handsome
street, and rang the basement door - bell. The
cook came to the door; she had been interrupted
in her dinner, which she was in a hurry to dis-
patch to get on a Sunday visit, and she answered
the boy's question, "if Mr. Summer was home,"
by saying:
Mr. Summer do n't see street boys on Sun-
day," and thereupon slammed the door in his
face.
If Peter had been knocked over he would not
have been more astonished; metaphorically
speaking, he was knocked over, and it took him
some minutes to recover his presence of mind
sufficiently to pick himself up. In this effort he
was assisted by another boy, who had seen him
Seeking News.
71
go down the steps and ring the bell, and who had
watched over the railings to see if he obtained
anything.
"Ring the upper bell, covey; may be you'll
get in there!" the boy called out in a low
yoice.
Peter went up the high steps and pulled the
knob, and in a few minutes his confidence was
quite restored by seeing the stout person of Mr.
Summer standing in the open door. The gen-
tleman regarded him in uncertainty and surprise,
then he said:
ce
""
Oh,— oh, you' re; yes, yes, you are,"
"Yes, I'm Peter," said the latter, quickly sub-
stituting the name which had been forgotten.
"Hm! You're Peter; well, I do n't see peo-
ple on Sunday as a general thing, my boy; why
did you not come on a week day?”
I have n't time; I work all day," responded
Peter.
"Ah, you work, hey? Well, your clothing
72
Peter's Strange Story.
rather belies that," said Mr. Summer, with his
customary asperity of voice.
But I don't earn much yet,— only enough
to buy my dinner and lodging. How 's Baby,
please? Have you heard from her?
""
"Yes, heard last week from the farm."
"Oh, how is she? Is she growing?" cried
Peter, eagerly.
"Hem! Well, she has n't had sufficient time
to grow very much; but you may come in and I
will tell you what they say about her;" and Mr.
Summer stood back, admitted the boy into the
hall, and shut the door.
The gentleman led the way to the dining-
room, with the cheerful fire burning, and Mrs.
Summer sitting in a rocking chair before it,
drew the boy's steady eyes only for a moment,
for it was Baby that held his thoughts. Mr.
Summer took a letter from a receptacle, which
hung on the wall, and seating himself, said:
"Here's what they say about her: The
Seeking News.
73
poor little girl whom you sent up is getting used
to us, and to her new home. When warm
weather comes, we hope that living out of doors
may be of benefit to her; at present, she is the
most feeble and puny creature I have ever seen.
She does not speak a word yet, and not knowing
what name to call her by, she goes by that which
you said was used by her folks, Baby. She
has every attention from my wife, and seems con-
tented.' That's all they say about Baby, my
boy," said Mr. Summer, folding the letter, tak-
ing off his spectacles, and looking hard at the
boy, with his shrewd but pleasant blue eyes.
Peter, who had devoured every word from the
letter as it fell from the lips of the reader, at the
conclusion of it, let his glance fall on the floor in
a look of disappointment.
>>
What did you expect to hear, boy?" in-
quired Mr. Summer, noticing this glance.
"I don't know," murmured Peter in an apolo-
getic tone;" but I wanted to hear more."
74
Peter's Strange Story.
1
"Well, they may tell us a good deal more in
the next letter; I shall hear again by and by, and
you can come and learn all they say about her."
Peter made a motion to go, but his steps
were arrested by Mrs. Summer, who said,—
"Is this the boy who took care of the little
girl, Mr. Summer?"
"Yes; this is Peter," he replied.
"Have you had any dinner, Peter?" asked
the lady, whose benevolence had already over-
come her aversion to his unwholesome appear-
ance.
"Yes, Ma'am," he answered.
"Do you get work to do?" she continued.
"Yes, Ma'am; I'm working in the butcher's
shop."
"Have you no better clothes than those you
have on?"
"I have n't got any others!"
"Oh dear!" she exclaimed; "barefooted, and
it's such a cold day, too. I do think, Mr. Sum-
L
Seeking News.
1
75
mer, we have something the boy might wear to
make him more comfortable. At all events, I
can find something to cover his feet, I'm sure.
Just wait, Peter, until I return;" and Mrs.
Summer left the room.
"The butcher told me," said Mr. Summer,
"that the old woman, Baby's grandmother, is
dead."
"Yes, Sir!"
"And you stay there all by yourself?”
"Yes, Sir; I pay the rent, too, every week,"
said Peter, with commendable pride.
·
"That is right; pay for everything you make
use of. Pay as you go,' that's a good proverb
for a boy to learn," said Mr. Summer.
"I'm going to have bigger wages soon, if I
keep doing better," said Peter.
"Then you are doing better?" inquired Mr.
Summer, as though he had not taken the pains to
inquire of the butcher, how the boy was doing
his. work.
h
76
Peter's Strange Story.
६. -
i
"They say I am," said Peter; "I try, be-
cause I want to earn more, so that I can have
Baby back, and take care of her myself, some-
time."
"That's a good motive; but the girl is better
off where she is, and will be for several years,
than she would be here in that unhealthy garret.
You are lonesome, I suppose, now that the old
woman is dead.”
er Can you
tell me," inquired Peter, suddenly,
"where Granny's soul is?"
"That's a strange question; what makes you
ask it?" said Mr. Summer.
"'Cause, it went away, somewhere, did n't it,
or is it round here yet?"
"I don't think her soul is near us, at any
rate," said Mr. Summer.
"Where did it go, then?" inquired Peter, with
both interest and anxiety depicted in his counte-
nance.
"I can not tell, boy; the soul goes either to a
Seeking News.
77
state of happiness or of misery when it goes out
of the body. If people live good and honest
lives here, and love and trust in the Lord Jesus,
their souls go to a beautiful city, where He lives,
and where they stay always ever after in happi-
ness; but if they live wicked lives, their souls go
to another place,— a very dreadful place, where
they never rest any more, and never find happi-
ness."
"Then did Granny's soul go to the very dread-
ful place?" inquired Peter.
"I tell you I can not say," responded Mr.
Summer.
"But Granny was not good; she used to beat
Baby, and she drank gin every day, and swore,"
said Peter, summing up unconsciously his gran-
ny's faults.
Mr. Summer made no reply to this, and,
after a moment, Peter asked:
"How do souls go away from us? Do they
fly, or walk?"
78
Peter's Strange Story.
"I don't know how, but they go, and are
gone; they don't come back here any more,"
was the reply, with a strong emphasis on the
word here.
"Will my soul go where Granny's is?" asked
Peter, quickly.
"If you are a good boy, and try to be good,
your soul will go to the happy city where the
Lord is the King; but if you are a wicked boy,.
and try to be bad, it will go to the other place.
A good deal depends on your trying, where it
shall go."
"Can't it go where I want it to go?"
"No, no; the Lord judges where it shall go,—
where it is fit to go.
"
"Who 'll tell the Lord about it,-whether it's
fit or not?”
Why, don't you know that the Lord sees
ali you do, and hears all you say? Don't you
know that, Peter?
"
"No Sir, I do n't know nothing about it,"
Seeking News.
79
replied the boy, looking aghast at the revelation
of such a fact.
"Is it possible," exclaimed Mr. Summer, start-
ing from his chair," that any boy of your age has
lived in this city all his life, and is in such igno-
rance !
At this moment Mrs. Summer returned to the
room, bringing in her hand a pair of her own
thick walking - boots, with a pair of thick stock-
ings.
There, I think these will just about suit him;
do n't you, Mr. Summer?" she said. "Now,
down to the basement, Peter," she continued,
go
"
and wash your feet, and put on these shoes and
stockings."
Peter took the articles from her hands and
obeyed, going down the basement stairs. After
he had left the room, Mr. Summer observed:
"That boy is as
heathens; I do n't
existence of God.
ignorant as one of the Natal
believe he even knows of the
How has he escaped the
}
80
Peter's Strange Story.
!
colporters? They are generally supposed to reach
the occupants of the dampest cellars."
"I hope the boots will fit him," said Mrs.
Summer; "they are my last winter's ones, and
they are almost as good as these I have on;
they don't even want a button!"
"I dare say they'll fit; you have a large foot;
but it's easier fitting a boy to clothes than to
moral relations. He asked me if the soul has
feet! Think of that, Madam!"
"Poor child! Well, he is probably as well -
informed as many others, and I truly think,
if they could only be clothed warm and comfort-
able, they would understand religious subjects
better; do n't you, Henry?"
"Some that are warm and comfortably clad
don't seem to have much understanding on the
subject."
"Well, I'm sure," said Mrs. Summer, "it
would have that effect on me. If I were bare-
footed to-day, and running about the streets, and
Seeking News.
81
in such thin clothes as that Peter wears, I should
be apt to inquire if the soul had feet!'
""
"Well, suppose you should set to, wife, and
clothe him from top to toe, do you think it would
be as good, morally, for him as to let him earn
his own clothes?"
"I think that the very act of clothing him
would have a moral effect."
""
"Pho!" exclaimed Mr. Summer with a snort;
"he's now on the way of earning himself some
clothes, and let him! What a moral develop-
ment it would be for him, to be able to step into
a clothing store and buy him a coat and trousers,
which he will do in a short time!
ce
And, meantime, Henry, suppose he should
be laid up with consumption, in consequence of
going barefooted on this frosty pavement; how
would he buy his new clothes?"
"Well," said Mr. Summer, "I have provided
him work to do, and you have covered his feet ;
now we will let him alone for awhile, keeping an
}
82
Peter's Strange Story.
outside watch of him. If he has begun to study
upon the movements of the soul, you may rest
assured that making him help himself is going
to be the sure method of aiding him to prosecute
the study. Think, Mrs. Summer, of a butcher's
boy, barefoot, looking into these mysteries!'
"I'll give him a book to help him; what shall
I give him, Henry?" asked Mrs. Summer, ris-
ing and opening the door into the library.
"Bring the Pilgrim's Progress!" said Mr.
Summer.
Mrs. Summer found the book and brought it
back with her, just as Peter emerged from the
kitchen passage into the room. The boy's feet
in a pair of kid, button boots with white stock-
ings showing between the tops of them and his
short pantaloons, made a lively contrast to the
rest of his habiliments, and he stepped as circum-
spectly as though he had been put upon stilts.
ee
Why, they fit nicely," said Mrs. Summer;
"do they feel warm, Peter?"
Seeking News.
83
1
"Yes, Ma'am !" replied the boy, "but they
squeeze."
Can you read, Peter?" inquired Mr. Sum-
mer, taking the book in his hand.
"No, Sir!"
"Can't read?" he inquired.
ce
No, nobody never learnt me!" said Peter.
"Well, you must set about learning to read.
You would do your work twice as well if you
could read."
Ce
Oh, I know figures and some things about
reading, but I can't read a book.”
"And, moreover, there are books which tell a
great deal about the soul; if you could read,
you might read those books."
"I will learn as soon as I get a chance to,"
said the boy, with interest.
"I should think he might learn evenings,"
observed Mrs. Summer.
"Yes, I suppose he might," replied her hus-
band, "if he had a light, and a warm room, and
84
Peter's Strange Story.
a book, and a teacher, four necessary requi-
sites to studying in the evenings."
"Well, Peter," continued Mrs. Summer, as
though she had mentally summed up all the pos-
sibilities in the case; well, something will
surely turn in your favor, by which you will be
taught to read. So be as good a boy as you can
every day; and now go down into the kitchen
and eat the lunch which I told Bridget to put on
the table for you."
"And, Peter, said Mr. Summer, "I'll speak
to the butcher about you; you try to be a faith-
ful boy, and there 'll be help for you."
"How soon will you have another letter?"
inquired Peter, as he turned to go down stairs.
"In three or four weeks,-four weeks from
to - night you come here, and you can learn some-
thing more of your little girl."
"And if you write to the folks there, will you
tell them to tell Baby that I keep thinking of
her all the time, and that I want to see her bad?”
Seeking News.
185
he added, as with moistened eyes he went out of
the room.
"That boy has got quite a sizable heart in
his bosom," said Mr. Summer, seating himself
and putting on his glasses; "he shows natural
affections- he shows upward tendencies."
"And he living in such a way, too!" an-
swered his wife; "its a wonder!"
"Plant a seed in the rankest earth, and it will
spring up and show its parentage; and why
should n't a soul planted in the mire of iniquity
sometimes show its heavenly germs?
""
"That is true; the Lord watches his own, and
if Heaven had only saved to us our boy! Oh dear
when so many bright little fellows have no home,
and no mother, and no nothing, and we could
have taken such good care of one! If ours could
have lived in place of some one of these unfortu-
nate ones!"
"That is a very unsubmissive state of mind,
wife," returned Mr. Summer. "The Power
86
Peter's Strange Story.
which shapes events to a right issue, surely was
not in weak force when it took our boy. Let us
believe that it was good, though it was bitter."
Mrs. Summer made no reply to this, but sat
musing with her eyes fixed on the glowing fire
in the grate, while her husband turned over the
pages of the Pilgrim's Progress, looking first at
the engraving of Apollyon and then at that of
the burdened Christian. Suddenly he said,-
"Christian would n't have been Christian if he
had n't had this burden on his back, and it's likely
that every Christian has got to carry one of his
own."
"I suppose so,” replied his wife. "I've been
thinking," she added, after a moment's pause,
"could n't we take this boy, Peter, in to our own
family, and do something better for him than he
is doing for himself? What do you think?"
"I don't think anything about it, and I don't
want to; I don't believe in adopting children,
nor in adopted children, either,” replied the gen
Seeking News:
87
tleman, rising, laying down book and spectacles
together on the table, and beginning a march, at
a quick step, back and forth across the room.
"I knew you would n't care to consider the
subject; but still I thought I'd mention it,"
said Mrs. Summer, demurely.
Do n't mention any such thing, wife; no one
can come in and take the place of our dear flesh
and blood, that God took, and we won't consider
it."
"But in some other capacity, Henry," sug-
gested Mrs. Summer; "let him stay below and
help the cook, and go on errands for me when I
need him !"
"No, no, wife, no; that can't be, either. I
don't wish to do that; servants who are em-
ployed for your work can do it best; and do n't
let us take a boy and cripple his efforts for him-
self, by making a half servant and half something
else out of him. Let Peter stick to the butcher
awhile; he's better under his rigid discipline
88
Peter's Strange Story.
-
than he could be under your benevolent laxity.
He would lose instead of gaining by indulgence;
let him alone, wife, and as for us,"-
"Yes, that is something that does often worry
me, Henry; who is to look after us when we are
old! Who will take care of us, then?"
"Well, I think we shall be provided for, then,
just as we were provided for when we were in-
fants. The Lord looks out for the second child-
hood of his children, as certainly as he does for
the first childhood. Now we will submit that to
Him, and not fret about it."
"Still, there's nobody,- we've no nephews,
nor nieces, nor distant relations; somebody must
be raised up for it, and why ought n't we to be
the means to raise the person? It seems to me
no more than right that we should."
"Don't speak of it any more, wife, please,”
requested Mr. Summer as he resumed his seat
and spectacles, and took up his Sunday news-
paper.

CHAPTER VI.
MISHAPS AND STRUGGLES.
-
HEN Peter left Mr. Summer's
house, with his feet protected from
the cold stones, and his stomach
filled to its utmost capacity with roast-
beef and mince pie, he found the same boy had
been loitering by the railing when he entered,
standing some yards farther down the street.
The boy was evidently waiting for Peter to come
out, for he joined him immediately, and
asked.
"What did old Winter say to ye? Got on
some footers, any way!"
>

90
Peter's Strange Story.
"His name's Summer, 'taint Winter;" replied
Peter.
"Oh ho! aint it? Guess I know him; he's
tried his preachins on me, too. We calls him
Winter; but do n't he blow on us though!"
"He's been good to me, he has," said Peter,
defending his patron.
"Hi, I see; he's put some gal's high heels on
to ye! Ye're grand as a ruffle - cock, aint ye?———
white stockings, too; but them's no go for
us fellows ! "
Peter began to wish he could get rid of his
companion. He did not like being picked and
laughed at, so he said,-
"I must hurry up and get home," and he
began to run.
"I got to hurry up, too," said the boy, running
by his side.
But the new boots fitting so snugly upon Pe-
ter's hitherto free feet considerably impeded his
progress, the heels especially, catching against
*
Mishaps and Struggles.
91
;
the uneven paving - stones, tripped him often
from his balance, and once threw him sprawling
half across a street which he was crossing.
"Hi!" exclaimed the boy, "aint used to heels,
be ye?" And he waited until Peter had got
up.
Peter now thought he would shake off his
companion by walking slowly, but the boy also
slackened his pace. Then he asked, as they
came to a cross street,-
"Which way be you going?"
"I'm going the same way you be,” replied the
boy; "taint safe for you to be going alone with
them heels on; ye might hurt yerself!"
"I can take care of myself," said Peter;
I've had enough of your company."
and
"I have n't had half enough of yourn," sneered
the boy, as he followed Peter into the cross street.
Down this street the boys walked side by side,
looking angrily at each other. Before they had
walked far they came upon two or three other
92
Peter's Strange Story.
boys clustered together near a stoop. These
boys joined them.
"Here's a jolly one, ain't he?" said the boy
who had followed Peter from Mr. Summer's
house; "he's been a coaxin' old Winter, in the
big stun house, to gin him them boots and fix-
in's."
Peter
At this news the boys shouted with laughter,
and one said he should like to see if they were
not too tight for the feet, and he accordingly
stooped and took hold of Peter's ankles.
attempted to repel the boy, and in a moment the
whole troop fastened upon him like vultures,
threw him to the ground, and began pulling off
the boots and stockings. This feat accomplished,
one seized his hat, which had rolled from his
head in the squabble, and, the others carrying
away the shoes and stockings with them, they
ran off as fast as they could, leaving the poor
boy as scantily clothed as when he first drew the
attention of Mr. Summer in the butcher's shop.
Mishaps and Struggles.
93
He was even worse off, for his coat had sustained
several severe rents, and one sleeve was nearly
torn from the arm - hole.
Peter got up, and wended his way home as
fast as he could walk. Besides being lamed and
sore, he felt humbled and cowed; and when he
reached his house he crawled in under cover of
the dusk of the early twilight, and, without see-
ing Mrs. O'Brien, sought his room in the attic.
Here he sat down on the pallet and thought over
the events of the day;-the mishap of losing the
boots, after all, seemed small compared with the
disappointment of not having heard something
more about Baby. He dropped a good many
tears, as he ruminated in solitude, which he might
not have let fall if he could have walked quietly
and comfortably home with his late possessions;
for the outrage had roused his feelings up to that
point which admitted of no self- soothing, it
was the last drop in his cup of bitterness which
had set it overflowing.
1
94
Peter's Strange Story.
The next morning, when Peter appeared at
his work, there was nothing to indicate the scuf-
fle of the preceding day, except the absence of
his hat. He had pinned the torn sleeve back
into its place, with pins picked up from the
pavement, and his small, blue, round face wore
as calm an expression as usual. It is probable
that the assault of the boys on the previous day
would have remained unknown there, if, during
the morning, Mr. Summer had not walked into
the shop. Peter was busily employed upon some
work in a corner, and did not observe the en-
trance of his friend; but Mr. Summer's keen eye
soon singled him out and made the discovery that
he was barefooted, as usual.
Ce
Here, Peter," he called out;
"where are the
boots which you received yesterday?"
Peter knew he had done no wrong, but a con-
sciousness of not being able to account for the
loss of his boots in an honorable way, was con-
fused in his mind with the fear that he would be
Mishaps and Struggles.
95
considered guilty, and so he hung his head, and
said something in a low tone about not wearing
them any more, which Mr. Summer could not
!
understand.
"Come here, come here," cried the gentleman,
"tell me, why do n't you have them on this
morning?"
Ce
I have n't got 'em," said Peter, drawing near
as he was requested, but with his eyes on the
floor.
ee
Haven't got them? Where are they?" ques-
tioned Mr. Summer, sharply.
Peter was inclined to excuse himself, but not
being quick in invention, his mind did not catch
at anything by which he could begin, and while
he puzzled over it, Mr. Summer asked him again,
but in a gentler tone,-
"Where are your boots, Peter?”
Peter, without looking up, answered,
Some boys pitched on to me, as I was going
home from your house, yesterday, and took 'em
96
Peter's Strange Story.
-
away from me. I fought hard, but they werè
too many for me."
Mr. Summer looked doubtfully a moment at
the bare feet, but remembering that the boy had
told him the truth on previous occasions, he
said,-
"Did they take anything else?'
"The sto ckings and the hat, and tore my coat;
see!" and Peter turned his shoulder and showed
the rent.
"How did it happen? tell me," commanded
Mr. Summer.
Peter thereupon narrated to him the whole
story.
"There are gangs of boys like that, all about
the city, Mr. Summer," said the butcher, "and
it's very probable that it is as Peter tells
it."
"I hope it is," answered the gentleman, "for
the loss is nothing to speaking falsely."
"I think Peter speaks the truth," said the
Mishaps and Struggles.
97
୧୯
butcher; we have not found him in a falsehood
since he has been with us."
That is worth all the boots and stockings in
New York city, Peter," said Mr. Summer.
<< If
your word is relied on like that, it is just as good
as mine or that of any President.
I'm glad
you lost the boots, my boy, and I'll send you
another pair, to - day ;" and upon that Mr. Sum-
mer walked out of the shop, thumping his cane
upon the paving - stones more vigorously than
ever.
"One-sided old gentleman, that, Sir," said
Job, the foreman to the butcher; "but knows a
thing or two,- knows what's right;" and he
shook his head approvingly over a quarter of
lamb which he was sawing into steaks.
As for Peter, he felt very comfortable in mind
after receiving this eulogy, and he went to his
work with a will and a light heart. He received,
moreover, before night, a package containing
two pairs of calf - skin shoes,- Mr. Summer
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Peter's Strange Story.
?
1
never doing anything by halves,
and he went
home quite contented. That night, there was
also another cause for his cheerfulness, for he
carried home a candle and the "Lessons for Be-
ginners," which he had bought at a small book -
store near by. He ate his supper, which con-
sisted of a potato roasted in the hot ashes, and a
sausage which Mrs. O'Brien cooked for hím in
the same pan with a mackerel, which she was
frying for herself.
After his repast, he went up
and set himself to learn to read.
Now it is not an easy task for a boy of eleven
years, of only ordinary ability, to learn lessons
set for him by a teacher; but here was Peter,
without any one to encourage or give him the
least lift in his task, tired out with carrying
heavy baskets of meat all day, and chilled with
the cold of an autumn night, with a light so faint
that he could hardly distinguish an M from an N,
or a V from a W, taking hold and pursuing his
study because it had been recommended as a
Mishaps and Struggles.
99
means of helping him work better, and of teach-
ing him something about the soul.
But he made small progress at first. He went
over and over the same thing until the letters all
ran together and made nothing at all; he shut up
the book discouraged, only to open it the next
evening and go at his work with renewed hope.
The first week of his self-imposed study proved
the most trying to Peter. During that time he
mastered a line of Poor Richard, which said,
"A penny saved is two pence earned." This he
repeated to himself as he went and came on his
many errands, but it was less the words than
the thought which occupied his mind.
The evenings had now begun to lengthen, and,
according to the old adage, “the cold had begun
to strengthen," for an unusually severe term of
cold weather had set in. The wind blew in great
gusts from the north, and rattled the little win-
dow, and creaked the broken roof over Peter's
head, and a black frost stuck fast to the earth.
100
Peter's Strange Story.
It was all that the boy could do to keep warm
when tucked in his bed, with what clothing he
had heaped upon him, and he found it impossible
to sit in his room and study.
But Mrs. O'Brien, who by dint of questioning
never failed to get all the information she wanted,
had learned about Peter's purchase of the book
and his attempt to learn; and one evening, which
was even colder than usual, she invited him into
her room.
"An' is it stingy ye think me," she said, "of
my fire, that ye's laving me as soon as ye've
aten? Stay a bit, Peter, an' look at your book
where its warrum an' comfortable loike ! "
Peter did not wait to be urged, but stationed
himself in the corner, and there pursued his les-
sons. The smoke from Mr. O'Brien's pipe,
which curled around his head and settled like a
gauze veil upon his page, did not interfere with
his work, though it reddened his eyes and made
him cough.
Mishaps and Struggles.
101
"What's turned Peter to a book?" inquired
the man of his wife, as he noted the boy's undi-
1
vided attention.
"An' I don't know what; it's may be to
make a butcher of himself, an' have a shop,"
was the answer.
But Peter did not volunteer to tell why he was
trying to learn, though he was grateful for the
Irishwoman's kindness, and his gratitude ex-
pressed itself in a smile and a pleasant word,-
"Thank ye, Mrs. O'Brien; I've been com-
fortable to - night, and have learned considerable;
thank ye!"
After this, Peter brought his book in every
evening, and soon began to carry it in his ca-
pacious coat pocket; and if he got a little spare
time, he took it out and learned a word or two.
But he generally mastered the thought before he
gained the words, so that he improved less in
reading than in the thought which imparts satis-
faction to a fresh and wakeful mind. About
}
102
Peter's Strange Story.
this time, too, he began to think for himself; that
is, his mind began to strike out like a feeler, here
and there, into new subjects, as they attracted his
attention in the shop or in kitchens where he
conveyed meat to purchasers. Cooks asked him
questions which made him ask himself other
questions; serving men and maidens sometimes
said a word that helped him, and the butcher's per-
emptory orders were suggestions to the boy's
understanding.
That mystery about the soul's wanderings, too,
of which he had got some faint knowledge, was a
fruitful source of wonder to Peter, for his medi-
tations upon it usually began and ended in won-
dering. He believed it was his ignorance that
made it so dark to him, and he truly expected, as
soon as he could read books, to get light upon
the deep and dark subject.
The thought of Baby was the only one that
served to depress him. When he remembered
her his heart sank, and he grew homesick with
Mishaps and Struggles.
103
the longing to see her again. Once or twice a
wild hope entered his heart, that he might go
and see her; but it was a hope that died almost
as soon as it had birth. He knew he could not
go from the shop without another taking his
place, and that would leave him without means
to pay for his dinner and his rent; besides, he
was beginning to lay up money to earn a coat,
a warm roundabout for winter, and he must keep
straight on until he had done that. It was his
only course, to keep to his business and learn
from his book.
And thus all his ruminations and thoughts,
feeble as they were, circled around this one point,
to stick to duty as far as he saw it, though he
had never heard the word duty, and would not
have been able to tell its meaning, if he had.
Meantime, he began to gain flesh. Ragged and
cold as he was, his regular labor and regular
sleep, with plenty to eat, begun to produce their
effects in his system, and he had already began to
4
104
Peter's Strange Story.
lose the blue look which hunger had stamped
upon his countenance and to acquire a stronger
voice and a firmer step. The men in the shop
had a kind and encouraging word for him as his
faithfulness and his character for truth established
itself, and Peter had already touched the ascend-
ing node by which poor boys grow into rich and
respected men.


CHAPTER VII.
TRYING TO FIND GOD.

HE four weeks which were to elapse
before Mr. Summer expected to receive.
news from the farm, at last rolled away.
Peter had watched for the time, and had
joyfully counted off the Sundays until the fourth
arrived. Then again he proceeded towards the
house of his friend. This time he rang the bell
at the upper door, and made his entrance to the
dining - room, where Mr. and Mrs. Summer
sat before the fire reading and talking.
୧୯ Ah, here is Peter, come for news of the little
girl," said Mrs. Summer.
106
Peter's Strange Story.
Ý
}
"Is there a letter yet?" he inquired, eagerly.
"Yes, I have had it some days," replied Mr.
Summer.
ly.
"Do read it, please," said the boy, eager-
Certainly, but the news is not as pleasant as
Ahem! but I will read; take a chair,
I wished.
Peter; sit down!"
Peter, thereupon, sat down softly on the edge
of a large arm - chair, with his eyes fastened on
Mr. Summer, who wiped his glasses and slowly
unfolded the letter. He looked along the pages
until he came to that portion of it which con-
cerned the child, then he read :
"The baby secms more ailing. I have had the doctor once;
he thinks it is the want of former care, and that she may come
round all right in the spring. She has a good appetite, sleeps
well, and is getting fond of us; she never cries, but sits quite
still, and plays with a doll."
"You see, Peter," said Mr. Summer, folding
up the letter, "that it is going to take a good
while for the little one to get over the effects of
going hungry as she used to. You remember
Trying to Find God.
107
*
about it; she would have soon died if she had
stayed up in that cold garret with you; but as it
is, she has a kind woman, like a mother, to look
after her, and she will finally get well, I think,
and begin to grow like other children.”
'Oh, I thought she would be growing by this
time," exclaimed Peter, sorrowfully.
"Don't be discouraged, Peter," said Mrs.
Summer," she will get over the weakness by and
by. Poor thing!" she added, but whether she
meant that Baby or Peter was the "poor thing" it
was difficult to guess, for she looked hard at the
boy as though it were he.
"You must pray for the little one, Peter,” said
Mr. Summer; "you say your prayers, don't you?"
Peter shook his head.
"You know your prayers, don't you?" he
asked.
Again Peter shook his head.
"Dear! dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Summer; "do
tell him, Henry, how to pray!"
1
108
Peter's Strange Story.
;
1
"You ought to kneel down every night and
thank God for taking care of you; did n't you
know it?" said Mr. Summer.
"But He do n't take care of me," said Peter;
"1.take care of myself."
"No, no, my boy, it's God that takes good
care of you, and of everybody else," said Mr.
Summer.
"Then why did n't He take better care of
Baby, so she could be strong and well?" asked
Peter in a voice between a sob and a groan, if
He takes care of everybody.”
"He took His care of her," replied Mr. Sum-
mer, “but the fault of her not growing lay with
her grandmother; if she had not spent her money
for gin she would have had it for Baby's good,
and the child would have had plenty to eat. The
grandmother was in fault, to neglect her, and
leave her to be taken care of by you, a child
yourself, who did not know how to do it prop-
erly."
Trying to Find God.
109
"Then if God takes good care of everybody,
He'll see that Baby does grow, now she has
enough to eat," said Peter, quickly.
"Yes, I trust so, if she has n't any disease
settled upon her that can not be cured," said Mr.
Summer.
"You must pray for her, Peter, and for your-
self, also," said Mrs. Summer.
"I don't know how; I'm afraid to," replied
Peter.
"You need n't be afraid," said Mrs. Summer,
"because God wants you to pray to Him, and He
hears and gives what we pray for."
"How can He do that?"
"Because everything is God's. He made
everything, you and me, and the earth, and the
sun, and the sky; He is Lord of everything, and
we ought to thank Him for His love and care,
and pray to Him.”
"If I ask Him to make Baby grow, will He
do it for me?"
110
Peter's Strange Story.
"I think He will if you ask for the Lord Jesus'
sake,” replied Mrs. Summer; "and if it is for the
best."
"Where is He? How can I find Him?" in-
quired Peter.
"He is in heaven," said Mr. Summer, with a
look of surprise directed toward his wife. "God
is in heaven where the souls of good people go
when they go from here. I told you, if you are
a good boy, your soul will go where He is.”
"How can He hear me then, when I ask Him,
if He is so far away?" persisted Peter.
"He does hear all we say, and sees all we do;
I told you so before, when you were here,"
continued Mr. Summer, in his emphatic tone.
"But He won't mind me, I'm afraid; He
won't take notice of such as me," said Peter.
"Yes, He will," said Mr. Summer; "He loves
little boys like you better than grown up people,
1 believe."
"But I'm so, so ragged, and poor."
{
Trying to Find God.
111
1
"He don't think the less of us for being rag-
ged and poor," said Mr. Summer; "for that mat-
ter, there's nobody comes to Him that is n't
ragged and poor. He is the only rich one!"
Peter looked through the large, south window,
where the setting sun was shining, in its golden -
pale light of winter, and said,-
"If I could go to Him, and see Him,- but
how can I ask when I do n't ever see Him?”
"Shut your eyes, my boy, and ask, and believe
He hears; that's all you have to do; that's your
part of it. He hears what you say and answers
it ! "
"Have you never been to church?" inquired
Mrs. Summer.
"No, Ma'am ! "
"You could learn a great deal about God, and
what you ought to do, if you could go to church,”
she said.
"There's a church near to my house; I see
the cross that is on it from the window in
112
Peter's Strange Story.
}
my room; I could go there," said Peter.
"Well, go there, my boy, go there,” directed
Mr. Summer; "you go next Sunday, and go
every Sunday. The church is the house of the
Lord on the earth, and He is in His house;
pray every night at home, and go to church on
Sunday, and pray!
""
"You must have some better clothes, Peter,"
said Mrs. Summer.
"I've got 'most money enough earned to buy
a coat; I can get it this week!
"Then you will look nicer; but do n't stay
away from church if you do n't get the coat ;
do n't mind that!”
"Be careful and not let the street boys rob
you again, Peter!" said Mr. Summer.
ee
Oh, I hide the money where they can't find
it,” replied Peter, with a satisfied smile.
୧୯
my
By and by," continued Mr. Summer,
wife and I are going away to be gone some
months, and then I don't know how you will get
Trying to Find God.
113
news of your baby. I'm afraid you can't hear
until we come back."
"When will you come back?" inquired
Peter.
"Not until the warm weather comes.
}
We a
are
going to Florida, where it is summer all the year
round."
Cr
Ain't there no snow there?" inquired the
boy.
"None, nor frost, nor cold; it is the land of
flowers and sunshine. I have what doctors call
the asthma, and I am obliged to go there every
winter for that."
"How soon will you go away?" asked
Peter.
ce
In a couple of weeks."
୧୯ Then you will be gone all the winter?"
"Yes, all the winter."
"And I sha'n't hear nothing from Baby all
winter?"
"No; there's no way of your being able to
114
Peter's Strange Story.
know; but you must be patient, and trust that
she will live and be well, and you must pray for
her," said Mr. Summer.
"What's the name of the place where she is?'
asked Peter.
"It's Summerville."
"Which way is it?
""
"It is north; almost directly north; but it 18
a long way from here, my lad! ”
"Is it pleasant there?"
Oh,
"Yes, in the warm weather, it is very pleasant.
There are woods for Baby to walk in, and a large,
green meadow, where a wide river runs, and a
pond with lilies blossoming on the top of the
water, and a great garden full of flowers.
Baby will be very happy there, you may be sure,
when spring comes and she can go out of doors.
Besides, there are lambs and calves, and ducks
and geese which swim on the pond, and horses,
and a wagon, in which she can ride, and four or
five children to play with her.
Think how well
Trying to Find God.
115
我
​off she is, Peter, with all the milk she can drink
every day, milk warm right from the cows!
""
"Must she stay there a long time?" asked
Peter.
"Yes, she ought to stay there several years;
it is the only way to make her live, Peter.'
Peter looked down to the carpet, sadly, without
saying anything further.
"Now, I want you to go down stairs and eat
some dinner," said Mrs. Summer; "I told them
to have a good dinner for you today!"
"I ain't hungry," said Peter.
"Well, we must eat, sometimes, when we are
not hungry," said Mr. Summer; "go and try to
eat. I will remember you, Peter, and see if
there is not something that I can do for you."
Peter withdrew and went down to the kitchen
where the waiting - maid had laid out his dinner.
There was cold turkey, and cranberry sauce, and
sweet potatoes, and tomatoes, and plum pudding,
-dishes which Peter had never before tasted,
116
Peter's Strange Story.
but for which he had no appetite now.
But he
ate a little of the turkey, and when he refused
the pudding, the girl kindly wrapped it in a
paper, and told him to put it in his pocket and
carry it home, for it would be good to eat the
next day. He took it as she wished, and started
for home.
and,
Though Peter had no misfortune to - day of
meeting with bad boys and being stripped of
his clothing, he went home heavy hearted.
Seeing that Mrs. O'Brien had some friends to
tea, he went straight to his own room,
lighting a candle, sat down in the cold by him-
self. Nothing that he had learned during the
day had served to lighten his burden of trouble,
or remove the sense of personal responsibility
which rested upon him. But the thoughts
which oppressed the mind of the boy passed
gently away as he remembered what he had
heard about praying, and that God listened
when he spoke, and would answer him. He
Trying to Find God.
117
thought he must begin to pray; he was cer-
tain that he ought, but how? How could he
put the words together? What could he say?
They had told him that he ought to pray
every day, every evening; and this was the
time to begin, now; but what could he say?
He had thought while coming home of what
he could ask, for Baby, of the great God,
but now, as he rose and knelt down, it all
slipped away from him; he could think of
nothing; his mind whirled round and round
in confusion and pain, and he was tempted
to give it up. Why should he? Just then
he remembered that God saw him, and knew
what he was thinking, and that He would hear
him if he spoke, and he uttered in a loud
whisper:
Lord, do take care of Baby, and fetch her
soul and my soul together to your beautiful
city!"
The prayer ended with a loud sob, and after
118
Peter's Strange Story.
i
it was finished, Peter rose, and, hurriedly un-
dressing, placed himself in bed, where, with a
few long, troubled sighs, and some secret tears
which he took no pains to wipe away, he fell
fast asleep.


CHAPTER VIII.
A CALL FOR HELP.

HE winter, which was now at its
coldest, proved more severe than ordi-
nary.
Heavy snow - storms fell, one
after another, which kept a great body
of snow upon the ground. This made the
walking hard and slippery, but Peter trudged
manfully to his daily tasks through the snow and
slush. He had supplied himself with a coat, a
roundabout which kept his shoulders very warm,
and his legs were well protected with a pair of
120
Peter's Strange Story.
second-hand pantaloons; he had also purchased
him a woolen comforter of red and yellow colors,
which went twice around his neck and above his
ears, and kept out the cold winds.
Thus equipped, and with a cap which had been
given him in lieu of the old hat which he had
lost, Peter looked like a different boy. He still
pushed on his way with his reading - book in the
evenings at Mrs. O'Brien's fireside, trying hard
to understand it, but it was slow work. Some-
times he learned six lines in a week's time, but
often it was only one; a little help about the pro-
nunciation would have been invaluable to him
then, but that he never received, for Mrs. O'Brien
was, as she said, no scholar, and her husband
was even worse in this respect, so there was no
one to whom he could apply for help. Hence
Peter drudged on alone over the hard road to
knowledge.
But in one respect, Peter gained ground. He
had followed Mr. Summer's advice in everything,
A Call for Help.
121
1
and he did not delay to go to church on the first
Sunday after his last conversation with that gen-
tleman. The church, whose cross was so near
his home, was the one to which he directed his
steps. It was a church which contained seats for
poor people in the galleries, and the sexton told
him, as he shyly appeared and looked in at the
door, to go up stairs and take any seat that he
wished. He accordingly went up and took the
end seat, near the door, and seeing that the men
and boys there had no hats on, he took his cap
off and put it on his knees.
It was yet early, long before the services were
to begin, and there was opportunity for him to
look at the beautifully stained windows, and the
arches which stretched above across the center of
the building; and when the music of the organ
began, without knowing why, Peter felt his heart
swell in his bosom, and the tears come in his
eyes and roll over his cheeks. Then he recol-
lected that Mr. Summer had said to him that he
1
122
Peter's Strange Story.
must go to church to pray, so he knelt down
and offered his first simple prayer in the house of
God.
When the services at length began, Peter did
not hear either the prayers which the clergyman
offered, or the sermon, being so far from the
pulpit that his voice was lost in the arches of the
roof above; but the movement of the music had
brought so much peace into his heart that he
waited until it was finished and all the people had
gone, before he left the church. After this,
Peter went to church every Sunday. It was his
practice to go as early as he had had his break-
fast, and then say his prayers before the services,
for the boy had no idea that he could go to
church and not pray; he thought everybody went
for that, and the simple, believing prayers which
every Sunday went up from the corner of the
gallery, brought the poor boy nearer in faith to
the Lord, and gave him a peace of heart which
prayer and prayer alone can give.
A Call for Help.
123
Thus the weeks of the cold winter crept slowly
along, and the sun began to rise every morning
a little earlier, and a little farther to the north,
and the twilights lengthened, and touched with
their crimson and golden colors the waters of the
bay, and the ships, and the glowing spires of the
great city; white clouds floated slowly along the
blue heavens above by day, and at dusk a soft,
purple haze fell upon the streets, and shrouded
the dark places and the haunts of the poor with
its tender folds, and through its inistiness the long
lines of lighted lamps looked like pathways of
stars.
Peter began to see all these objects with new
eyes, as though he had never seen them before.
It was the opening spring of a new being to him;
all his past life seemed a cold, hard winter, which
was now breaking up; and hope began to dawn
in his heart.
It was ow about the first of March, when,
one nim is Peter was returning from his work,
124
Peter's Strange Story.
he encountered, near the dark street where he
lived, the same boy who had met him some
weeks before, near Mr. Summer's house. The
boy was doubtless on the lookout for him, for as
Peter approached he whistled and then turned
and joined him.
"So, covey, how be ye?" asked the boy.
"I am well," said Peter, hastening his steps
towards his home, and averting his face from his
companion.
"You look so; you hain't been to see old
Winter lately, have you?"
"If you mean Mr. Summer, he's gone away,'
said Peter.
""
"I calls him Winter; it suits him better; it's
more like him," said the boy.
Peter did not condescend to reply to this.
Say," asked the boy, "what do you do, work,
or fag? Are you a worky?"
"I work," said Peter.
"You do," said the boy, whistling again shril-
A Call for Help.
125
ly, and then he added, laying his hand heavily
on Peter's arm; "you hain't a shilling you could
lend a feller, have you?"
"No, replied Peter, "I haven't any money to
lend."
"We'll see if you hain't!" said the boy. Im-
mediately, Peter felt himself grasped upon the
other arm, and before he knew it, his arms were
pinioned, and his mouth covered by two or three
hands, while another searched his pockets. The
pockets of his pantaloons contained nothing but
some strings, a piece of chalk, and a worn-out
handkerchief; the two outside pockets of the
roundabout were found empty, but there was
another inside pocket where Peter carried his
money which he had earned, folded in a brown
paper. He hoped they would not find this pocket,
but, alas! though he struggled, and bit, and
kicked at his assailants when they unbottoned
his coat, it made no impression upon them, and
they snatched the money as soon as they dis-
126
Peter's Strange Story.
:
cerned it, and, shaking themselves clear of him,
for now Peter held on to one of them with all
his might, shouting for help,
the dark street, and were out
ment.
they ran off down
of sight in a mo-
When Peter recovered his presence of mind
sufficiently to run for a policeman and start in
pursuit of the gang, there was not a vestige of
a boy on all the street before them. But he
described the boy who had thus the second time
attacked him, to the policeman, who promised to
keep on the watch for him, and secure the money
if possible. But Peter knew there was small
prospect of getting it again, and he resolved for
the future to leave his money in his room, or in
the care of Mrs. O'Brien.
This theft took off the wages of a month,
wages which he had scrupulously saved up to buy
a pair of pantaloons which he much needed ·
and while he ate his dinner he narrated his mis-
fortune to Mrs. O'Brien. She was loud in ex-
}
127
A Call for Help.
pressing her sympathy for him, and counseled him
to leave his money with her, and she would take
care of it for him.
Peter went up to bed later than usual that
night. The conversation about the young thief
and the loss of the money had consumed a large
part of the evening, and consequently he studied
later than usual to lose no ground with his lessons.
After saying his night prayer, which he had nev-
er neglected since he first began to pray, he slid
into bed and was soon fast asleep. It was some
time in the night that he was suddenly awakened
by a light, which shone at the foot of the bed and
fell directly upon his face. He sat up in bed and
looked to see what caused it, for it was not like a
candle, or a fire, or anything he had ever seen
before. The light remained fixed in its position,
steady and white; when Peter, thinking that he
would go to it and see what it was, got out of
bed; but as he approached, it receded from him.
and when he had stepped forward until his hand
128
Peter's Strange Story.
1
touched the wall, he found that, though the light
still seemed before him, there was nothing but
the wall to be touched or seen.
The boy, perplexed and frightened, returned
quickly to his bed, and getting into it, he saw
that the light bad also returned to its place.
While his eyes were now fixed upon it, its pro-
portions seemed to change, though not its white-
ness, and it slowly assumed the form of a child,
and then he saw that it was Baby. After a mo-
ment, he saw herself, only perfectly white and
shining. His first thought, while he gazed at
the semblance or the reality, whichever it might
be, was that Baby had died, and this was her
soul that had flown into the window to see him.
He was not afraid any more, but called out to
it,--
"Baby, I'm glad you've come; how did you
come?"
Peter said, when he spoke, he had not remem-
bered that Baby could not speak, but he thought
A Call for Help.
129
;
of it immediately, even before he was surprised
by her reply in a strange, sweet voice!
"I'm going away, Peter, very soon, and I
wanted to tell you!"
"Where are you going, Baby?" cried Peter.
"To the beautiful city," she answered, in the
same sweet voice.
୧୯
"Then you are going to die," said Peter;
are you going to die, Baby?
""
"I'm going away soon," she answered.
९९
Oh, do n't go, Baby, not till I can go and
see you!” cried Peter.
She smiled as he asked this, but did not an-
swer, and he spoke again.
"O Baby, I want you to stay longer; I want
to see you; wait a little while!"
"I'll wait a little while, Peter," she answered,
in the sweet voice again; "only come just as
quick as you can!”
After these words the light began to grow less;
it did not go away, nor even move, but grew
130
Peter's Strange Story.
fainter and dimmer until it was nearly invisible
tò him; when, fearing that he was going to lose
it entirely, he sprang out of bed and rushed to-
wards it, only to find that there was nothing left
but the blank darkness of the room.
It was all
gone. And after he had again got into bed
there was nothing to be seen.
He sat still a long
time, looking at that one spot, hoping the light
might reappear, and listening intently for any
sound that might
nothing more. After some time, he lay down in
bed again, not to go to sleep, but only to wait
until daylight, when he could rise. He said he
knew that Baby was going to die, and he de-
termined to go where she was and see her.
arise; but he heard and saw
But though he did not intend it, Peter did
fall asleep, and slept until the dawn had lighted
up his room; then he awoke and hurried up and
dressed himself. Whether what he had seen was
a vision or a dream, it was distinctly impressed
upon his mind, now that he was awake and in the
A Call for Help.
131
broad day, that he had seen Baby herself, or
Baby's soul,—it was no dream. Having dressed
himself, Peter sat a moment on the bed - side to
consider what he should do. He had determined
to set out at once to go to Baby, and the first
thing to do was to get off in the right direction.
He knew the name of the place where she lived,
and the direction from Mr. Summer; but he did
not know how to get out of the city into that
direction. He concluded to take Mrs. O'Brien
partially into his confidence.
When he seated himself, therefore, by his
neighbor's side at the little stand on which they
all took their breakfasts together, he asked,—
୧୯
If anybody should go straight up Broadway,
+
would they go out of the city at last?”
Sure they would, and they would come
'long by the river, too," she replied.
Is that North, or West?" asked Peter.
"It's to the North ye go, if ye go up the
Broadway, in course."
132
Peter's Strange Story.
Peter was silent a while, reflecting how he
should tell Mrs. O'Brien that he was going away,
without telling her the whole truth, which he
was determined not to do. At length he said,——
"I'm going away for a few days, and I'm
going that way, too."
"What's takin' ye away from home, Peter,
and from your business, too; say?"
१९
Something, I can't tell all what," responded
Peter with his natural honesty.
"Is it after the thieves ye are going?" asked
the woman; "ye'd better let 'em alone with their
booty. They'll come to the rope without yer
helpin' 'em, and ye 'll bring yourself into trouble
if ye follow 'em.”
"No, I shan't try to follow 'em," said Peter,
"and if the watchman gets my money and brings
it here, you keep it for me, will you?"
"Yes, that's but small things to do for ye;
but what's it that takes ye out of the city? tell
me."
A Call for Help.
133
"I can't tell," said Peter; "do n't ask. It's
right; all right."
"I don't doubt you are doing right, Peter,"
she replied, "ye 're such a dacent boy; but
may be the butcher 'll not consaint to yer going
away, at all."
"I don't think I shall speak to him about it,"
said Peter.
"Then ye'll lose your place entirely, Peter;
and it's a good place with good wages; ye
must n't do anything like that," said the Irish
woman, reprovingly.
"But I must go; I can't stop here; it's a
thing that won't-I must go, I must," ex-
claimed Peter, sitting back from the table.
"Finish yer pertater, and yer piece of
pork; ye've ate nothin' at all this morning;
ye've not tasted it, barely."
"I ain't hungry; I don't want breakfast,'
said Peter, rising.
ce Then ye will go; well, it'll all come out
*
ļ
134,
Peter's Strange Story.
1
to the fore, no doubt, for ye, and I'll spake
to the butcher myself, to-morrow,
it, an' try an' keep the place for ye."
about
"Thank ye, Mrs. O'Brien; I don't think
I'll come
I shall be gone but a few days.
back as soon as I can," said Peter.
"An' it's luck that will go with ye, I
say; ye's born to good luck, Peter, ye be,
and it's few that be that; but ye's one of 'em."
"Good bye, then," said Peter.
"Shake hands, then! there; now, if it's not
relations that ye's going to see, it bothers me
why ye should be going, a child like you!"
"Good bye," said Peter again, hurrying on.
"Don't say it agin, Peter; there's no good
luck in three good byes; never say good bye but
once, boy."
Peter smiled back at her caution, and then
shut the door.

CHAPTER IX.
IN SEARCH OF SUMMERVILLE.
T WAS still early morning when
Peter issued into the narrow street that
turned towards Broadway. A few
pedestrians were on the streets; the
laborer with his implements, and a tin pail con-
taining his dinner, in his hand, was hurrying to his
daily work; beggars were astir scrutinizing the
walks and looking anxiously down the areas;
women and children were searching the ash - bar-
rels for stray pieces of coal; the milkmen were
crying in their shrill voices and clattering their
1

136
Peter's Strange Story.
milk cans; paper carriers were distributing their
newspapers; and grocers and butchers had begun
to open their shops and set out their wares, but
all other places of business were still closed.
The clocks of the churches were striking seven
as Peter entered Broadway, and hastened past the
great buildings up town.
He walked rapidly,
and soon had passed far beyond the region of his
home and business.
appeared to be going down; no one but himself
was going up; this he particularly remarked as
he saw the numbers increased as the morning
wore on. He kept straight ahead, ascending
little by little as he proceeded, and noticing that
the houses diminished in size and stood farther
apart. It was nine o'clock when he reached the
point where the great Central Park now begins;
here he inquired of a policeman how far Broad-
way extended, and was told that the road con-
All the people that he saw
tinued some miles farther, but that the name
changed about there.
In Search of Summerville.
137 -
.
"I want to go to the North," said Peter.
"Well, this road runs directly North," was the
answer. "How far are you going into the
country?'
""
"It's a hundred miles where I'm going," re-
plied Peter.
"Do your folks know you are going? because,
it seems to me that you appear in too much of a
hurry."
"Yes," replied Peter, remembering that Mrs.
୧୧
O'Brien did know about it yes, they know."
"Take care that you do n't get lost. I suppose
you've been there before?”
"No, I've never been in the country before
at all; but I've got to go!" and Peter moved
on.
"What's the name of the place where you are
going?" inquired the man.
"It's Summerville; do you know about it?"
called back Peter.
"No, I never heard of such a place," he said.
138
Peter's Strange Story.
Peter turned his face to the north and pro-
ceeded. He picked his way by the roadside ;
for, now that he was off the pavements, he found
the walking much harder than in the city, the
road, naturally stony and rough, was now filled
with a thick mud. Hopping from stone to stone,
or walking close up to the board fence which shut
it in on one side, he avoided the wet places and
got on with tolerable comfort.
The excitement of last night had so nerved him
for his undertaking that he did not yet feel the
least fatigue, nor did he think much of the
dream; for the sharp, bracing atmosphere and
vigorous exercise which he endured drove thought
away for the present. As he proceeded, how-
ever, he found the road getting worse, the mud
was thicker, and in some sections the whole road-
side, where he walked to avoid the carriages, was
apparently a stretch of marsh, which let him into
the mire at every step.
Peter had no idea of the relative distance of a
In Search of Summerville.
139
hundred miles. He supposed he should reach
the end of his self-imposed journey by night, or
certainly on the morrow; he therefore walked on
bravely without thinking to inquire about the dis-
tance until the sun was high in the heavens.
About noon, he questioned an old man, who was
driving a couple of cows along the road, if he
could tell how far it was to Summerville. But
the man said,-
There is no such town nowhere about here, as
I knows on, and I've lived here, near by, all my
life; it must be a good ways ahead.”
But this intelligence did not discourage Peter,
and after ascertaining that he was on the road
which ran to the North, he moved forward with
his first eagerness and with undiminished pace.
He was now in full view of Hudson river, lying
at his left; and though he sometimes glanced to-
ward its waters which stretched away in sparkles
and shimmering lights, and at the white sails
which studded them, he had no heart to admire.
140
Peter's Strange Story.
The open country which he had now reached,
with its barren fields, its leafless trees, and its
dim, cold perspective extending before him,
would have been unattractive at a time when the
mind was free; but to the anxious boy it seemed
forbidding; his only thought, as he gazed in ad-
vance upon its cheerlessness, was that he must
pass over it, that his journey's end lay far be-
yond the reach of his eye.
Late in the afternoon he overtook an umbrella
mender. The man had a large bundle of broken
umbrellas and parasols swung over his back, and
another in his hand. He walked slowly and
wearily, but eyed Peter as he came along with a
look which the boy could not understand. Soon
he asked him :
ter.
"Where are you traveling?"
"I am going to Summerville,” replied Pe-
"You've got a long trip before you," said the
man.
In Search of Summerville.
141
"Have you been there?" inquired Peter.
୧୯
Yes, a good many times; 't'ain't much of a
place."
"Do you know about Mr. Summer's farm?"
asked Peter, suddenly remembering that it was a
farm to which Baby was taken; "can you tell me
where his farm is?"
"No, I don't know any body's name that
lives there; I only know there's such a place."
"How long does it take you to go to Summer-
ville?"
Sometimes two or three weeks
a good deal longer."
Peter looked at the man in dismay.
sometimes
"I thought I could go there in two days," he
said.
The man shook his head, and replied,-
"You can't travel that fur so soon as two
days, 'less you went on the cars.
You can go
on the cars, but you 'll have to pay for that."
"I can't go that way then," said Peter, "for
142
Peter's Strange Story.
}
I've lost all my money. They do n't carry boys
for nothing."
"How did you lose your money?" inquired the
man.
But Peter did not think it prudent to confide
his trouble with the street boys and their theft to
every person he met, so he said,-
"It's all gone; I have n't a cent left! "
"How are you going to buy your provender on
the way?"
"I do n't know; I ain't hungry, now, but it
won't take me so long as you say to travel to
Summerville."
"I s'pose not, 'cause you don't stop on the
road as I do to mend umbrellas; but if you want
to travel with me, you can.
""
"I'm in a hurry," said Peter; "I must get on
as fast as I can."
Ce
What's your hurry?" demanded the um-
brella mender; "you 're better off 'long with me,
and learn my trade; I'll pay your board for
In Search of Summerville.
143
!
what you can help me as we travel. What do
you say to it? Just take this bundle and begin
now!" he added, reaching out the one he car-
ried in his hand.
"No, I can't wait," said Peter, without notic-
ing the bundle; "I must go as fast as I can;"
and he hurried on at a faster walk.
"Some folks don't know when they get a
good offer," the man called after him.
But Peter redoubled his speed and soon put a
considerable space between himself and the travel-
er behind him.
The sun was now getting low in the west, and
the air was becoming chilly. It was much cool-
er here than in the city. Peter began to experi-
ence the difference, and for the first time during
the day he began to feel hungry, and he con-
cluded that at the next house which he might
pass on the road, he would ask for some food.
He was now ascending a swell of land over which
the road wound in a long, irregular curve, and
144
Peter's Strange Story.
=
which shut out from his view the prospect both
before and behind him.
But he could see smoke rising over the trees
of an orchard which lay upon one side of the
road, and he knew there must be a house near at
hand. Urging on his weary feet he saw, as he
turned a corner, a large, brown house before
him. He entered the enclosure and, approaching
the door, knocked. After a long interval, or
what seemed so to Peter, a woman opened the
door.
"Can you give me a piece of bread to eat?" he
asked.
"I've nothing for beggars,” replied the woman
in a surly voice; "why don't you work? I can
pile up that wood
give you work to do; go and
under the shed, and you shall
and lodging for it! "
have your supper
Peter was tired and hungry. He looked up at
the sky, and saw that the sun had already gone
down behind the horizon; he looked at the
In Search of Summerville.
145
wood which would require an hour's work or
more; but the work would pay for what he
needed; besides, he remembered the umbrella
mender had told him that it would take a long
time to travel to Summerville, so he replied:
"Yes, I'll pile the wood if you'll give me
some supper and keep me all night."
""
That's right," said the woman; "if you are
willing to work I'm willing to feed you! Git
out! this last exclamation was uttered to the
cat, which had followed her mistress to the door
and had clambered up upon her shoulder.
Peter went immediately to the shed and began
his work,— the woman calling out to him from
the door and telling him in what manner she
wished the work done. He worked slowly but
industriously during a half hour; at the expira-
`tion of that time the woman called to him that
•
supper was ready, and to come in and eat,
finish the wood afterwards.
and
Peter walked into the house and found him-
146
Peter's Strange Story.
!
1
self in a clean kitchen, the doors and the floor
and the wooden chairs of which were all painted
yellow; neat white cotton curtains, stiffly
starched, hung at the windows; a bright wood
fire burned in the cook stove, and the supper
table with its savory dishes stood ready. Peter
was invited to sit down. There were at table
only the woman who had given him the work to
do, an old man, her father, and a little girl about
four years old, who sat in a high chair at the
table.
The woman heaped his plate with baked beans,
pork, brown bread, a large piece of apple - pie,
and cheese, and insisted on his drinking a cup of
hot coffee. She asked him many questions while
she helped him, and was greatly surprised to
learn that he had walked from New York since
morning.
"Why, it's twenty miles, all of twenty; -
what a walk for a boy! And you do n't seem
over tough, nuther. Where are you going to?"
In Search of Summerville..
147
she questioned, in a tone showing both curiosity
and sympathy.
"To Summerville," answered Peter; "have
you ever been there?"
"I never heard of the place," she answered;
"I guess there ain't much size to it, or I should
have heard of it, for I know all the big places
'long up the river. What takes you there,-
alone, too?"
"I'm going to see our Baby," replied Peter,
"she's sick," and as he repeated the last words,
the memory of his dream and the possibility of
the little girl's dying came forcibly to mind, and
brought the tears suddenly to his eyes.
The woman saw his emotion, and said in a
pitying tone,-
}
"There, there; don't cry, now! Eat your
supper; guess she will be well by the time you git
there."
But the woman's sympathy, far from repress-
ing Peter's feeling, only stimulated it. Weary
1
148
Peter's Strange Story.
and sad, it needed but this expression of tender-
ness from the stranger to jar the already overtaxed
nerves, and he laid down his knife and fork on
his plate, and sat, back in his chair unable to
swallow anything more.
The tears rolled over
his cheeks.
"What ails the boy?" asked the old man.
Ce
Why, he feels bad, I s'pose," replied the
woman in a sharp tone, to screen the boy's grief;
"you go out now and pile up a little more wood,"
she added to Peter," and I'll keep your supper
here for you to finish when you come in."
Peter started up and went out to recommence
his work. He was very glad to be alone where
no one could see the tears which now streamed
from his eyes. Under the cover of the gathering
dusk Peter's grief would have increased, had not
he soon heard the voice of the little girl calling to
him.
"Ma says, 'ittle boy, 'ou come in, now," piped
the weak voice from the door- steps.
}
In Search of Summerville.
149
Peter wiped his face and proceeded slowly to-
wards the door.
"Wats 'ou name 'ittle, boy?" she asked, as he
came up beside her.
"Peter 's my name," he replied.
"My name 's Jinny," said the child, "and I'se
got a pony. Do 'ou want to see him?”
"Yes," answered Peter.
Then come,” she said, and taking the boy by
the hand she led him along a narrow foot - path
to the barnyard.
Ope the door; he 's in there," she said.
Peter did as she requested, and saw a fine bay
horse standing in the stall eating his oats. They
looked at him a moment, when Peter said,-
"It's getting dark; had n't we better shut the
door and go to the house?"
Receiving no opposition from the child, Peter
again shut the door, and, hand in hand, they
walked back to the house. On entering the
kitchen, Peter found his supper still standing on
.50
Peter's Strange Story.
}
the table. A kerosene lamp lighted the room,
and the woman sat near it with her sewing in her
hand.
"Hurry and eat your supper now," she said to
Peter, without looking at him, "so I can clear off
the table."
Peter did not like to refuse, and, as his appe-
tite was in no way appeased, he sat down, and as
no one now noticed him or troubled him with
questions, he made a hearty meal. After his
supper, the woman showed him to a small room,
over the kitchen, where she told him he was to
sleep. In the room was a feather - bed, made high
and round, with one white pillow, and covered
with a red and blue patchwork quilt; but before
Peter divested himself of his clothing he knelt to
ask that God would take care of him and of Baby.
Then, exhausted with his long tramp and his
anxiety, he fell asleep and slept the sound,
dreamless slumber of childhood and health.
On awaking, Peter sprang up and hastened to
In Search of Summerville. }
151
1
i
go down. He found the woman of the house al-
ready cooking the breakfast in the kitchen, and,
telling her he would finish his task before he
went on, he opened the door to go out.
"I'll call you when breakfast is ready," she
said;
fast."
Ce
you must n't go on without a hot break-
This was more than Peter expected, as she had
only promised him his supper; but when he had
completed the work, he returned to the kitchen
where some
buckwheat cakes and hot coffee
strengthened and refreshed him with physical
courage to renew his journey.
"You must call here on the way back," said
the woman, "and stay all night. I'll make you
comfortable."
She gave him a slice of bread and butter, and
an apple to put in his pocket, and Jinny, the
little girl, accompanied him to the gate, and
stood looking through the palings after him, as he
went up the road.
152
Peter's Strange Story.
Peter walked more slowly than he did the pre-
vious morning. His legs were stiff, and his body
throughout felt lame and sore; but the road was
dryer, and, although it seemed to be altogether
up - hill as he looked ahead, it was more pleasant
to travel than the one which he had come over.
The weather had also changed, and for the worse.
The sky was overspread with thick, gray clouds,
which hid the sun and cast a somber aspect over
the landscape. The river near which the road
ran looked bluer when Peter turned his eyes to-
wards it, but the blue had a black shade, and the
sparkles which the sun had made yesterday were
entirely gone. A damp March wind was blow-
ing from the east, which ruffled the waters and
shook the leafless branches of the trees, by the
roadside, under which Peter passed, and which
seemed to penetrate through and through the thin
clothing of the boy.
It was a lonely road over which he was now
passing. Stone hedges separated it from the
In Search of Summerville.
153
brown fields; the dwellings stood far apart, and it
was seldom that he met a vehicle or a foot pas-
senger. The season made it still more dreary; it
was just at that turning point in the year, when
nature is at her worse. The frost was leaving
the ground, but the earth was barren, for the
grass had not begun to shoot except in a few
warm, damp spots, and the brown buds on the
trees, though swollen and ready to break forth
with fresh leaves, still waited for warmer suns
and showers than they had received. A few
birds, the pioneers of the spring, had made their
appearance in the orchards and groves; but
though Peter sometimes heard a cheerful note
from one, he did not catch a glimpse of any; but
he saw numerous crows flying in flocks along the
shore of the river, or high up across the country,
from one woody tract to another, and sometimes
a single one would alight on a tree or fence near
him, and seem to watch his course.
But Peter paid little attention to what he saw
154
1
Peter's Strange Story.
on the road. His thoughts were far ahead with
the child whom he loved. Many times he re-
called, during the morning, the features of the
dream which he had had concerning Baby, and it
hastened his steps when he remembered that she
had told him he must come quickly. But, not-
withstanding his efforts, he made but little prog-
ress during the morning. He had barely ac-
complished five miles when he thought it must be
noon; but he had no way of determining the time
except as he might inquire at the farm - houses
which he passed; and as he dared not lose the
time for this purpose, he kept on his way. But,
beginning to feel hungry, he took out the lunch
with which the woman had supplied him, and ate
it as he walked along.
The wind still blew steadily from the east,
bringing with it a misty dampness which was al-
most as penetrating as rain, and which, towards
the afternoon, did indeed turn to fine, drizzling
rain. But the wind and the rain, however, were
In Search of Summerville.
155
}
at the back of. the child, and he drew consolation
from the fact that they might help on his steps
instead of retarding them. He received a short
lift on the way about this time from a man who
was driving past in a buggy, and offered him a
ride for a short distance. It was only a mile or
so, but it rested him a little, and, thanking the
man for his kindness, he went on with fresh
courage.
But as the afternoon waned, the rain grew
more heavy and the wind became more violent.
The walking grew difficult; Peter's feet stuck and
slipped in the mud, and he often stepped in the
wrong places and sank to the ankle in the mire.
His shoes were soon soaked with the water, and
his clothing became so drenched that it seemed
sticking to his skin; but he plowed along the hard
way, thinking that for every step taken there was
just so much space diminished between him and
Baby.
As it began to grow dark early in the after-
156
Peter's Strange Story.
noon, and as there was a prospect of a very wet
night, Peter concluded he would make an at-
tempt to find a shelter. Noticing, some distance
ahead, a large, white house, he clambered over the
fence and made his way toward it. A piazza ran
all round the building, and the windows were
long, reaching down to the floor.
As Peter ap-
proached, he saw a lady sitting at one of the
windows. She had on a blue dress, with lace at
the neck and sleeves, and Peter thought her very
pretty. He drew near, and, speaking to her,
asked if he could stay all night. She shook her
head in reply, and looked away; and Peter,
thinking that she had not heard him through the
closed window, or perhaps did not understand
him, went to the door and knocked. A servant
soon opened the door, when he made the request
for a night's lodging. The girl looked at him
pityingly, as he stood dripping with the rain, and
then went to the parlor door and spoke to her
mistress.
Peter could not hear what she said,
In Search of Summerville.
157
but he overheard a querulous voice in response
say:
"No, indeed; I can't have any stragglers stop-
ping here over night. We might catch a
fever, or something; I've heard of such
things."
The girl returned to the door and informed
Peter that he could not stay.
"Have n't you no friends
asked.
you can go to?" she
Peter shook his head, and looked dolefully
from under the shelter of the piazza to the pelt-
ing storm without.
"And you're so dreadful wet, too," said the
girl as he seemed to linger; "but I can't let you
in. Hurry on to the next house; maybe you can
get kept there."
Peter turned from the door and walked back
across the field to the road. He remembered
now, with renewed gratitude, the kindness of the
homely, rough farm - woman, who had provided
158
Peter's Strange Story.
for him during the last night, and he could not
į help wishing that the pretty lady has been as
kind, and taken him in from the storm.
It now
began to grow dark very fast. Peter could see but
a little way before him on the road; he tried to
pierce the gathering gloom in search of another
house where he might solicit a place to sleep, but
he could not discern any building. He remem-
bered now that, before he left the road to cross
the field, he had noticed a thick wood a little dis-
tance on upon one side of the road, and he
thought that if he could reach that, he might at
least find shelter under the trees, but the darkness
was so thick that the woods were quite ob-
scured.
Uncertain what to do, but unable to proceed
farther in the beating storm, he crept close to the
stone hedge which fenced in one side of the road,
and sank down upon the wet ground.
trembled with the cold, his teeth chattered, and
He
he felt faint with hunger; but he reflected that,
In Search of Summerville.
159
though he should be compelled to remain there
all night, in the morning some food might be
procured at the first house he should pass.
pass. He
found, after a little, that the rain beat directly
against the side of the wall where he was sitting,
and so he got over the other side for a better pro-
tection. While reaching up to find the top of
the wall, that he might climb over, he heard a
rushing sound as of some creature plunging
through the mud along the road. He listened
and peered into the darkness; the sound increased,
accompanied by a snuffing and a growling, and
immediately a large, shaggy animal rubbed up
against him, snuffed at his hands and face, and
then began to bark loudly.
Peter, who had been frightened at feeling the
long, wet hair of the animal against his hands,
was now quickly relieved to find that it was a
dog, and was glad that he could have a compan-
ion, though it were only a brute, in the darkness.
He spoke to the dog and tried to pat his head,
J
:
160
Peter's Strange Story.
{
but in one instant the animal sprang back from
him towards the road, and running a short dis-
tance up it, began to bark; it then came rushing
back to the spot where Peter stood, and, continu-
ing to bark, returned up the road again. Mean-
time Peter heard the sound of wheels. Some
vehicle was surely approaching, and now the boy
became hopeful that he should find a way of es-
cape from the night and the storm. As the
sound increased, though not daring to move, he
added his voice to that of the dog, and called for
help. He soon saw, through the darkness, a
moving object. It proved to be a carriage, and
the person inside arrested the horse, as it came
near the spot where the boy was standing, and
called out:
"Halloo! who's there in the dark? What's the
matter?
""
"It's me!” cried Peter.
"Well, who's me?
What has happened to
you?" inquired the voice.
In Search of Summerville. - 161
"I've been caught in the storm,” replied
Peter.
"Oh, you've lost your way; well, you are
either a boy or a girl, by your voice; which is
it?"
"I'm a boy," said Peter.
"Well, you can find your way to me, can't
you?" said the voice; "come here, and get into
my carriage, I can carry you out of the storm, at
any rate!"
Peter approached the vehicle, and the occupant
of it, reaching out his hand, grasped that of the
boy and half lifted him into the carriage by his
side; then throwing a robe over him, he bade the
horse go on. The horse started up and trotted
along through the darkness as though it was
used to guiding itself, while the gentleman
asked:
"Where were you going to -night?"
"To Summerville ! " replied Peter.
"That's a long way from here; when did you
162
Peter's Strange Story.
1
expect to get there?" There were curiosity and
surprise in the questioning tones.
"As soon as ever I could," replied Peter. "I
knew it was a long way.
""
"Where did you start from?" questioned his
companion.
"I came from New York!'
"When did you leave the city?'
"Yesterday morning," was the answer.
"Have you walked? Why didn't you take the
cars?"
I had n't any money, and I did n't know as I
could go that way," said Peter.
"You've run away, you little boy," said the
gentleman, in a sharp voice.
"No, I told them I was going; I did tell," re-
plied Peter, quickly.
The gentleman did not speak again until the
carriage stopped. Peter had seen lights gleam-
ing through the darkness for some distance back,
and towards these the horse appeared to move of
•
In Search of Summerville.
163
his own accord. In a short time he stopped by
the steps of a house, which was lighted by a gay
lamp burning at the side of them. The dog,
which had run on before the carriage, Peter now
saw standing on the steps, his long hair dripping
with the rain. The gentleman descended from
the carriage and told Peter to follow him, at the
same time a man walked up and took the horse to
lead him away.
Peter scrambled out of the carriage by dint of
some help from the owner, for he did not know
where to put his feet, and then followed him up
the steps upon the piazza and into the house. It
was all light and warm within. Two or three
doors were opened into the hall into which Peter
and his companion had entered, and he saw
through one of them, standing in the center of a
beautiful room, the very lady in the blue dress
whom he had seen that afternoon, and who had
refused to permit him to stay at her house.

'
}
CHAPTER X.
STRUGGLING ON.

ETER
found himself scanned
closely by the gentleman who had thus
introduced him into his house, while he
removed his overcoat and hat, and de-
posited them upon the rack. He was a tall man,
with dark eyes and whiskers, and a pale, thin
face.
"So you're making a journey on foot," he
said, at length; "well, you are very wet, and
you had better go into the kitchen where there is
a fire and dry yourself.
""
He called a servant, and told her to conduct
Struggling On.
165
the boy to the kitchen, and see that he was dried
and had something to eat. The girl led the way
down a flight of steps, Peter following her, into
the room below. Here was a great fire in the
range, and a nice smell of dinner cooking. A
black woman stood by the range making a gravy,
and a pair of plump, roasted fowls, on a platter,
ready to be taken up stairs, stood on the range,
with dishes of baked potatoes, and macaroni, and
turnips, and other vegetables, all hot and savory.
"This boy's to be dried and fed," said the
girl to the cook, as she ushered Peter into the
room.
"I warrant," replied the colored woman;
୧ somebody or somethin's come to spile my din-
ner."
"It 's master's orders!" said the girl.
"I can wait," said Peter, who was already re-
vived by the warmth and shelter of the house,
Re never mind me.
"Don't b'lieve I shall," retorted the cook;
166
Peter's Strange Story.
୧୧
dinner 's ready to go up this minnit," she con-
tinued, eyeing Peter with suspicion, and speak-
ing to the girl, "here, put it on the dummy!”
The girl removed the dishes from the range
and put them on what Peter thought was a table
in the wall; then she rang a bell, and immedi-
ately the table began to move, and carried the
dishes up through the floor out of sight.
"Now," said the cook, "you, boy, can come to
the fire and dry yourself."
Peter drew nearer, and the woman pushed
along a chair for him.
९६
There, don't get too near my pudden," she
said, as she gave the chair another push; "you
look hungry enough to gobble it all up at a
mouthful."
Peter now noticed a plum pudding stood on
the door of the range near his seat. The cook,
meanwhile, took a chair not far off, and began to
stir together some butter and sugar to make a
sauce for the pudding, while the servant girl
1
1
Struggling On.
167
spread the cloth and set on the dishes for the
servants' table in the kitchen. Peter stretched
his feet out to the fire, and drew as near the heat
as he could to dry his clothing; and although the
steam rose in a cloud from his wet garments, he
shook with the chill which his flesh had received
in contact with the dampness.
The servant no-
ticed it and said to the cook,-
"See how that boy shakes!"
"He's makin' that; I got no compassion for
them sort o' stragglers. He wants some o' my
pudden, I s'pect," replied the cook, in her grum-
bling voice.
"Master said he was to have something to eat,"
reiterated the girl.
"He can, 'long the rest on us," said the wom-
an, and here she poured a glass of wine into the
mixture she was beating; "but I ain't to stop
my business to cook him a dinner, nor give him
master's, nudder!"
Here some one called the servant through the
168
Peter's Strange Story.
dummy; she listened a moment and then came
back and said,-
"Master says to give the boy a cup of hot
coffee, right off, for he's chilled!"
ce
Always something extra to do," growled the
black woman, as she put down the dish of sauce
and prepared to obey the command.
A pot of coffee was boiling on the range, and
the cook poured out a cup, put some sugar and
milk to it, and handed it to Peter.
९९
There, drink, and see if you can stop your
shaking!” she said.
Peter took the cup and sipped it slowly, thank-
ful in his heart to the giver, but without uttering
a word of thanks.
"Ye 're a grateful boy!" sneered the cook ;
"Ye're
"can't you say, obleeged to ye?”
"I'm very thankful," stammered Peter.
"Humph!" she exclaimed, with a wrathful
gesture, as she rose and poured the coffee from
the pot into a silver urn, which stood on a table,
Struggling On.
169
and then set that, with the pudding and sauce,
on the dummy to go up stairs for her master's
dinner.
At that moment the stable man came in, fol-
lowed by the big dog which had discovered Peter
by the road - side. The dog, seeing Peter,
walked gravely across the room to him, and,
after smelling at his hands, laid his nose affec-
tionately on the boy's knee.
"He knows ye, don't ye see?" said the man,
grinning and nodding to the dog, while he ad-
dressed Peter.
How does Bruno know him?" asked the
cook, gruffly.
"'Cause Bruno always knows them he finds in
the wet," said the man, with a still broader grin
at his own wit, as he wiped his hands, which he
had been washing in the wash basin, on the
kitchen towel.
"Go to your rug, Bruno; you are in my way,”
said the cook.
}
.170
Peter's Strange Story.
{
The dog, obedient to the command, walked
over to the farther side of the kitchen, and after
shaking himself, lay down on the mat.
"We's all on us in cook's way, Bruno, is n't
we?" said the man, with a wink at Peter and
another grin.
Peter now began to feel very unquiet. The
cup of coffee had removed his chill and restored,
in some degree, his exhausted strength; but he
did not know where he was to sleep, as the gen-
tleman had only ordered that he should have
something to eat and be dried. However, he
thought he would wait awhile before asking any
questions, and as the servants' meal was now
ready, the cook put the coffee - pot on the table,
and seated herself at the head of it.
"Give that boy the chair next to you," she
said to the man.
Accordingly Peter soon found himself at the
table, by the side of the man, who took good
care to provide his plate bountifully with all that
Struggling On.
171
the table contained. Having eaten an abundance
of food and had another cup of coffee, Peter re-
turned to his position before the fire to finish
drying his clothes.
While he stood there, a message came from the
gentleman up stairs that the boy, whom he had
found on the road, was to sleep with the stable -
man. The cook, upon this, immediately advised
them to go to their bed.
"Master do n't want strange folks a- rangin'
his kitchen all the evening, I guess," she said in
her loftiest tone.
ଝ
Well, give me some supper for Bruno?"
asked the man, "before you turn us all out to -
gether.'
""
The cook heaped a plate for the dog, then the
man said to Peter, with his customary grin,-
"Come on, boy, us and Bruno sleeps out-
side."
Peter and the dog, which had risen and shak-
en his heavy coat when he saw the plate pro-
1
172
Peter's Strange Story.
vided for him, followed the man out across the
yard to the stables, their way being lighted by
a lantern carried by the dog in his mouth. In
a loft over the stables was a small room, fur-
nished with a bed, some chairs, and a table,
which the man told Peter was his.
"Did you get your clothes all dry?" he in-
quired, as Peter began to undress himself.
"No, they are wet some yet," replied Peter.
The man took hold of his coat and perceived
that it was a good deal wet yet, and said,—
"Just take 'em off, and I'll carry 'em in to
kitchen for you, and leave 'em hanging 'fore the
fire to-night!
night! Let the old cook blow, who
cares?"
This the man did, and brought them back,
thoroughly dried, before Peter was awake the
next morning. Peter had his breakfast with the
servants, and after that he went up stairs with a
servant, who said the master wanted to see him
before he went.
Struggling 173
{
On.
Peter found the gentleman and the pretty lady
seated together in the parlor above. The room
opened into a conservatory, which was filled with
blooming plants, the odor of which made the
whole atmosphere fragrant.
"Have you got over your chill?" was the gen-
tleman's first inquiry, as Peter made his appear-
ance.
"Yes, Sir, and I'm obliged to you for your
kindness," said Peter.
୧୯
'Did they give you a breakfast down stairs?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, I suppose you are intending to set out
immediately on your journey?"
"Yes, Sir," answered Peter.
"Here, then," he said, taking out his porte-
monnaie and abstracting a dollar from it; "here
is something to buy you food when you are hun-
gry. And don't travel in the rain again, as you
did last night; stop at the first house you see
when it begins to rain, and stay there until it
174
Peter's Strange Story.
clears up. No one will refuse to keep you."
Peter looked his astonishment at this advice,
though he said nothing, but he wondered if the
gentleman knew that he had stopped at his own
house on the afternoon before, in the rain, and
that the lady had refused him permission to stay.
He looked towards her, but she had taken no
notice of him from the first, not even when he
stepped forward near her to take the money which
the gentleman handed him. Peter again thanked
him and withdrew. As the outside door was
shut upon the retreating figure of the boy, the
lady looked at her husband, and said, laugh-
ingly,-
"A fool and his money are soon parted!"
"That is true," was the gentle response; "but
are we not urged to hospitality?”
CC
Certainly,
friends."
to our acquaintances and our
"And nothing for the poor,- nothing?" he
asked, in a reproving voice.
Struggling On.
175
"Yes, all the cold victuals, but not the money
that I want for a neck - tie," she answered, good-
humoredly.
Peter felt quite encouraged as he issued from
this pleasant house upon the hard gravel drive,
and walked down to the road. The wind during
the night had got round into the northwest, and
driven back the clouds, and though it still blew
cold and raw, it was only between intervals of
long lulls. Clouds were still flying overhead, but
they were large, and white, and billowy in shape,
and they rolled and hastened as though they were
on a race and trying to pass each other. Great
rifts of blue sky appeared between them as they
moved, and the sun broke out in his splendor,
making the wet earth rejoice at his presence.
Peter looked up, gladdened to see and feel the
bright beams again. A certain sense of the
Great Presence pervaded his being, of the
Power that sends the storm or the sunshine, that
casts down or lifts up,- that Power which lies
176
Peter's Strange Story.
back of all other powers and is their spring.
Peter could not tell this in words, he could not
even think it, but he felt it, and, as he stepped
along over the wet sward, he somehow realized
in his heart that God did care for him.
He soon came opposite the woods which he had
seen the day before. These lay upon the side of
the road, for a long way, and shut out from him
the view of the river. He had never before been
so near a wood, and he looked with admiration
upon the huge trunks of the trees and the great
branches which stretched out from them. He
heard the crows cawing loudly among the trees,
and once he saw a squirrel running swiftly up the
body of a tree and out to the tip of the branch,
whence it looked down shyly at him as he was
passing below. He did not know that the crea-
ture was a squirrel, but he thought it was very
cunning, as it whisked its bushy tail, and he
wished Baby might see it. The remembrance of
Baby saddened his mind and quickened his steps.
Struggling On.
177
He was yet a long way from her, and he was
afraid that something night happen before he
reached her. If she could only live until he did
see her, he thought, but she might even now be
dead.
The road now ran along the foot of a series of
low hills. It was level and smooth, and would
have been sandy if it had not been for the heavy
rain which had fallen over night, and which ren-
dered it slumpy. After Peter had passed beyond
the woods, he perceived that the houses were
standing nearer together, and that they were
larger, and he soon reached a large village.
Here he inquired the distance to Summerville,
but the person he asked had not heard of such a
Then he called at a hotel and made the
inquiry of the landlord, and was told by him that
it was about fifty or sixty miles north. After
having satisfied himself that his information was
correct, and that he was on the right road, he
town.
purchased some bread, and butter, and meat, and
I
178
Peter's Strange Story.
1
having rested a half hour, he resumed his
journey.
But fifty miles seemed as distant to our young
traveler, now, as a hundred had when he left
New York. He was not as agile in the after-
noon as he had been in the morning; he walked
slower and with more hesitating steps, some-
times stopping to rest himself, sitting awhile on
the fence or on a stone by the wayside. Besides,
the wind, which still kept blowing in occasional
gusts, was directly in his face, and that caused his
travel to be more difficult and wearisome. After
leaving the village, the dwellings upon the road
had become very scattered, often more than a
mile apart, and there were few people seen on the
road
; in the brown fields on either side herds of
cattle, and horses, and sheep were wandering
about, but these objects possessed but small at-
tractions for him.
It now began to be difficult for him to walk,
in consequence of the soreness of one of his feet.
Struggling On.
179
A shoe - string had broken and been lost, and the
constant slipping up and down of the foot in the
shoe had caused serious soreness and pain. Peter
took off the shoe and carried it for some dis-
tance, but the cold and discomfort compelled him
soon to replace it. Hobbling on as well as he
could during the afternoon, he stopped, as it grew
towards evening, at a small cabin by the road-
side, to ask if they could give him a night's lodg-
ing. A dirty woman, surrounded by dirty chil-
dren, came to the door, and replied that they had
no room.
"Is there a house near here?" asked Peter,
after he had received the refusal.
"Yes, about a half mile further on, there's
two," replied the woman.
"Do you think they would keep me?" he in-
quired, hesitatingly.
"I don't know nothing what they will do, but
I hain't room for my own young ones," was the
short rejoinder.
180
Peter's Strange Story.
Peter moved on now as fast as he well could,
for it began to grow somewhat dark, but he had
walked some distance before he discovered one
of the houses, described to him, amid a grove, the
smoke curling lazily up from it in a blue wreath.
He approached slowly, and, rapping upon the
door, he was confronted by a tall, gray - haired,
hard - visaged man, who looked coldly at the
weary little traveler at the door, while he made
known, in a timid voice, his request.
1
"No, no, no!" said the man, shaking his head
at every exclamation of denial; "I can't ac-
commodate you; better go further up the road!"
and with that advice he deliberately closed the
door, leaving Peter standing on the step in dis-
may. But there was nothing for him to do but
to go on, and he turned away and proceeded.
The road upon both sides was bordered with a
zig-zag fence, known as the "Virginia rail,"
through which he could easily look as he walked
along, but upon either side, as far as his eye
Struggling On.
181
could reach in the gathering dusk, theae was no
sign of a habitation. He climbed up on the
fence to aid his vision, but the elevation gave
him no advantage, and he descended and sat
down to reflect upon what he could do.
He could still see the smoke from the house
where he had last called, but he did not dare to
return there, neither did he wish to retrace one
step of his path; so, taking up his march, he
went on a short distance when he came opposite a
large, red cedar tree, which was standing just
over the fence in a field. The branches of this
tree, bushy and close, were quitenear the ground,
and Peter, as he looked at them, thought that
they might make a bed for him; he therefore
climbed over the fence and hoisted himself up in-
to the tree. Here he tried various positions upon
the different boughs, choosing the lower ones for
safety, until he found one on which he could re-
pose, and he seated himself upon this and laid his
head upon another a little higher up. This pos-
182
Peter's Strange Story.
1
ture seemed a secure one, and although he was
considerably cramped, he chose it, and having
removed his shoes to rest his feet,— hanging them
meanwhile over a twig, he settled himself here
for the night.
He was thankful that he had discovered so
good a shelter, and he snuggled into his nest
among the fragrant leaves, and, though his stom-
ach gnawed with hunger, and though he began
to feel the chilliness of the March night creeping
through his flesh, still his fatigue was so great
that he soon fell into a sound sleep. But a bed
in the open air, though it be in a sweet evergreen
tree, is not so refreshing as one under a roof, and
this Peter discovered, to his pain, when he awoke
in the night. His limbs had become so stiff that
he could hardly move them, and, indeed, they
were so numb that he was afraid to move them
lest he should lose his precarious seat and go
tumbling to the ground. So he sat as quietly as
he could, while he essayed to rub one cold hand
Struggling On.
183
with the other, and bring back vitality to the
flesh.
Though it was quite dark in the depths of the
tree where he sat, it was starlight without, and
he could perceive, looking up between the branch-
es, several stars blinking from their hight upon
him. He was a little fearful, for the wind sighed
mournfully in the leaves around him; and he
was soon startled almost out of his seat by the
melancholy hootings of an owl which had chosen
its quarters on a tree near by. This sound was
one which he had never before heard, and he
guessed it to be that of some wild beast, which
would kill him if it should see him.
The night proved so long that, if he had dared,
he would have got out of his retreat and gone on
his journey, but he waited tremblingly for day-
light. That was a long time in coming. The
first notice which he had of it, was by the crowing
of a cock from the neighboring barn - yard. This
sound he knew was a sign that morning was near,
184
Peter's Strange Story:
and he was rejciced to hear the crowing echoed
by another cock far up the road. That was a
proof that there was a house on the way ahead,
and he hoped he might procure some breakfast
there, for he was now very hungry. Finally, the
dawn began to streak the sky with its pale yellow
and pink colors; the stars shut their eyes upon
the earth, and Peter saw the bare ground beneath
the tree.
As soon
as this appeared to view, he com-
menced to extricate himself from his seat.
Throwing down his shoes and his cap, he let him-
self after them, hanging tightly by his hands to
the bark of the tree. He put on his shoes, but
found that he could scarcely move his legs. They
were benumbed and stiffened with the cold, and
by their cramped position during the night; but
he managed to crawl between the rails of the
fence into the road, where he set off very
slowly on his way. Seeing a stout stick lying
by the road, he picked it up and used it to sup-
Struggling On.
185
port his steps. It gave him a little aid, and
furnished some variety.
one.
After nearly an hour's walking, he came to a
cross-road. Here he was puzzled. He knew,
so long as he kept the river at his left hand,
that he was going on the right course; but he
had lost sight of that on the afternoon before,
though he had not quitted the road which he
knew was the northern one. He looked forward
in each direction, not wishing to choose the wrong
While he was deliberating, the sun came
up and shone brightly upon the earth and sky.
Peter noticed that the sun was exactly upon his
right hand, and taking this for a guide, he took
the road which led straight before him and went
Another half hour's travel brought him in
sight of a low gable roofed house set amid the
trees of an orchard. Some rows of bee-hives
were standing near it, and on a bench by the
door a pile of tin milk - pans were shining; a
half dozen cows stood in a shed yard a little dis-
on.
-
-186
Peter's Strange Story.
tance off, munching straw, and a cosset sheep
was nibbling at a dish of turnips placed on the
bench.
*
The whole place looked inviting to Peter, and
he gave a loud knock at the door. It was opened
by a trim, rosy-cheeked girl, who said,
" Come
in." Peter entered what was the kitchen, and
the girl, after placing a chair for him, left the
room to call her mother. The woman of the
house, who was in the adjoining room, entered
and asked Peter what was his business.
ee Can you let me have some breakfast?" he
asked.
୧୯
९९
Oh, yes,” replied the woman, in a pleasant
voice ; we have just finished eating, but there's
always some left;" and she smiled such a kind,
motherly smile that it made the whole room look
cheery to Peter.
"I'm very hungry," said Peter, as he saw the
woman set a saucepan upon the stove and break
a couple of eggs into it.
1
Struggling On.
3
187
"You look hungry," she replied, "but eggs
was made to be eat; that's what hens lay 'em
for."
Peter smiled at her quaint remark, and said,
quickly,-
"I can pay you for what I eat."
The woman smiled again, and told her daugh-
ter to cut some bread, and put back the cold meat
on the table. Then she made a cup of tea, and
turned the eggs out on a plate, and, setting them
on the table, she told Peter to sit down and help
himself to what there was. Peter gladly obeyed,
and he was so hungry that he ate nearly every-
thing on the table.
asked,-
Having
"How much shall I pay?"
"Nothing," was the woman's reply.
finished, he
"But I want to pay you; I've eat so much,
and it was so good," returned Peter.
"Never mind if you did eat a good deal,"
said the woman; "I s'pose you was hungry;
1
188
Peter's Strange Story.
but I don't want pay from a child like you.
Sit down, and rest awhile," she added, as she
saw Peter stand hesitating about going; "you
look tired out !"
"My feet are
sore a - walking,"
the boy as he seated himself by the stove.
replied
"I see you have lost a string out of one of
your shoes," she said; "I'll see if I can find you
another ;" and going to the cellar - way, she took
a couple of strings from an old pair of shoes
standing there, and gave them to him.
"There," she said, kindly,
you may lose an-
other, take both; now rest a while. "
Peter thanked her and took off his shoe to re-
place the string. While he was thus employed,
the woman went back to her work, and the girl
cleared off the table.
alone, as soon as he had
fell fast asleep by the fire.
Peter, being left quite
got on his shoe again,

37
CHAPTER XI.
A TIMELY FRIEND.
HEN Peter awoke it was nearly
noon. Worn out with his three days'
walking, and the hunger and cold he
had endured, he had fallen into one
of those long, heavy, restless sleeps which restore
the consumed energies of the body.
"Did I go to sleep?" he inquired in confusion,
and starting up from his chair.
"Yes," replied the girl who sat not far off
engaged in knitting, "you have slept all the
morning."

190
Peter's Strange Story.
"Oh dear! how much time I've lost!" ex-
claimed Peter.
ee
Mother said it would do you good to sleep,"
she answered," and she would n't wake you!
"I thank you for the good breakfast you gave
me," he said, going to the door. He met the
woman coming into the house.
"You have had a good sleep; now you are go-
ing, I see," she said.
CC
Yes, and I thank you, Ma'am,” replied Peter;
"does this road go right on to the North? Is it
the way to Summerville?"
"The road goes to the North, but I don't
know any place of that name," she answered.
"If it goes to the North it will lead to the
place," said Peter, with undiminished faith, as he
went to the door.
Sleep had indeed somewhat refreshed the poor
boy, and he moved off with brisker steps. He
had traveled about a mile farther, when there
drove up, on the road behind him, a couple of
A Timely Friend.
191
stout brown horses and a farmer's wagon, carry-
ing an old man dressed in Quaker costume.
Peter heard the wheels, and stepped one side to
let the team pass; but the old man looked hard at
Peter, as the horses moved past him, and then
said,
"Would 'st thou like a ride, lad?"
"Yes, Sir, and thank you too," answered Pe-
ter, quickly.
"Then get in here by me," said the Quaker, at
the same time checking his horses.
Peter got upon the wheel, and over the box
upon the seat.
"Thou art cold, lad, I see," said the Quaker,
looking at the boy's thin face. "Here!" and he
took up a horse blanket from the floor of the
wagon.
"I'll spread this over thee, for thy com-
fort."
As the Quaker wrapped the warm woolen coy-
ering over the boy's legs, he inquired,
"Where art thou traveling?'
""
· 192
Peter's Strange Story.
ter.
"I'm going to Summerville,” replied Pe-
"That is quite a distance from here, lad," said.
the old man.
"I've come a good ways over the road now,"
remarked Peter; "I've been three or four days
traveling, all the way from New York."
"Thou hast had a hard journey, my poor lad,
I see," said the Quaker; "hast thou walked all
the way?"
"Not all; once or twice I got a short ride.”
"What is thy business in Summerville?" in-
quired the man, after a short pause.
"Our little Baby is there," said Peter, reiterat-
ing the sad story; "she was taken there by a
kind gentleman, that she might get well, and she
do n't get well, and I want to see her, and I'm
a - going to. I'm going there.'
""
This last sentence was made with a resolute
tone, as though something, or somebody, was in-
terfering, or going to interfere, with his seeing
A Timely Friend.
1-93
Baby, and he wished it understood that all such
efforts would fail.
"I think thou wilt," was the calm rejoinder
of the Quaker, "if thou dost not fall sick by
the way. Thou didst not think of that, I fear."
"No, Sir, I shan't get sick; I'm never sick,"
responded Peter.
Did
"Perhaps not, but thou art doing an uncom-
mon thing, in making this journey on foot.
the gentleman who took the little one, know thou
wast coming to see her?
"No, Sir, he 's gone; gone way off to a place
that's warm all the winter through. I've for-
gotten the name of it.”
"What is the gentleman's name?" demanded
the Quaker.
"Mr. Summer."
"I have heard of him; he has a large house in
the village where thou art going."
"It's a farm," said Peter; "and it's there
where Baby is."
1
1
}
Peter's Strange Story.
194
(
>
"Yes; I have heard of the poor little children
whom he sends to his farm to be cared for. He
is a truly benevolent man."
"I did n't know any other children but Baby
was there," said Peter.
"Yes, he sends those up that are very feeble,
and that have no homes, nor parents; your baby
is well cared for if she is there."
Peter mused a short time and then said,-" If
she is alive; but you know she might die there.
I, I was afraid she might, and I wanted to see
her, bad!"
"Well, thou wilt see her before many days,
poor lad!
Thou wast homesick for her, I
think. "
Peter did not reply, and he turned his head and
looked off upon the brown meadow which they
were passing, that the kind old Quaker might not
see the tears in his eyes. But Peter need not
have taken the trouble to look away, for the old
inan kept his own eyes straight ahead upon his
A Timely Friend.
195
horse's brown ear, having never once turned them
upon Peter since he saw that the boy was well
covered with the blanket.
"Hast thou a mother, lad?" questioned the
Quaker, after a few moments' silence.
"No, Sir; nor a father; I hain't nothing but
Baby,” replied Peter.
"Thou seemest like an affectionate lad to the
child; how old is she?"
"She loves me, she does; nobody loved her
but me, and nobody loved me but her," replied
Peter..
"How old is the little one?"
་
"Mr. Summer says she ain't a baby, but
is six or seven years old; but she is little as a
baby."
"Didst thou live with Mr. Summer in New
York?"
"No, Sir; I lived all by myself, and worked in
a butcher's shop for wages.'
"What could have induced thee to come all
:
196
Peter's Strange Story.
this long journey? Thou knowest the child must
be well!"
• "I wanted to see her, I did," said Peter,.
"
quickly; and then I dreamed, I saw, I mean
I did see her soul come into the room one night,
and it talked to me; and Baby, she never talked
herself, — never; she never spoke a word in all
her life; and, Oh, I was afraid she was dead, so
I came right away to find her!"
Thou art excited, little friend; thou should'st
not tremble so," said the Quaker, now looking
steadily at the boy by his side, and noticing the
agitation, and the tears which gushed out at the
remembrance of the dream and the fear of
it.
'I can't help it; I tremble when I think of
Baby, all the time," responded Peter.
"It was
a dream of thine. Thou hast
dreamed of the little one, and been frightened."
"No, Sir, 't ain't a dream! I saw it," said
Peter.
A Timely Friend.
197
"Thou didst see what?"
"She was white and shining, and stood at the
foot of the bed, and when I got up and went
there she was n't there; and when I came back to
the bed she was there, and she spoke to me, and
she smiled to me, and she said, Come quick.'
And I started the next morning. I could n't
wait another day."
९
"Hast thou told any person of this dream be-
fore now?" inquired the Quaker.
""T ain't a dream!" said the boy, stoutly, "and
I did n't tell of it before!"
"That was right, lad; do n't speak of it to an-
other person!
! "
"I did n't want to tell of it; somehow, though,
it seemed right to tell you," said Peter, looking
up into the calm face of the old man as he made
this ingenuous acknowledgment of the power
which a strong character exercises over a weaker
one.
1
"What is thy name, lad?" asked the man.
1
198
Peter's Strange Story.
"Peter! "
"Well, Peter, if the child had been dead, I do
not believe thou could 'st have seen her soul. I
think thou hast had a vivid dream, and dost im-
agine that thou hast seen what in reality thou
only dreamed."
"But she spoke, and said she was going to the
beautiful city. Nobody ever told her about the
city; I didn't know about it till after she went
away; and Mr. Summer told me that the souls of
good people go there," said Peter, excitedly.
"The souls of the good go to repose; they do
not return to the earth any more, forever," re-
plied the Quaker.
'If I dreamed it, then Baby ain't dead, is
she?" asked the boy, quickly.
"I don't know about that, Peter; but I think
thou didst dream."
"But if I find Baby dead, then it's true, is n't
it, that her soul came back to see me? Don't
you think so?" questioned the boy, so earnestly
A Timely Friend.
199
that he grasped the arm of the old man; "I do n't
think I dreamed it!"
"I think thou didst dream it, Peter."
ee
Anyway, do you?
""
"Yes, anyway," replied the Quaker; "do n't
thou believe anything else."
"She spoke, though; she spoke to me," cried
Peter, clinging to this fundamental premise in his
argument.
"The dumb can speak in dreams, and the blind
can see," said the Quaker,
said the Quaker, "and thou should 'st
not put faith in dreams, either. This dream
ought not to have disturbed thy mind and
brought thee away so from thy business. Mr.
Summer would not approve of thy act."
Peter was silent at this reproof, so gently con-
veyed; but he was not convinced that he had
done wrong, as his next word showed.
"Had n't I ought to come quick, when she told
me to come? Say?"
"If we undertake to follow dreams, friend Pe-
200
Peter's Strange Story.
2
ter," returned the Quaker, avoiding a direct reply
to the boy's question ; we may all our lives go
traveling over the world as thou hast now."
"Not when we have such a dream,- if 't was
a dream,— can't we go?" questioned the boy.
Ce
"Not any dreams," replied the man ;
we have
'the Word with the Spirit, and that is all the guide
we need."
"What is the Word?"
"It is the Holy Scriptures -the Bible. Thou
canst read in the Bible, Peter?" the Quaker de-
manded.
"I can read a little, but I have no Bible."
"It is the Word, the Lord's good Word; didst
thou not know it?"
"I know about the Lord, and I pray to Him,
and ask Him to take care of Baby, and me. Mr.
Summer told me about the Lord."
"If thou believest, little Peter, thou surely
can not go amiss. He cares for even the
sparrows.”
A Timely Friend.
201
"I thought, last night," said Peter, "when I
was lying in the branches of the tree where I
slept, that the Lord looked into that just as He
looks into a house, and I prayed before I went to
sleep."
Ce
'I'm glad to find that thou dost pray, little
Peter. Thou canst not pray too much. "
"And He hears up there, every time?" ques-
tioned Peter.
"Yes, Peter."
"I ask Him, every day, a good many times a
day, now, to keep Baby alive till I get there;
will He?"
"Thou canst ask, Peter, but thou must sub-
mit thy will to the Lord's will. He doeth what
is best. "
"Then, if He takes her I shall be afraid that
He do n't hear me," cried Peter.
"Thou needest not fear that, Peter; He doth
hear, He says so in the Word which is His
Word; but it may be good, in His sight, to take
202
Peter's Strange Story.
the little girl; and if it be, thou must submit,'
said the old man.
"But I sha'n't have anything left then," cried
Peter; "nobody to love!"
"Thou must love the Lord.”
"
Oh, but 't ain't like loving Baby, my Baby;
He is such a great ways off, and so big!
mourned the boy.
"But He wants thy love, little Peter, even thy
poor, weak love; else He would not say, 'Give
me thy heart.' Trust the Lord, that He knows
best about this thy condition, friend Peter. "
"I do love Him, I do!" replied Peter.
"But trust Him also. Thou wast willing to
get into my wagon and ride with me; thou wast
not afraid to trust me; now be just as willing to
commit thy way to the Lord, and if He does take
thy little friend from thee, do not complain, but
say 'The Lord's will be done.””
Peter was silent. The longing in his heart for
Baby's love, and Baby's life,—that longing
A Timely Friend.
203
1
which is felt in thousands of living hearts
for the tangible love and presence of the well-
beloved one, could not give place at once to the
other and better love. He craved Baby's
little hand-touch and caresses; even her tears
would have been most precious to him as the
proof of being his, and dependent upon him.
God in His Providence makes great compensa-
tions to those who are thus starving for this food
of the heart; and though He takes the love and
the very heart with it out of the body, He makes
returns by the hundred fold.
"Thou must stop at my house to night, Pe-
ter," said the Quaker, after a considerable pause
in the conversation; "I would like a short visit
from you.
"Where do you live?" asked Peter.
"My house is just beyond the town to which
we are coming."
"I'll stay all night with you and be glad,” said
Peter; " but I want to hurry on to Summerville. "
204
Peter's Strange Story.
Thou canst go early to-morrow, if it be thy
wish; but thou dost forget that the day after
to-morrow is First day. Thou dost not wish
to travel on thy Sunday, Peter?" asked the
Quaker.
"Is it Sunday? I'd forgotten what day in the
week it is," returned Peter, looking hard at the
horse blanket which lay on his knees.
"Thou canst stay until Second day,- until
Monday, at my house, and rest thee.”
Peter still sat with downcast eyes, but returned
no answer to this proposition.
They were now approaching a large village or
country town, and began to meet numerous wag-
ons, carriages, and foot passengers; the dwellings
also were larger and handsomer than those seen
during the afternoon's drive. The town lay on
the bank of the river, and Peter noticed the sails
of some ships which were lying at the wharves;
he also saw the churches and shops, for the Quak-
er drove through the principal streets.
A Timely Friend.
205
The sun was down, and the moon, shining like
a shield of silver, hung in the western sky right
above the house of the Quaker, as he turned his
horses into the yard. The house was white, with
green shutters, standing on a smooth, level mead-
ow, with an orchard of apple - trees at one side,
and a garden of shrubs on the other. As the
Quaker drove up to the door, it opened, and his
wife stepped out. She wore a gray dress, and a
close, white cap, tied under her chin, under which
the white hair was parted and combed smoothly
back. Her face was very white, and fair, and
calm, and her blue eyes shone with good
thoughts.
"Who hast thou got in the wagon, William?"
she inquired, as the team stopped.
"It is a poor lad I overtook on the way, Mary,
and I asked him to stop with us for a short visit,"
he replied.
୧୯
come
"Thou hast done right," she answered;
in and warm thyself," she added to Peter, as he
206
Peter's Strange Story.
A
climbed slowly over the wheel to the door - step;
"it is a cold evening."
The Quaker drove away with his wagon,
while Peter followed the lady into the house.
Everything inside shone with cleanliness. The
lamps, and the windows, and the glass on the
table, for that was set ready for supper,-
glittered with the polish they had received; and
the floor and the furniture showed the same re-
splendent luster.
The old lady placed a chair near the stove for
Peter, and he sat down. She looked at him
with eyes of pity. His dusty shoes, his worn
clothes, and his altogether soiled and dilapidated
appearance, together with his thin, worn face,
appealed to the feminine instinct, and especially
to the Quaker feminine instinct of neatness, as
well as to the fostering love which the Maker of
woman's heart has put into it; and the old lady
immediately desired to wash and brush the boy
thoroughly as she did her platters, and then feed
་
A Timely Friend.
207
him until she might drive away the pinched look
from his face.
"Thou dost need to refresh thyself with a
washing, my boy," she said; "come in here; "
and she opened a door into a large room where
two water tubs, with faucets above them, showed
it to be the wash - room.
"Here is plenty of water," she continued, as
they went into the room, and she turned the
stop-cock and set the water running into one of
the tubs; "and plenty of soap, too; just wash
thyself as clean as thou canst, and thou canst
brush thy clothes with this little broom, then thou
wilt feel better." She then left the room to Pe-
ter and returned to her husband.
After Peter had taken a bath, and brushed his
clothes and hair, he went out to the supper -
room looking quite like another boy.
"Thou hast improved thy appearance," said the
old Quaker, who with his wife was ready to sit
down to the table; "thou art a wholesome -
the
208
Peter's Strange Story.
looking boy, now, and canst enjoy thy supper.'
When the meal was finished, and the Quaker-
ess had washed and set away the dishes, swept
up the stove hearth, and lighted the lamps on the
table, she rested herself in an arm chair near
her husband, and took up her knitting - work.
Peter looked about, and thought he had never
seen so pleasant a room as this. It seemed more
cheerful and happy than in the beautiful parlor
where he had been on the rainy night, with the
pretty lady in it. Everything was so bright and
shining here; the faces of the old Quaker and his
wife shone with content and peace, and even the
gray cat, which sat purring at the feet of her
mistress, wore the same peaceful and undisturbed
expression.
Peter did not know that all the happiness of
these old people sprang from the perfect heart
within, and that it is a spirit of rest that gives the
coloring of rest to all objects around it; but he
saw that the peace was there, and he felt its
A Timely Friend.
209
soothing power, although he could not understand
its cause. The Quaker now opened the Bible,
and said to Peter,-
"I will read thee something here that will be
for thy comfort and profit ;" and he began to read
about the birth of Jesus in the manger, and the
singing of the angels in the sky above the shep-
herds.
"Dost thou see, Peter," he said, when he had
finished reading and closed the book, "how much
God did love us all to send His son, His one,
only son, away from Him and His house, to be-
come a babe here, and then to suffer, and die, so
as to save us from our sins? Is thy love for thy
little Baby as great as this?"
Peter hung his head very low, while he an-
swered by saying, softly,-
"He did love us!"
"Could He then do anything that was not very
good for us, better than we could for ourselves,
Peter?" questioned the old man.
210
Peter's Strange Story.
Peter shook his head without replying.
"Thou canst reason, I see, Peter," said the
Quaker, "and thou believest in the Lord; now
if thy little girl friend should die, thou knowest it
will be His will, and for her good and thine.”
"I hope she won't die, I do," said Peter, in a
low voice; "and I guess God won't take her;
He is so good!"
"He is always good, whether He takes or not,”
said the Quakeress ; "thou must remember that,
Peter."
"When thou hast learned to read, and canst
read for thyself, Peter, thou wilt find thy greatest
pleasure in reading the Word," said the Quaker.
"I will study more when I go back," said the
boy.
"Thou lookest very weary, lad; dost thou not
wish to go to bed?" asked the Quakeress.
"Yes, Ma'am," he replied.
"Thou art more thoughtful than I am, Mary,"
said the Quaker; "I did not enough consider the
A Timely Friend.
211
poor boy's hard journey, I fear. It has been a
sore burden for him.”
"I see thy eyes are heavy, Peter,” said the old
lady, "and I will go with thee to thy room."
"Good night, Peter," said the Quaker, as he
rose to follow his hostess from the room; "good
night, lad, I trust thou wilt have only pleasant
dreams.
""
"Good night," responded Peter.


:
CHAPTER XII.
LOST IN THE SNOW.
}

EXT morning saw Peter, at an
early hour, on his journey. He had re-
sisted the invitation of the good Quaker,
to stay over until Monday with him,
and had set out at once after their early break-
fast.
Peter felt cheered and strengthened by his long
conversation with the Quaker, as well as rested
by the comfortable entertainment at his house;
besides, he had rode fifteen miles in his wagon,
which had considerably diminished the long dis-
tance which lay before him. But there were yet
about twenty miles to travel before he could reach
Lost in the Snow.
213
Summerville.
Peter was almost sure he should
reach there some time on the morrow, and he
planted the stick, which he yet kept to help him,
firmly down, and took as long strides as possible
with his short legs.
But the variable March weather, which during
the last two days had been unusually sunny and
spring-like, now suddenly put on the semblance
of the lion instead of the lamb. The sun went
quite out of sight behind a mass of clouds which
came floating out of the northwest, and, deprived
of his genial presence, the ground began to chill
and stiffen with gathering frost. This did not
retard Peter's pace, for a firm, hard surface is
easier for the feet than a spongy and muddy one,
and he was rather glad, on that account, that it
had grown colder.
So, during the morning
hours, notwithstanding this change, he made tol-
erable progress.
At noon he lunched off some bread and cheese
which he bought of the wife of a shoemaker, at
214
Peter's Strange Story.
whose house he called, and then, without stopping
longer than to eat it, he recommenced his trav-
els. But it grew colder in the afternoon, and a
sharp wind, which sometimes nearly took his
breath away, set in. But Peter plodded steadily
against wind and weather, determined in his
brave little heart to reach Baby as soon as he
could.
He could still see the river, though his path
now led along at a considerable distance from it,
and he could also see taller hills lying upon the
other side and in advance of him. Peter looked
at the hills often with wondering and admiring
looks. They were a new feature in nature to
him; and to-
and to-day, under the cloudy aspect of the
sky, they were particularly blue, and cold, and
attractive. He could not help wondering, as his
eye lingered on a lofty summit in the distance,
if Mr. Summer's farm was on that hill, he
wished it might be; it looked so lovely to
him.
Lost in the Snow.
215
As it grew late in the afternoon, these hills be-
gan to be obscured, and as it was not yet at all
dusky, Peter could scarcely understand what had
done it. Yet, as he kept an occasional lookout
upon them, he observed that one point after an-
other went out of sight as completely as if it had
been wiped off from the horizon. The long,
blue line at the left, beyond the river, was the
first to disappear; after that, the nearer ones
went, and the high, round one in front was fin-
ally lost to view.
At this time, as the horizon seemed to narrow
around him, the boy felt a snow - flake on his
hand, and he saw at the same time others flying
through the air. Still, he did not understand
that it was a coming snow storm that had envel-
-
oped the mountains, and was now beginning to
settle upon the plain where he was walking.
Snowflakes are always welcomed by children,
and the sight of these first feathery flutterers
made Peter smile with pleasure. As they in-
216
Peter's Strange Story.
creased in number and swiftness, he laughed the
morę, and, with involuntary sympathy, increased
his steps on the hard ground. The snow - storms
which he had experienced in New York had
never been of great depth or duration, and he
had consequently never been a sufferer by them,
so that he had no apprehension of the one that
was now falling. He looked with delight upon
the earth, and the trees, and the fences, which
were all turning white beneath it, and felt sorry
to step upon the smooth, pure carpet which it
made, and leave the soiled marks of his shoes
upon it.
About this time he passed a long, yellow
house, which stood near the road. In front of
it a couple of boys about his own age were play-
ing in the snow, and laughing, and molding
large balls of it in their hands to throw at one
another, and at the house. One of the boys was
lame, and the other had a hump on his back; but
both of them had red cheeks, and looked healthy
Lost in the Snow.
217
and happy. Seeing Peter passing, one of the
boys made a ball and threw at him, calling out,
"Don't dodge it;" but the missile fell short of
hitting him, and Peter and the strange boy
laughed. But he had not time to stop and frolic
with these boys, and he kept on his way, though
he looked back at them two or three times as their
shouts rang out upon the air.
This part of the country was not very thickly
settled, and there were few travelers upon the
road; but Peter met, soon after passing the last
house, a buggy in which two girls were driving.
The snow had covered their hats and cloaks, and
they seemed to enjoy its presence as much as
the boys did, for they were laughing in great
glee, and chirruping to their pony to go on.
Peter met also a load of wood which was dragged
slowly along by oxen; a man cried "haw" and
e "gee" to them, making them move to the right
or left as he wished. The boy looked at the
animals as they passed him, and pitied them,
218
Peter's Strange Story.
they seemed so tired, with their heads bowed,
and stepping so slowly. It was the first time he,
had seen oxen working.
The snow - storm increased as the day wore on,
and the road soon became entirely filled in,- not
a mark of a hoof or wheel was to be seen. Pe- .
ter was so anxious to get on his way, however,
that he did not think of halting until later, and
he shook the snow from him, and sturdily pur-
sued his way. To the force of the whirling snow
was now added that of a sharp wind, which swept
along the road, and roared in the trees and
among the distant hills. It grew rapidly dark
in the storm, and Peter began to look out for a
habitation where he might pass the night. At
this time he saw a farmer approaching from the
opposite direction, and as they were about to pass
on the road, Peter said to him,—
"Can you tell me how far it is from here to
Summerville?"
"Oh, ten or fifteen miles, I reckon," replied
Lost in the Snow.
219
!
the man, appearing as though he did not care to
be detained.
"Do you know about the place?" continued
Peter.
"I've been there a good many times; but
can't say as I know much of it," he said.
"Do you know about Mr. Summer's farm?"
inquired Peter, shaking off the snow from his
shoulders for the dozenth time.
Ce
"Law, yes!" replied the man, everybody
knows about the Summers' farm. The Sum-
merses has been raised there ever since the flood,
I reckon."
"Do you think I can get to the farm to - mor-
row,— walking, I mean?" persisted Peter.
"I reckon you can," said the man, deliberating
a moment before he spoke, "if this 'ere snow
don't continer all night; if it does, it will set
you back considerable."
Is there any place ahead where I can stay
all night?" asked Peter, starting on.
}
220
Peter's Strange Story.
"Wall, there's a house 'bout a mile ahead,
but it's off this road a little ways; it stands jest
off up to the right; you'll see it, see a light
any way, and go right to that; they 'll keep you
all night, for they 've got lots o' room and 'nuff
to eat."
The man, who had been moving slowly on
during the last sentence, now turned fully on his
heel and hurried away. Peter also began to
hurry on in his direction; but the wind was
abreast of him and blowing fiercely. It began to
whirl the snow in little eddies, and throw it back
from the earth and sweep it together, here and
there, in small heaps. Peter, panting and wet,
plowed through these when they lay in his way.
The snow had melted on his hair, and dripped
into his neck; it had filled the tops of his shoes,
and worked its way up under the legs of his
pants; it now almost blinded his eyes, as it flew
about him in the wild tornado which the wind
made. He began to look about for the house
Lost in the Snow.
221
}
which the farmer had described to him, but, after
shaking himself and standing still for some
seconds, trying to pierce the gathering gloom
with his eyes, and seeing nothing upon all sides
but the whirling snow, he proceeded.
His exertions to move forward had hitherto
kept him warm, but the coldness of the atmos-
phere, joined to the dampness of the snow which
lighted upon his clothes, and face, and hands,
now began to make themselves felt through his
frame. His feet and hands began to chill. The
former he thrust into his pockets, the latter he
tried to warm by stamping them upon the earth
as he stepped on; but the snow lay deep, and
every step went through that, before it touched
the solid earth, so that this process had little ef-
fect in producing warmth.
Peter moved on thus for ten or fifteen minutes,
then he stumbled into a large drift which lay
stretching its long, billowy form across the road,
and, before he could recover his balance, went
222
Peter's Strange Story..
}
¡
floundering down into the midst of it. Scram-
bling up, but nearly blinded by the snow which
had filled his eyes, he shook himself, and, reach-
ing one leg high up, took a long step out into
the drift, drawing the other after; by two or
three such steps he succeeded in getting through
the drift.
With a feeling of relief he found himself once
more on the level road, and though the snow was
gaining in depth every moment, and though it
was now so dark that he could not distinguish
the fences at the sides of it, nor even the trees
which grew by them, he still believed himself
sure of reaching the house in a short time. But
he soon came to another drift as deep as that
which he had just passed; wallowing through
this, by slow stages, he came out upon the other
side nearly exhausted. His heart fluttering like
a bird in his bosom, he trembled and sank down
for a few minutes quite still.
tinued only for a short time.
This lassitude con-
He rose again,
Lost in the Snow.
223
and, straining every nerve for the conflict with
the night and the storm, started afresh.
But he had only taken a half dozen steps be-
fore his path was blockaded by some object
against which he ran before he had seen it. It
proved to be the fence upon one side of the road.
He had got out of his course, and, turning back,
he reached what he thought the center of the
road, and then found he did not know which way
to move, he had quite lost the way. For the
first time, he was overcome with fear, the fear
of finding no resting place for the night,— but
-
he determined to go as long as he could,
some
place of shelter might offer, even if he did not
reach the house.
It was with desperation that the boy now re-
sumed his way.
Stumbling at every step, he
made slow headway, and after a few more
plunges in and out of the snow drifts, he discov-
-
ered that he had turned towards the side of the
road again, and that his course was again ob-
224
Peter's Strange Story.
structed by the fence. He was now both be-
wildered and frightened; he thought that if he
should cry out, perhaps he might be heard, and
on the instant he shouted with all his might.
But his voice, weakened by fatigue, did not reach
a dozen yards from where he stood knee deep
in the snow.
He listened a moment, but no sound returned
to him except the roar and shriek of the wind as
it drove the snow - flakes upon him. He called
again, but this sound was weaker and shorter
than the first. Then he remembered, strangely
enough, the cold bed he had found in the red
cedar tree two nights before, and he longed to
find some hole where he could crawl in out of the
storm and find a little rest, so that he could
reach Baby to-morrow. He must get through
for her sake; she was near,- -so near to him,-
only a few miles off, and he had traveled so far,
and such a hard road,- he must not give up
now.
Lost in the Snow.
225
Once more he resolved to make a final effort
for life, for he knew he should die if he could
not gain some place of shelter. Turning about,
he reeled back into the road and started ahead.
But it was now fearfully dark, the storm beat-
ing, the wind howling, as it only can howl in
such a mad night; and Peter, tired out with its
buffets, and chilled all through his body, waded
but a little further, when he sank down into a
gully which had been filled in with snow, and,
unable to extricate himself, or move, he lay
quite still.
But though he could not move, he could think.
He knew he was lost in the snow, and felt sure
that he should die. Then came the recollection
of Granny who had died, and of Baby who was
sick; and everything he had ever done or thought
of, in his life, rushed through his mind. He
thought of the beautiful city which Mr. Summer
had told him about, and of the Lord; and when
he remembered Him he began to pray. He only
226
Peter's Strange Story.
!
1
thought a prayer, for he could not speak aloud,
but his thought was,-"Lord, let my soul go
where you are, and let Baby's soul be there too!"
That was all. He thought it, or rather he prayed
it over and over several times.
In a short time he began to feel easy in mind
and body. The cold numbness which he had
suffered, during the last two hours, gradually
gave place to a delicious warmth, that seemed
more pleasant than any he had ever experienced.
It appeared to him that his body was resting in
the softest bed,—-so delightful was the sensation
of the snow around it.
He began, too, to lose all fear and anxiety.
A sweet repose stole over the senses. It seemed
to the boy that he was falling asleep more
sweetly than ever before in his life. He did
not know that this was the premonition of
death, and that the sleep into which he imagined
he was falling, was really unconsciousness. So,
from the stupor into which he had been thrown
}
Lost in the Snow.
227
by the cold, he soon became senseless, and
the storm howled around him, and the dark-
ness covered him with its wings, and no eye ·
but that of God above saw him.


CHAPTER XIII.
MR. SUMMER'S PUZZLE.

年
​R. and Mrs. Summer prolonged
their visit in Florida until April.
Mr. Summer told his friends in New
York, that he did not want to come
home until after the shad came,
that he did
not like March winds; and as Mrs. Summer had
no wish but that of her husband, it was not until
the violets had begun to blossom in their beds,
that the shutters were taken down, and the house
opened, and the round, red face and shining
spectacles of Mr. Summer were seen at the door,
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
229
at the window, and in every room in the build-
ing.
How nice it is to have a home of your own,
is n't it, wife?" said the cheerful gentleman, in
his hearty voice, as he and his wife sat down,
in their beautiful dining-room, to take their first
tea after their arrival home. "Now, if there's
anything that can make a man appreciate his own
home, it is to go traveling over the country, and
stay for months, as we have been doing, in un-
comfortable boarding - houses, eating things not
fit for human stomachs to become acquainted
with,- ugh! That's a true proverb which says
that, one-half of the world does n't know how
the other half lives."
"Yes," replied Mrs. Summer, helping herself
to another slice of toast; "and if that knowledge
only could make us more contented,―me, I mean,
for you are always so, but I am always apt to
fret, it would do a world of good."
"Well, then, suppose we start immediately
230
Peter's Strange Story.
back; if one dose is not sufficient, you should
take a second. We can return on the same
steamer that brought us.
""
"O Henry, don't speak of such a thing. I'll
try to make that dose answer for me this year,-
once a year is sufficient," said Mrs. Summer.
e
"We may as well take it in that way," replied
her husband. "I shall be obliged to go every
winter, the doctor tells me, to keep rein upon
this asthma; aud so we will just look at it in
that way, as a lesson, and be grateful that God
does not send any harder one; and we will be
doubly grateful that we have got such a good
home to come back to."
"So many poor creatures have none," re-
sponded Mrs. Summer, sipping her tea; "and,
have you noticed, Henry, how fine the crocuses
look, and how the rose - bushes are budding in
the yard?"
"Yes; and was there ever anything sweeter
than that bed of violets? Violets always smell to
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
231
me as though they had come purposely to say
something to us, if they could only speak it, -as
though they had got a message for us.'
""
"What do you imagine the message would be
if they had a voice?" asked Mrs. Summer,
laughing.
"I think it would be,
as I do!' The violet is
Give, and keep giving,
contented to dispense its
sweetness to all, and if there's no one to smell it,
it is all the same, it gives it to the wind to carry
to the first poor creature that wants its per-
fume."
"It must begin to look quite green up in the
country, now; the grass always comes by this
time," observed Mrs. Summer.
"Yes, yes," said her husband, quickly; "how
grand the country begins to look in April, with
its green carpet spread everywhere, and the ten-
der leaves springing on the trees, and the birds
all coming back as fast as they can. I should
really enjoy going up there, for a few days, as
232
Peter's Strange Story.
soon as I get settled here; would you like to
go?"
"No, indeed, thank you, not yet. I don't
care to go to Summerville until the roses are out;
it's never comfortable there before June."
"I have n't heard from the farm for some time;
however, I dare say there's a letter at the office
for me, and probably all is going right; forno
news is good news.
"I hope that little girl, Baby, will begin to
get strong and grow; I should like to hear from
her," said Mrs. Summer.
"She'll get a hold upon life as soon as warm
weather comes, and she can get around in
the fields, and breathe the air of summer; that
is, if she ever does; but I'm doubtful,—I'm
doubtful of the issue."
"Are you?" asked Mrs. Summer; "I'm very
sorry. I've always been glad," she added, "that
you found those children. I took a great interest
in the boy."
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
233
"Yes, so did I; one does not often see such
an affectionate nature as his; and how faithful
he was to the little one,- what a care he be-
stowed upon her!" answered her husband.
"And he did well at his work, did he not?"
"Yes, he proved honest, and willing, and
capable; he'll get on well, too; no doubt of it,”
said Mr. Summer in an emphatic tone; "every-
body does that works.
wife, what David said,
Don't you remember,
He that is diligent in
his business shall stand before kings?"
"That is true, too, for they do," responded
Mrs. Summer.
"I think I'll call in at the butcher's to - mor-
row morning and inquire after Peter," said Mr.
Summer; "it won't be far out of my way when I
go down town."
"You have n't any news to tell him about the
little girl up at the farm," interposed Mrs. Sum-
mer, feelingly.
୧୯
Oh, that do n't make any difference; I want
234
Peter's Strange Story.
to see how he is getting on; if he is well, and if
he follows the advice we gave him."
"Your advice, you mean; I gave him nothing
but a pair of boots," said Mrs. Summer, smiling
at the recollection of the circumstance.
"Yes, I do remember; and they got him into
trouble, too."
"And that reminds me, Henry," said Mrs.
Summer, "the cook tells me that the ash-man
who took our ashes last year has lost his wife,
and is in great distress, with three small children
on his hands. Cook says she doubts if he can
come here any more for the present.
he
""
"Well, well, we must see about that; has n't
any friends, who can care for the children and
help him?" inquired Mr. Summer.
"Cook did n't say as there was any one.'
The first time he comes, you just speak to
him yourself about it, wife, and ascertain the
situation of affairs; will you?"
"I don't believe he can come at all; there's
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
235
a baby to take care of," replied Mrs. Sum-
mer.
“Oh, there's a baby, is there? How many
babies there are coming all the time!" remarked
Mr. Summer, rising from the table and taking a
cigar from the shelf; "but the good Lord has
made enough for all of them."
"I wish mine could have stayed," said his wife,
sadly; there was so much room here, and so
much love for the dear little boy,- and we had
to lose him!"
"C
"Yes, and it was all right, wife," said Mr.
Summer, opening the Bible, and turning to
some favorite and oft-read passages;
'the good
Father thinks of us, and keeps us. He takes
and He gives just what is for our best good,
and if we wish it otherwise, we murmur against
His will."
"I don't mean to murmur, Henry, I mean to
feel right about it; but every time I hear of a
little baby that has no mother to love it, I won-
236
Peter's Strange Story.
der why it is that one child must go without the
mother, and some mother must be deprived of
her child, it's a mystery which I can not
solve."
"Don't try, wife; we are not called upon to
look into the mysteries, but just to take the teach-
ings of the Holy Word and obey them."
The servant came in at this period to take
away the tea things and bring in the evening
papers, and the conversation between the two was
interrupted.
The next morning, Mr. Summer issued from
his door, stick in hand, looking so happy in
countenance, and so fresh and nice, from the shin-
ing spectacles on his nose to the shining boots
upon his feet, that the sight of his goodly person
was pleasant to any eyes that might chance to
fall on him. There were many places at which it
was necessary for him to call, and several people
whom it was important to see; but, with all the
business on his hands, he contrived to secure a
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
237
few minutes in which to stop at the butcher's and
inquire about Peter.
"Mr. Summer, I declare!". exclaimed the
man, approaching in his clean, white apron,
upon which he was wiping and polishing a sharp
knife; "when did you return from the south,
Mr. Summer?"
Arrived yesterday," was the concise reply,
as Mr. Summer planted his stick, and rested both
hands upon its gold top;
its gold top; "steamer got in at day-
light, and we are glad to get off from her.'
"Were you sea - sick,— suffer much, Mr.
Summer?"
"Sick? Oh, was n't I? Sick as a dog, three
days, always am. I dread steam - ships,
can't bear the sight of one, and yet I have to
patronize them. If I do n't go away in the win-
ter, the doctor tells me this climate will aggra-
vate my asthma, and if I do go, why,—I'm sea-
sick."
"It's choosing the least of two evils, Mr.
238
Peter's Strange Story.
Summer, you know; so I should follow the sca
in winter," said the butcher.
"Well, how has all gone here during my ab-
sence? How is the boy that I persuaded you to
take in and employ?" continued Mr. Summer,
looking around the shop, to see if Peter's little
brown head was visible.
"That's just what I want to tell you about,
Mr. Summer,” replied the butcher; "it's the
strangest thing that has happened in our line in
some time. That boy, Mr. Summer,"
"What's the matter? he ain't dead is he?"
asked Mr. Summer, quickly.
"Not that I know of, but he's gone!"
"Gone?" exclaimed Mr. Summer, with a click
of his cane on the floor in his old impatient man-
ner.
Yes, gone; he's cleared out from us, at
any rate."
"How did it happen?" demanded Mr. Sum-
mer; "what did he go for?"
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
239
I
"That's the question;-I don't know, my-
self,” said the butcher; "there never was a faith-
fuller boy than Peter while he stayed here.
never found him idling, nor telling stories,- -not
even a white lie,-nor abstracting a bit of meat
on his own or a friend's account, as butchers'
boys sometimes do, never! If there was an
honest boy, I believe that boy was Peter; and
yet, just as he had got so that he began to know
how to make himself very useful, and get pro-
moted to better wages, he took himself off in the
strangest manner.'
""
"How did he do it? What did he do? Tell it
right out; don't beat round the bush! Come up
to the front with the worst," demanded Mr.
Summer.
<<
Well, I don't know as there was any worst ;
I only know that, one morning, he did n't come
back to his work, and that's the last I've seen
of him!"
"Where did he go?" asked Mr. Summer.
1
}
240
Peter's Strange Story.
1
"I don't know anything more than I tell you,
Mr. Summer. He did not come back, and I
could not find where he went. I told one of the
boys to call at his lodging-house and inquire;
and the fellow did so, and brought word that
Peter's room was empty and no one knew where
he was, had n't been seen
for a week or
more."
९९
Why, is the boy dead?" asked Mr. Sum-
mer, in an anxious voice.
"Can't say, Mr. Summer," said the butcher,
shaking his head.
"Did he have any wages owing him?"
"He was paid the Saturday night before he
bolted, and that was a Tuesday or a Wednes-
day."
"I did have faith in that boy," said Mr. Sum-
mer; "I thought I'd seen the proof of his sta-
bility."
"So did I think so; but he might have been
decoyed off by the drabs, or thieves, and then he
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
241
might have been drowned or something or other,"
said the butcher.
"I think he'll turn up, Sir," said Job, the
man who had the special direction of Peter in
the shop, and who had shown kindness to the
boy in various ways; "I believe he's as good a
boy as was going on feet, and he'd got a notion
to learn things in books,-why, he carried one
in his pocket! and was asking me, not two
days before he was missing, if I knew how he
could learn faster. He did n't run off to shirk
the work; he bowed down to all that I set him
to do, and did it fust rate!"
"Well, you all give a good report of him, any-
way," said Mr. Summer, with a relieved voice;
"and it may be that he 's just found a place with
higher wages, and did not quite like to return
here and report himself for leaving so ab-
ruptly."
ee
No, no, Sir, not that way," said Job; "he 'd
a' let us known it if he 'd had a better chance than
242-
Peter's Strange Story.
he got with us. He's one of the straightforward
fellers, he is."
"Well, what do you think became of him?"
asked Mr. Summer, addressing himself to Job.
"I just can't say, Sir," answered the man ;
"it's one of them circumstances that nobody sees
the bottom of,- except by waiting."
୧୧
"Mr. Summer," said the butcher, suppose
you call, yourself, at the house where he lived ;—
you'll be as likely as any one to sift the matter to
the bottom, and learn what it is.
"Very likely," replied Mr. Summer, "and if
you get any news of the boy, I wish you would
let me know, right away."
So I will, Sir!" was the answer.
The warm April sun was shining down into
the narrow alley, and upon the tall, black old
houses where Peter used to come and go, when
Mr. Summer marched down it and into the door.
He had hesitated only a moment before deciding
to go there himself.
It would only consume
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
243
three-quarters of an hour, and he might learn
if the poor boy were really dead or not. Plant-
ing his stick before him at
safe place for his feet, and
every step to insure a
puffing for want of
breath, he climbed up the many flights to the
small garret - room where he had seen Peter and
Baby and Granny, all together. He rapped at
the door with his stick,- for he had heard voices
within, and it was opened by a colored woman.
Mr. Summer looked in and saw that there had
been a change,-that another tenant had taken
possession. Two or three colored children were
rolling and tumbling on the floor, and another
woman and a man were seated on chairs.
"How long have you lived in this room?" in-
quired Mr. Summer.
"A month," replied the woman.
"Do you know anything of a boy, about
twelve years old, who had been living here the
past winter?"
"No, Sir, no such boy was here when we
244
Peter's Strange Story.
come," she answered. We should have seen such
a boy if he was here."
"But he had lived here in this room for some
time," persisted Mr. Summer.
« Have you
heard any one in the house speak of him?
"No, I dunno the folks in the house," she
replied.
"Well, are any of the people living here now
that were here in the winter?”
"I dunno that, Sir; we're strangers here."
Mr. Summer turned about and proceeded.
slowly down stairs. On the way he stopped at
a room on each of the floors below, to push his
inquiries, but no one could give him any in-
formation of Peter. Some of the people had
not known there had been such a boy in the house;
one had seen him several times, but could not
now tell anything about him. On the lower
floor he stopped to inquire, but unfortunately Mrs.
O'Brien had gone out, and at the farther door
where he knocked they could tell him nothing of
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
245
Peter; so, without having ascertained anything
concerning the boy, he proceeded to his busi-
ness.
That evening, in recounting the events of the
day to his wife, Mr. Summer related what he had
learned at the butcher's of Peter's disappearance,
and that there was no intelligence to be gleaned
of him in the house where he had lived.
•
Dear, dear, Henry!" exclaimed Mrs. Sum-
mer, "where can he have gone? How can it have
happened? Why, it is like losing a child!"
"Don't, wife, speak so," said Mr. Summer.
"I could not help it," she said; "it makes me
feel so bad."
"I think he must be dead," said Mr. Summer;
"don't you recollect how he asked where the
soul goes when people die?
""
"Yes, I do; and I thought he was an unusual-
ly bright child. You know I wanted to keep
him here with us, Henry," she added with the
least accent of reproach in her voice.
246'
Peter's Strange Story.
}
"And I didn't want to; well, may be it was
the best time for him to die, if he has gone.
The Lord's times and seasons are His own."
Yes, we know that; our little one went just
so, and, well, His will be done!" Mrs. Sum-
mer finished speaking with the tears in her eyes
and in her voice.
"I hope the little girl up at the farm will live,”
said Mr. Summer, after a short pause in the con-
versation.
CC
Why, Henry! did n't Peter go up there?"
cried Mrs. Summer, suddenly; "you know he
was so anxious about the little girl,-wanted to
see her so much; and then he had n't heard any-
thing about her in such a long time."
୧୧
"It is possible; only Peter was such a steady-
going fellow. He would n't be apt to go off on
such a wild goose chase," said Mr. Summer.
"But he was so anxious about her!"
"Yes, I know he was," returned Mr. Summer;
e well, he might have started off, suddenly; that
་
Mr. Summer's Puzzle.
247
would account for his absence, certainly; but if
he started did he ever reach there? He might
have lost his way, you know."
રા
"I wish we could hear from there. Do tele-
graph up, and inquire, Henry," suggested Mrs.
Summer, with animation; we may hear that he
is safe there."
"I don't think I'll inquire, though, for I am
thinking of going up there for a couple of days,
next week."
"Have you really decided to go, Henry?"
Yes, there is some business I wish to look
after, and then I like to take a look at the coun-
try at this season, before there is any thing out
but the grass. The grass is my favorite flower,
and it looks fairest in April."
"Well, I think I will go with you, if you only
remain a couple of days," said Mrs. Summer.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE RIDE TO THE FARM.

R. AND Mrs. Summer per-
formed in a few hours the journey
which had occupied Peter so many
weary days. They had telegraphed
that they were coming, and when they left the
train at the Summerville depot, they found the
man who managed the farm, with a carriage,
waiting for them.
It was three miles across the country to the
farm. They drove swiftly over the pleasant
1
The Ride to the Farm.
249
'
road. The spectacles of Mr. Summer glistened,
as he turned his head this way and that, to notice
where a field was being plowed, or where the
men were sowing grain, and Mrs. Summer's
black bonnet bobbed around as she tried to see
everything which he pointed out to her.
"It is a fine thing to see the country in the
early spring, wife," he said, in answer to one of
her exclamations of delight, as they passed over
the bridge of a brook, which was full to the very
rim of its banks, and which sang and leaped on
in its very joyousness. "That stream is not half
as high in June.”
"I do n't remember ever to have seen it so
full," she said; "what large trout they must catch
here ! "
"We'll have a trout supper; hey, Casper!
Do you think you can manage to give us one?”
Mr. Summer inquired of the manager.
"I doubt it, Mr. Summer," replied Casper;
"the day's 'most too clear and sunny for the
250
Peter's Strange Story.
!
1
fish to bite well; but we'll catch some for you
to-morrow, sure."
"Oh, see that robin making her nest in that
elm," cried Mrs. Summer; "look! look quick! ›
she's got a red string and some straw in her
bill ! ”
"The string is to sew it together with, I sup-
pose," said her husband.
Casper laughed at this sally, and volunteered
the information that he'd seen a bird that sewed
as well as a woman.
"Are there many lambs, Casper?" inquired
Mr. Summer.
"Yes, Sir; there are about fifty; they are com-
ing on every day now; we had two pairs of twins,
yesterday."
"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Summer; "how
pretty I used to think the lambs were!"
"We've had a bad spring for 'em, Ma'am,"
said Casper; "a good many snow - squalls and
north winds that have thinned 'em some.
""
The Ride to the Farm.
251
"How many have died?" demanded Mr. Sum-
mer.
"Not over half a dozen; I bring 'em to the
house when they get so weak-kneed they can't
stand up, and our Molly nusses 'em up strong
again."
mer.
That must be a task," remarked Mrs. Sum-
"Well, 't ain't the pleasantest job she's had;
but if she snuffs at it, I tell her she 's proud and
hard-hearted; and if it is a hard case, I tell her
she shall have the lamb if she raises it, so,
between the two, she's right good at caring
for 'em."
Mr. Summer laughed at this description, and
then said,-
Well, well; we have heard about the lambs
which have four feet, now tell us something about
them that have two. How are all the lambs in
the house?"
"All fust rate 'xcept the last little one that
252
}
Peter's Strange Story.
come,"
," said Casper. "That one's lookin' poorly,
and do n't improve nuther."
"Have you seen anything of a stray lamb
of that kind around here?" inquired Mr. Sum-
a lamb about twelve or thirteen years
mer;
old?"
"No, Sir; no stray ones have come into our
flock."
Ce
Well, there's a little boy, a friend of our
Baby at the farm, that is missing in New York,
and I concluded he had straggled up here to find
her."
No, Sir; I've seen no such boy," replied
Casper.
"Then he's lost- he must be lost, or dead,"
said Mrs. Summer.
"How is the little Baby, now, Casper?" asked
the gentleman.
"She gets worse and worse every day, Sir,
every day; all the milk she drinks fails to
strengthen her, and she don't eat meat,— not a
The Ride to the Farm.
253
mouthful.
She takes up with the lightest kind
of livin', and only wants a little of that."
"Is she contented?" inquired the lady.
"Never been nothing else but contented;
pleasant as a lark if she can only just sit on the
floor and play with a doll, and a bit of ribin.
She ties that ribin on and unties it a dozen
times a day, and her baby sleeps by her nights.
"What does
does the doctor
say about
say about her?
You've had him to see and treat her, have you
not?"
ce
Yes, the doctor comes once or twice a week
to see her, and look after 'em all; he says she was
one of them that was born to die early, do n't
think anything could have saved her after you
found her. Chances might have been different
before."
"Does she ever speak, Casper?"
"Never a word; she don't open her lips 'xcept
to put something in 'em, and she's most all the
time as sober as a minister; but when she does
254
Peter's Strange Story.
smile, she's got the cunningest smile; it looks
as if she knew a good deal more than she wants
to let on she knows."
"Does she understand what you say to her?"
asked Mr. Summer.
"Yes; she's a clear headed little thing. If she
can't use her tongue, she understands everything
that 's said, I reckon."
Well, she will speak in heaven," said Mrs.
Summer.
"She took to the lambs 'mazingly," said Cas-
per, "when we begun to fetch 'em into the house.
She'd look at 'em when Molly fed 'em, and she 'd
pat 'em and try to take hold of 'em by their tails,
and when they got out of her way,- for a snail
could do that, she's so feeble in her motions,—
why, she'd just look on, mighty well pleased."
"Do the older children try to amuse her?"
asked Mr. Summer.
"She don't care much for them, 'specially the
girls; she took to one of the boys at first, but it
The Ride to the Farm.
b.
255
did n't seem to last. She seems to keep company
mostly with her own thoughts."
"Is n't the season rather backward, Casper?'
said Mr. Summer, changing the current of con-
versation. "It seems to me that, when I was a
boy, the grass used to be higher in the middle of
April than it is now."
"We've had a desput severe winter, Mr.
Summer; heavy snows, and late snows."
"But snow is good for grass; a heavy coat of
snow is as good as a coat of dressing," said Mr.
Summer.
"Yes, Sir, 't is ; but then if the snow goes off,
and a cold spell sets in, after, 't ain't such a great
help. It seems to be getting colder here every
year, Mr. Summer."
"How natural the old homestead looks!" said
Mr. Summer, as the carriage passed round a
bend of the road, and they came in view of
their house; "it looks more pleasant every
year."
256
Peter's Strange Story.
i
The house at which they were gazing stood a
mile away upon a high hill. It was white, with
a square roof, and tall chimneys, and wings at
both sides. Back of it was a forest, and before
it was a wide, green lawn stretching far down to
the highway. There were clumps of trees stand-
ing upon the lawn, and a white marble fountain,
with a whale at the top of it, was spouting a jet
of water a hundred feet or more in the air. They
could see the water flashing in the afternoon sun-
light, although the fountain itself was hidden
from view.
Ce
They have got the fires made," said Mr. Sum-
mer; "I see the smoke.”
"Yes," said Casper; "I let the old woman
know, as soon as I got the telegraph, that you
was coming."
They now came opposite a large yellow house
which stood near the road; upon one side of it
lay a strip of flower - garden in which were lilac,
syringa and rose bushes, and beds where poppies
The Ride to the Farm.
257
and marigolds, bachelor - buttons and pinks grew
and blossomed year after year; on the other side
of the house was a yard, in which two or three
cosset lambs were huddling together, with a calf
in a corner, and bleating dismally, and where two
boys, one of them lame, and the other crooked in
the back, were picking up chips. This was the
farm-house; Casper checked the horses, and
said,-
"Will you stop now, Mr. Summer, or would
you rather go on to the house at once?"
"You may rein up a moment, Casper," he re-
plied; "I want to speak to the boys.”
The horses were stopped in front of the yard,
and as soon as the boys saw who was in the car-
riage, they made a simultaneous rush, crying out,
"O Mr. Summer! O Mr. Summer!" and
climbing up to shake hands with him.
"Why, John, you have grown a half head
since fall; you are almost a big boy; and as for
Mikey, he don't lose his paleness," said Mr.
}
258
Peter's Strange Story.
کھو
Summer, speaking to each in turn.
Mikey,
they don't give you enough to eat, do they?
Say, now, is that it?”
୧୯
No, no, Sir; there's more that I can eat put
on to my plate,” replied the boy.
"Well, now, you must not let John get ahead
of you; he'll be a man long before you, and he is
not a year older."
Mikey is smart if he is small and pale,” in-
terposed Casper; "he can milk as well as I
can, and see that heap of chips he has picked
up!"
"And is n't John smart, too?" inquired Mr.
Summer.
"He's a boy,- fuller of frolicing than of
work," said Casper.
John hung his head an instant and then
said,-
"But I will work for you, Mr. Summer; I
will."
"Yes, you mean to be a grateful boy, I know
•
The Ride to the Farm.
259
you do," observed Mr. Summer, very kindly.
"May I go up to the house and black your
boots in the morning, Mr. Summer?" he asked,
quickly.
ce
Yes, you may come."
"There is Molly and Susan at the window,
Mr. Summer," said Casper; "they want to see
you, too."
"Well, I'll run in a moment," said Mr. Sum-
mer, "just to see the girls and Baby; I want to
see how Baby looks."
He got out of the carriage, and went through
the yard to the door. It was opened for him be-
fore he reached it. Molly, a girl of ten years of
age, stood holding it, while another younger one
was looking out from behind. Mr. Summer
walked into the room, the boys following. It
was a large, airy room, with six windows letting
in the warm sunlight, and an open stove with an
iron grate before it to render the fire safe. Cas-
per's wife, a short, fat, dumpy woman, was cut-
}
260
Peter's Strange Story.
ting out children's clothes on the table; a bed
comforter was spread on the floor, in one corner,
and on it, cleanly and warmly clad, sat little
Baby.
"You have come to look after your family
right early, this year, Mr. Summer," said Cas-
per's wife, advancing towards him.
"I take an uncommon interest in my children,
somehow, this year; how is the little one to
day?"
-
"There she is, Mr. Summer; she's about as
usual to - day."
Mr. Summer walked across the floor to the
blanket where the child sat, or rather lay, hug-
ging a small doll. She wore a red flannel dress
which covered her arms and neck, and warm
shoes and stockings; her hair, which was light
and soft, curled close to her head, and her cheeks
were as red as her dress; but she was as thin as
when Mr. Summer saw her wrapped in the old
shawl,- perhaps even thinner. She took no
The Ride to the Farm.
261
notice of him except to look up when Casper's
wife said to her,-
"Look up, Baby, this is Mr. Summer."
"Poor thing!" said Mr. Summer; "we were
too late with her; we sha'n't save her."
"No, it's too late," replied the woman; "but
the other little one gets on finely. She's grown,
and weighs ten pounds more than when she came
here.'
""
"The older girl looks healthy," he said, re-
marking upon Molly who stood near, with a
broad smile irradiating her countenance, and
without removing her eyes from his person; "she
has grown, too; is she a good girl?
"Pretty middling good, Mr. Summer; Molly
is becoming quite a help to me in taking care of
the little ones, and she is handy about house,
too."
"I'm glad to hear it," said the gentleman,
beaming upon Molly through his spectacles;
"and now I must go; but I'll be in to-morrow
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Peter's Strange Story.
to have a long talk with you. I want to learn
about everything."
"Come and look at the dairy," Casper's wife
said, "before you go; run, Molly, and open the
door."
Molly had the door open in a moment; so Mr.
Summer, the ever indulgent man, could not re-
fuse, and he followed the girl and Casper's wife
through a short, narrow entry, which terminated
in a large, square room, where the warmth of
the sun never interfered with the coolness of the
milk. Here, upon rows of wooden shelves
and stone tables, stood the pans with the yellow
cream thick upon the surface of their contents.
All around the room were shelves to hold the
cheeses.
"You see, Mr. Summer," said Casper's wife,
that we've only made a few cheeses yet; I
thought it best to make a cheese only every other
day for the present."
Oh, you know best all about these things,
1
1
The Ride to the Farm.
263
of course," answered Mr. Summer; " what do
you suppose I know about cheese, except to eat
it?"
"Well, I wanted you to know that I did what-
I thought was best with the milk."
୧୯
"I've trusted you ten years with it," he said,
and you know that if I doubted your ability,
you would n't have had it one.
""
"Here's the butter jars," she continued, going
to one of them and removing the cover; "the but-
ter looks pretty yellow for April butter, I think,
do n't you? Just taste it and see how sweet 't is.
don't
I was going to send on some to you to - day, if he
had n't heard you was coming up.”
Yes, it is sweet butter; yours always has a
thoroughly good smack to it. I want you should
be particular about the sage - cheese this year,
and make it richer; it's usually the poorest kind
of a cheese, you know; but some folks fancy it,
and we like to have a little."
Well, nobody ever eats them cheeses if they
264
Peter's Strange Story.
can get 't other kind; so I don't give the pains nor
the cream to 'em, either, that I give to the
others."
"There's one subject that I wish to speak
about," said Mr. Summer, "and that is the
chickens; I want you should raise a thousand this
year if you can."
"That's a smart number of 'em," said the
woman with a laugh; "the hens will have to lay
faster than they do now, to get eggs enough for
that."
୧୯
Buy more hens, buy more, if there are not
enough for their business; I want a pair of
roasted chickens on my table every day in the
year.
"Well, I'll do the best I can, and the hens
shall do their best, Mr. Summer; but I do n't
guess we shall get that amount of chickens from
'em. The turkeys, now, are doing fust rate;
I've got four setting, and there are a couple more
wanting to set. You'll have plenty of turkeys."
The Ride to the Farm.
265
"I think you had better have more hens,” said
Mr. Summer; "the fresh eggs are so wholesome
for the weak children, and the chicken's broth is
so nourishing. Now, Baby ought to have that
every day."
"O Mr. Summer, do you s'pose I don't know
that? I have given her chicken's broth from the
day she come here. She's had the best, but
nothing could do her any good, the doctor
says."
"I suppose not, I suppose not!" was the re-
ply.
"I want you to come out and take a look at
the fowls, Mr. Summer; they 're in prime condi-
tion; they wintered well."
"I have n't time, this afternoon," he answered.
"So you give the care of them to the boys? You
ought to make them take a responsibility like
that, each of the boys, it would be a great
benefit."
"Oh, no, they help about hunting the eggs,
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Peter's Strange Story.
}
and they look up the nests when the hens and
turkeys steal 'em off; but I could n't trust your
fine fowls to them. I should n't feel I'd done my
duty."
Ce
Well, well, I do n't wish to interfere with
your doing your duty; but the boys must be-
gin to be taught responsibility, they are old
enough."
The boys take turns in feeding the animals,
and they give a good deal of help; but they go
to school; you know, that's your express orders,
and there ain't much time over that for them to
work."
"Yes, it's slow work, slow work, to bring up
boys and do it thorough and well; so it won't
have to be all done over after you. The chil-
dren are the important thing, and the chickens
must come after them," said Mr. Summer, turn-
ing to leave.
"You can't take a further look at nothing, can
you?" she asked.
The Ride to the Farm.
267
29
No, no, not to - day; I'll be down to - mor-
row and go round into every department of the
farm; but Mrs. Summer is waiting for me in the
carriage, and I only came in to see how the little
girl is, and let her know, for she is particularly
interested in that child."
"How sorry she 'll be to know how it's going
to be with her!"
"We hardly expected the child would live,
but we thought the effort to save her might not
be entirely lost, and so we made it. We should
n't have done our duty if we had neglected the
child after we knew about her; the Lord brings
our work to our hand, and then if we fail we are
to blame."
"I think you'll get your reward, Mr. Summer,
for taking all these poor children and bringing
'em up!"
୧୯
Oh, you bring them up," he replied, smil-
ing; "you have all the trouble!”
"Well, the expense is yours, and that is the
268
Peter's Strange Story.
main thing; they could n't be brought up without
the wherewithal to do it. You'll get your re-
ward Mr. Summer."
"I hope the children will grow up to honor
their Maker, and be of use to the world they are
in, that will be the reward; it's all I expect to
get."
"Now, Casper," he said, as he got into
the carriage, "put us home as fast as you can.
The horses started off on their fastest trot, and
the two boys stood in the road looking after the
carriage until it swept from their view.
The carriage meanwhile moved swiftly along
the drive which lay like a serpent in coils be-
tween the short, soft verdure upon both sides of
it. Mr. and Mrs. Summer looked at the grass
and the tall, large trees which they passed, and
talked about them; and as they proceeded farther
up the grounds, they glanced off at the distant
blue mountains, and the river which rolled two
miles away, and the village lying over in the
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269
*
valley, and the April skies so soft and rosy in the
west where the sun was sinking, and listening to
the carols of the birds which were flitting from
grove to grove. They agreed that the early
spring is the most charming season of the year to
go into the country. Thus talking, and com-
menting, and praising, they drove up to the door.
This was opened as they stopped before it, and
the "old woman," as Casper had called her, stood
there to welcome them. She was a colored wom-
an, tall, and straight, and strong, with white
hair, which curled close to her head, and white
teeth which she now showed in a happy smile.
She had hoops of gold in her ears, and she wore
a long, clean, white apron which covered half her
person, and which showed the three folds of the
ironing, running from the belt to the hem. She
looked handsome and kind, as she held out her
hands to her master and mistress.

CHAPTER XV.
COMING TO HIMSELF.

HEN Peter opened his eyes from
the sleep into which he had fallen in
the snow, he could scarcely realize
who he was or what had happened to
him. He was lying on a warm bed, his head
resting on a huge pillow, and a white counter-
pane spread over him. He thought at first that
this must be a great snow - drift, but as his eyes
became accustomed to the dim light, he looked a
little farther and perceived a table standing very
Coming to Himself.
271
near, on which were bottles and phials of medi-
cine. A little beyond this, he discovered a win-
dow, with a long blue curtain looped away
from it; while near the window was a looking -
glass.
Peter's eyes went slowly from one object to
another, and then came back and rested on the
bed. He was too feeble to turn and see what
was at the other side of the room; he was even
too weak to lift his head; he tried to do this and
found it would not move; so he looked at the
window, and the mirror, and thought about the
great snowstorm, and the wind blowing, and
how tired and sleepy he was in it, and then, feel-
ing tired and sleepy at the thought of it, he fell
asleep again.
He awoke, and then dozed again, a number of
times, before he began to realize anything in the
past, except the snow in which he had been lost.
The third time he opened his eyes, he saw that it
was dark in the room, and that a light had been
272
Peter's Strange Story.
}
brought and placed on the table; it was a candle,
and the glare of it made his eyes ache, and they
fell together again, but he was not asleep. He
was trying to think how he came into that room ;
but it tired him to try and remember. Suddenly
he got another remembrance. The sight of the
candle reminded him of the candles he used to
buy, and of the lessons he used to try to study
out of the little Reader.
From one recalled thing his mind grasped at
another, until he remembered all about his old
home in the city, and the butcher's shop, and
Baby, his dear Baby,- and that he was on the
way to see her when the snow - storm came and
stopped him. He recalled the dream he had had,
and the people he had seen and talked with on
his journey; he especially remembered the old
Quaker who had been so kind, and had advised
him; and then he naturally next thought of the
good Lord who had saved him, and he said a
short
prayer to himself which was only, "Lord,
Coming to Himself.
273
I'm thankful;" then he went to sleep again.
The next time he awoke, it was broad daylight.
The sun was shining in at the window through
the blue curtains, and making everything he saw
in the room bright and beautiful. Near him, by
the head of the bed, stood a tall, large woman
whom he had never seen before. She was black,
and had gold rings in her ears and on her fingers.
Peter saw them, and he saw she held in her
hands a bowl and a spoon. He was going to
speak to her, when she shook her head at him;
she did not speak herself, but dipped the spoon
into the bowl and then put it to his lips. Peter
swallowed what she gave, and it tasted very good
to him. In a moment she gave him another;
and then, spoonful after spoonful, very slowly;
and when she thought he had enough, she placed
the bowl upon the table, and, smiling at him,
softly left the room.
The colored woman went out of the room on
the side opposite the window, and Peter found
1
274
Peter's Strange Story.
}
that, in following her movements with his eyes,
he could turn his head. Perhaps he did not real-
ize it; for it is only when we are deprived of a
blessing that we value what is lost.
ures.
1
But Peter could now look all over the room.
He saw another window, with a blue curtain
hanging before it, and two doors, and some pict-
One painting, which hung opposite the
bed, was that of a young gentleman, with a very
pleasant, round face, and blue eyes, and brown
hair. He was sure he had seen the face before
and he tried to recall the name of the gentleman
and the place where he had seen him. It seemed
to him to have been in New York, at the butch-
er's shop,- that he was one of the gentlemen
who came there to market; and though he looked
hard at it, and tried to remember, the name
would not come to him.
Another picture that pleased him very much,
was that of a lady, sitting in a chair and holding
a baby. Peter could distinguish the back of the
Coming to Himself.
275-'
chair against which she leaned, and which was
gilt, and the green dress of the mother; and he
saw that around the head of the child was a crown
of silver light, which looked as bright to him as
he had sometimes seen the new moon look.
These two pictures divided his attention for
awhile, and then he looked through the window
nearest him and saw the sky shining blue and
clear. That was all that he could see, and he
looked at it some time, so steadily that when he
turned, his eyes felt so dazzled that he had to
close them for relief.
Peter felt very comfortable and almost happy,
this morning. His bed was so warm, and the
linen sheets and pillow - slips were so soft, and the
room and the furniture were so nice, and the sun-
light made everything so bright about him, that
he was almost happy. But he was a great deal
weaker than he supposed, and his looking at the
pictures and other objects tried his strength so
that he went to sleep again before the woman
+
276
Peter's Strange Story.
came in. When he awoke, she was sitting by
the bed - side, sewing. Peter's eyes fell on her
when he awoke, so that he looked at her some
time without her seeing or knowing that he was
awake.
He saw that she sewed very fast; he looked at
her gold rings and the large hoops in her ears,
and at her white hair, which seemed very pretty
to him; but as she did not notice him, he turned
away his face towards the pictures, and when he
turned back, she was looking at him. She
smiled as she had done before, but did not speak,
and looked up very often from her work, smiling
without speaking at all. After a half hour or so,
she folded it up and said,-
"I'm going to bring you some dinner, now;
but you must not say anything, because you are
weak yet. The doctor says you can't speak un-
til tomorrow."
Then she went out of the room and left Peter
to wonder who the doctor was, and where he was,
Coming to Himself.
277
i
and who the kind, black woman was, too. By
and by she came back with some beef tea, which
she fed to him while he lay still on the pillow.
"Does it taste good?" she asked, holding the
spoon and waiting for him to swallow.
Peter nodded, and took all she gave him.
Then he opened his mouth to speak, but she put
her hand over it, and, after a moment, went out
of the room and left him to himself.
The next morning, Peter was awake early.
The sun was shining in at the window, and he
heard the birds singing merrily outside. He
awoke with a very happy feeling in his heart.
All the worry and trouble and perplexity of life
seemed to be gone, and he felt that God the Lord
was near to him, and had saved his life, and
would help him on to the end of it. He moved
his hands and feet about the bed, and tried to sit
up
but he fell back as soon as he made the ef-
fort. He was too weak.
Soon the door opened,
and the woman brought in his breakfast.
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Peter's Strange Story.
Can I speak, now?" asked he.
"A very little, after you have eaten," she re-
plied.
Then she gave him some chicken broth, and
after that she raised him a little on his pillow,
and changed his position by turning him on one
side that he might rest; then she sat down by the
bed and said,-
"Now ask four questions, no more,"
smiling so pleasantly while she spoke that Peter
also smiled, and asked,-
"How did I come in this nice bed?"
९९
My husband brought you in and put you
here; " she answered.
ter.
"Did he find me in the snow?" inquired Pe-
"Yes."
"When was it?"
"It was three or four weeks ago; you have
been very sick, but you are going to be well
soon,” replied the colored woman.
Coming to Himself.
279
"Is this your house?" asked Peter.
"Oh no, it is not mine; I'm the housekeeper
here. Now you have asked your four ques-
tions; you must not speak again until I give you
leave.'
""
Just then the doctor came in, looked at
Peter, felt his pulse, patted him on the head
and said,-
"Well, my fine boy, you have come through
the snow shower pretty strong; you look better
than you did four weeks ago when they brought
you in here."
"Doctor, see!" said the black woman, "he's
got color in his lips to - day!'
""
"I see it; but keep him quiet; no excitement,
and no talking. If he should have a pull - back
now, we could n't bring him up again."
"I let him speak this morning for the first
time."
"Well, that's enough for today; and if he
improves, as he did yesterday and the day before,
280
Peter's Strange Story.
he can sit up against the pillows to-morrow only
a few minutes; it will give him strength. Be
careful about the medicines, and give him the
wine with the chicken - broth."
'Yes, Sir; I shall do it all as you tell me.”
"I shall recommend you as a nurse if you bring
this child through, for it is owing mainly to
nursing," said the doctor.
"Master 'll be pleased; that's the most I'm
thinking of," she modestly replied to the doctor,
as she received his praises.
"Your master is coming to-morrow, you say,
and I'll drop in after he comes, in the evening;
there would be no need for me to see the boy to -
morrow; he 's so much better.
""
"Master 'll want to see you the first thing; he
always does," said the woman.
re
Very well, very well," he replied, as he
stepped nimbly out of the room, followed by the
nurse, and leaving Peter to wonder if he were
dreaming, or if it were a reality that he had
Coming to Himself.
281
been picked up and so tenderly cared for.
All that day Peter was forced to be silent.
His mind had now commenced to be quite active,
and he began to think a great deal of Baby, and
wished he had asked the nurse how far he was
from Summerville; but as he had not, he would
have to wait until the next day to learn that.
He wished, also, to know how long it might
be before he should be able to get on to the end
of his journey; but as it might seem ungrateful
to ask that question, when she had been so
kind, he concluded to say nothing about that to
her. When his thoughts tired him, which
they often did during the day, he would turn
his attention to the pictures, and amuse himself
in trying to solve the name of the young gentle-
man; but he did not succeed in this. It was
a long day to him; and the nurse was seldom
in the room except to bring him nourishment,
but this she brought often, and always something
nice.
that was very
282
Peter's Strange Story.
t
The next day was as sunny as the former.
Peter was awake early again, but he had scarce-
ly opened his eyes before the nurse was at his
bedside with his breakfast. She had also in
her hand a cluster of trailing arbutus, which she
held down for Peter to smell.
"The wood-cutters found it in the woods, yes-
terday, and brought it for me," she said.
୧୯
Oh, how sweet!" exclaimed Peter, sniffing at
the beautiful pink and white blossoms with all
his might.
like it so much?" she asked.
"Do you like it so
"Yes; what is the name of it?"
The woman told him the name of the flowers,
and then placed them on the table, near the head
of the bed, in a glass of water, where they would
keep fresh and give out their perfume all day.
"Now you must eat more, to- day, than you
did yesterday," she said; "see, here's a bit of
fine steak. I'll cut it in small pieces and put it
in your mouth. Don't try to feed yourself yet;
Coming to Himself.
283
you will need all your strength to eat, without
wasting it in that way for several days. But
I'll feed you; it does me good to see you eat.”
After Peter had finished his breakfast, he said
to her,-
"You are very kind to me!"
"Oh, chick, this is nothing. I guess I know
my duty to Master.”
"Who is your master?" asked Peter.
"There he is," she said, pointing with a proud
gesture to the portrait of the young gentleman
which hung opposite the bed; "how do you like
his looks? Ain't he a handsome man?"
Peter acknowledged that he was handsome with
a nod.
"You'll see him to - day; he 's coming home;
and he'll be as glad as we that you lived through
it He's a hand for children,- he is."
"How far do you live from Summerville?"
"It's about three miles,-little more 'n three, I
reckon."
284
Peter's Strange Story.
"How soon did the doctor say I could sit up?"
questioned Peter.
"He did n't say; he only said you might sit up
against the pillows, to - day, a few minutes; and
now I sha'n't let you talk any more.
I've got a
heap to do to day; but I'll be in soon again,
and you just keep a good heart, and look out of
the window, and smell of these flowers."
The colored woman now abruptly took herself
off, leaving the invalid boy to muse and look out
the window at the sunlight, and the gay flowers,
and the picture of the gentleman who was coming
home to-day. Peter thought he should now see
him, and he wondered if he really had seen him
before, or had only dreamed about him. He
would ask the woman, the next time she came in,
what his name was. But he fell asleep before
she came in again, and when she did, she brought
his dinner, and there was so much fuss in settling
him up against the pillows so that he could rest
upon them well, and in getting his plate arranged
Coming to Himself.
285
before him, that he forgot everything else. She
gave him a chicken wing to eat, and a slice of
brown toast, and some red jelly, and a cup of
cocoa. How very good it all tasted! He ate
every crumb of it; and the nurse told him he
should have more, by and by, but not then, for
he said he thought he could eat some more.
"You'll have a dreadful appetite now, I
s'pect," she said, taking out the pillows and
straightening Peter down into bed again ; " folks
that have been so sick always do; but you must
n't eat too much at once; if you do, it will bring
on a relapse, and that will be worse than being
frozen up in the snow."
"How did they find me that night?
" asked
Peter, while the nurse wiped his face and hands.
"Now you must n't ask any questions to - day
about that, because it won't do you any good; as
soon as you are strong enough my Joe will tell
you all about it; he found you."
"Was I frozen?"
286
Peter's Strange Story.
"I said not to ask questions; don't you know
the doctor's charge to me? He'll tell Master if
I let you talk, and then we shall both get it!"
she said, shaking her head, and gathering up the
dishes in her hands preparatory to leaving the
room.
९९
"Just tell me this," Peter asked. Who is
your master?"
"I told you he was there," pointing to the
portrait, "and I can't tell you any more; now
you go to sleep and have a good nap.
99


CHAPTER XVI.
THE BIRTH - MARK.

T WAS late in the afternoon when
Mr. and Mrs. Summer arrived at their
country house. They walked into the old-
fashioned sitting - room, which opened
off from the wide hall, and Judith, the colored
woman, unpinned Mrs. Summer's bonnet ties,
and took off her sack and folded it up, smiling
and talking all the time.
९९
Everything is ready for the table, Ma'am,"
she said, for though Judith always addressed
Mr. Summer as Master, she never called his
wife anything but Ma'am; "I saw the team a
288
Peter's Strange Story.
}
coming a mile off, and clapped down the chicken
to brile, and set the tea.
୧୧
Why, it's an hour earlier than we have tea,
Judith," said Mr. Summer;
"what made you
in such a hurry about it? I want to look around
the old place some."
"Oh, you can't never set down, Master, when
you come up here," said Judith, with the priv-
ileged freedom of speech accorded to an old and
´well - beloved servant ; ୧୧
you must run right out
to see if I hain't done things right, I s'pect!
""
"Mr. Summer likes the old place so well,
that he always wants to look round it, even before
he eats, Judith," said the lady, apologetically, as
she seated herself in a great, chintz arm chair
which stood in a corner of the fire - place, while
her husband walked out of the room.
-
"The fire 's getting low, Ma'am, I'm 'fraid,"
said Judith, seizing the tongs and giving a series
of vigorous punches into the midst of a blazing
wood-fire which filled the space between the
The Birth - Mark.
289 -
T
wide marble jambs; then she hung the tongs on
the brass hooks, and put on an extra stick of
wood from the wood - box. "I know how Mas-
ter likes a wood fire, all seasons.
You do n't see
no such fire like that, Ma'am, down in town, do
you?"
ee
""
No, Judith; and I must admit I like a wood-
fire, too, better than coal," said Mrs. Summer,
turning back the skirt of her brown thibet dress,
so that the heat from the fire need not change its
color.
"The handirons do n't look no extras, Ma'am,"
said Judith, giving one of the tall, brass andirons
a little shove with her foot to bring it back into
parallel relations with its mate; "they orter been
rubbed to-day, but I did n't git round to it."
"Why, Judith, I'm sure they shine as bright
as they can," said Mrs. Summer, looking at her
own convex image in a half dozen different elon-
gated shapes, in the brass heads before her; "I
should think they'd just been polished."
290
Peter's Strange Story.
"No, Ma'am, hain't been touched sence last
week," said Judith, walking through a door,
where a table was seen, with the cloth and china
on it, all ready for tea, and giving a look at the
table and then coming straight back.
"Do
you see the neighbors often, Judith?” in-
quired Mrs. Summer, pushing back her chair
from the fire.
"Well, Ma'am, I see Dr. Skillton pretty often
lately," said Judith.
"How is the doctor?'
er
Oh, fine, Ma'am; he's 'bout the best doctor
as carries saddle - bags," said Judith.
"I wish he could have raised that last little
girl that Mr. Summer sent up from the city,"
observed Mrs. Summer, reflectively; "Mr. Sum-
mer saw her as we drove past, and he tells me
she is very low."
"Them that He's ordained to be raised he can
raise, Ma'am, and them that's ordained to die he
can't nor nobody else," answered Judith, with the
The Birth - Mark.
291
assurance, the emphasis and the formal pomposity
of an oracle.
"That 's true, Judith," responded Mrs. Sum-
mer.
"When mearakles is worked it's the Lord
works 'em!" continued Judith in the same con-
fident tone.
"And we are past those days, my good Ju-
dith," said Mr. Summer, coming in at a door
opposite the one by which he had previously gone
out.
"I believe in 'em happening in these days,
Master," said Judith; "but do, Ma'am, come to
tea now, for I do n't like my table to spile by
standing."
"Fried potatoes, Judith!" exclaimed Mr. Sum-
mer, as they seated themselves at the table;
"and as white and thin as bits of isinglass."
९९
'Yes, Master, them is the Saratogy kind,"
said Judith, bringing on the tea in one hand and
two plates in the other; "I got the nack of play-
292
Peter's Strange Story.
ing the agreeable to the colored woman while
you and Ma'am sailed on the lake, you remem-
ber."
"These are the largest spring chickens I've
seen," said Mrs. Summer.
"That's 'cause I 'tends to setting of the hens,
myself; my chickens hatched a week 'fore Mr.
Casper's, or any other neighbor's.'
"How is your husband, Judith?" inquired
Mrs. Summer, kindly.
"He's right well, Ma'am, I thank ye; he's
gone for trout, though he said they would n't
bite, but he thought may be he might catch one
or two for your breakfast. Them cresses are
fresh, Master."
"I see the asparagus is not very high," said
Mr. Summer, as he took the water-cresses which
Judith offered.
"O Master! I'se had such a trouble with that
bed of sparrowgrass. John and Miky came up
from the farm to hoe and help with my beds, and
The Birth - Mark.
293
1
all the salt I give 'em to put on that bed they
strowed onto the lettuce bed."
"That is what has nearly killed the lettuce, I
suppose.
""
"Yes, Master; but the boys was dreadful
sorry, and they have got a bed expressly for you
to eat, down to the farm."
ee
Boys will be boys," remarked Mr. Summer,
as he nicely anatomized the second chicken.
"Have another cup o' tea, Master? I s'pect
the tea is drawed to death, it looks so dark."
"It's very nice, Judith," said Mr. Sum-
mer.
"Are the robins building their nest on the
south porch again this year, Judith?" inquired
Mrs. Summer.
"Yes, Ma'am; the old bird's setting; this
'ere's the tenth year you know."
୧୯
'No, Judith, I think you are mistaken. I
think it is the ninth year; do n't you know,”-
୧୯
Yes, Ma'am, I remember, too; they began
294
Peter's Strange Story.
to build there the last year we had little Master
Harry here. I remember holding him up to
look in the nest, to see the young ones. I stood
on a chair, and he took out one bird with his little
hand. Oh, it's ten years, Ma'am, for he has
been gone nine."
"I don't remember about the birds building
there the last year we had Harry, do you, hus-
band?"
"I don't remember about the birds," re-
sponded Mr. Summer, "but it is nine years this
spring since we lost our boy."
"You'll find him again, Master; I always
said it, and believed it," said Judith, compressing
her lips and shaking her head until the ear - rings
swung back and forth like a bell clapper.
"No, Judith," exclaimed Mr. Summer, sen-
tentiously.
"Yes, Master, I'm right on 't; he is n't dead,"
she reiterated.
"If he had been living, after he was lost by
The Birth - Mark.
295
the servant, do n't you think the reward I offered
would have been the means of bringing him back
to me?" questioned Judith's master.
Ah, but somebody might ha' found him who
never saw the reward in the papers, nor heard of
it."
"That is not likely, Judith; I published it a
year, and it went all over the world.”
All true, Master; but do n't you s'pect there
is holes in New York, where a newspaper do n't
come, from one year's end to tother? I do."
"Our boy was no doubt drowned; he was lost
near the river, and I've always believed he went
that way," said Mr. Summer, as he rose from
the table and, accompanied by his wife, walked
into the sitting room.
"Ah, here comes Dr. Skillton," said he, as
the doctor, according to his custom, opened the
door and walked in; "you are always the first,
Doctor, to give us a call and a welcome."
"That proves who is happiest to see you, after
296
Peter's Strange Story.
having run away from us all for so many months;
you see I don't remember your short-com-
ings."
"
"Nor my long stayings away, either, Doctor,"
retorted the other.
"I'm for giving you credit that you wanted
to return earlier than this."
Ce
Ah, it's short credit you give; but sit down;
I'm glad to see you, Doctor."
}
"After shaking hands with my friend, Mrs.
Summer. How did your husband persuade you,
Madam, to come up here so early in the sea-
son ? "
"By coming himself," quickly interrupted Mr.
Summer, laughing and taking off his glasses;
"no other motive was necessary.”
"Have you seen my patient?" inquired the
doctor, abruptly, as he seated himself.
୧୯
Yes; and I was sorry to see that you will
probably lose her.”
"Her? why, I mean the boy,- the boy up
3
The Birth - Mark.
297
!
stairs," said the doctor, with a look full of per-
plexity in his face.
"I did n't know there was a patient,-- a boy
up stairs."
"Has n't Judith told you yet about him?"
"No!" was the emphatic reply.
dith," he called to the woman who
"Here, Ju-
was busy in
the adjoining room, with the tea dishes;
CC
come
here and tell me what the doctor means by a sick
boy up stairs?"
Judith stepped inside the door, her face il-
lumined with smiles.
"Who is sick up stairs, Judith? Why have n't
you spoken of it to us?"
"It's a boy, Master, that my Joe found, one
night, buried in the snow, down the avenue;
he was nigh froze to death, and Joe brought him
here to me, and,— we saved him,” replied Ju-
dith, very slowly.
"What boy is it? Who did he prove to be?”
"That's what we have not found out, Sir,'
298
Peter's Strange Story.
interposed the doctor; "he has not been able to
speak at all until yesterday. He was a poor boy,
I judge, though, by his clothing; but whoever
he is, Judith has taken wonderful care of him.
He was as good as gone when I first saw him,
but she rubbed the life back into him, and has
nursed him since with extraordinary skill. His
life hung on a thread for weeks."
"How long has he been here?”
"Five weeks come Sunday morning," re-
sponded the colored woman, with the exactitude
of a Shylock.
"So, Mr. Summer," rejoined the doctor," there
will be no further need to send up any more
children from the city to your phalanstery, for
they begin to come to you of their own accord."
Ce
Well, if they will be really benefited by me,
Doctor, let them come," was the reply; "I'll re-
ceive all that make application in the form that
this boy has done."
""
"He is a delicate looking little fellow,' re-
The Birth - Mark.
299
sumed the doctor," and he 's got the true pluck
to hang on so; I like to see a child stick to life
as he has done; it marks the grit in his na-
ture."
Ce
Where did he come from? Where was he
going?" asked Mr. Summer.
"He was going to Summerville village, I
reckon," said Judith, "for he asked me to-day
how far it was to there? But he has n't said
where he come from. I guess he got strayed
way off the road in the awful snow storm, for
Joe found him well up the avenue, and he
brought him to me, as 't was nearer than to the
farm - house, and I kept him."
my
"And did right," exclaimed Mr. Summer.
She could n't have very well done otherwise,”
remarked the physician, "for there's been no
day, nor hour, when it would have been safe to
send him away.
""
"Why, it can't be Peter, can it?" queried
Mr. Summer, turning to his wife; "it was just
· 300
Peter's Strange Story.
t
about the time he left New York, that this boy
was found here."
"I don't think it possible he could have come
on here alone," was the reply.
"What sort of a looking boy is your Peter?"
asked Dr. Skillton.
ì
"Rather slim and pinched; a light complex-
ioned lad, though, with an honest face. What's
this boy's appearance?"
-
"A nice looking boy as I ever seed," replied
Judith; "he's fair, round faced, with light hair,
and blue eyes,- got a wonderful head of
hair."
"So has Peter, and it's he, I believe!"
ejaculated Mr. Summer, taking off his spectacles
with energy, and then putting them right on
again. "He has come up here to see that little
Baby at the farm; she is his sister, or something
or other near to him, and he is very fond of her.
I'll go right up and see if it's not Peter."
"Wait a little, Mr. Summer," cried the doc-
t
The Birth - Mark.
301
tor; "I don't know but the sudden appearance
of a stranger might have an ill effect on our pa-
tient."
"No 't wont affect him," interposed Judith;
"did n't I tell him, this morning, that Master was
coming, and he'd soon see him? He's looking
for him; he asked who Master was! "
"Did you tell him, Judith?" was Mr. Sum-
mer's inquiry.
"No, I just showed him Master's picture, and
said, there he is.""
'Well, I'll go right up, then," said Mr. Sum-
mer, "for I have been very anxious about that
boy Peter, and it was mostly on his account that
we made this trip up here in April."
"Wholly on his account, you mean," observed
Mrs. Summer, with the laudable wifely desire
that every person, as far as possible, should know
of the trouble to which her husband submitted
for the sake of doing service to humanity.
१९
How was it that Casper knew nothing about
¿
302
Peter's Strange Story.
this boy?" asked Mr. Summer, as he was leav-
ing the room. "I questioned Casper particularly,
and he said he had neither seen nor heard any-
thing about the boy for whom I was looking."
"O master, I wan't going to have no Mr. Cas-
per a interfering with my nursing,” replied Ju-
dith; "so I just kept my own secrets, and I
asked Dr. Skillton to keep 'em, too."
"Well, you two have kept a secret better than
I ever knew two people to do it before, if you
have had this sick boy in the house four or five
weeks, and Casper not found it out.”
"Judith said she was n't going to have Cas-
per's wife offering to help, as she would do if she
knew about it; and I thought that the fewer the
people in the house the better the chance for the
life of the boy; so I thought it best to keep the
secret a while,” said the doctor, as he followed
Mr. Summer out of the room.
"There was another reason, Ma'am, that I
wanted it kept secret," said Jadith as she moved
The Birth - Mark.
303
slowly across the room towards the large chair
in which her mistress was seated.
"What was that, Judith?" inquired Mrs.
Summer.
Judith went to the door, examined the catch
to see that it was fastened, then she closed the
door which had stood open into the tea - room,
and, returning, seated herself on a stool near the
side of her mistress.
Ma'am," she said, in a whisper, laying her
broad, black hand upon Mrs. Summer's slender
white one; Ce
Ma'am, do you remember that mark
which was on the breast of poor little Master
Harry?"
"The birth- mark? Perfectly, Judith," was
the answer.
"Do you remember, Ma'am, just the number
of grapes? How many was there, Ma'am !" she
whispered.
"What do you ask sucn questions for, now,
Judith?" questioned Mrs. Summer in her turn;
304
Peter's Strange Story.
"of course, I remember it. Do you think a
mother can forget anything about her child?
"Sometimes they does, Ma'am," said Judith,
with unction; "some mothers does; but mostly
they does n't; now, Ma'am, how many grapes
was there?"
Thirteen, Judith; it was a cluster containing
thirteen grapes, and each was distinctly marked,
-so clearly that one could distinguish them
easily, each from each ;- but why are you asking
me about that, Judith?"
"'Cause, Ma'am," continued Judith in her
sharp whisper, "I wanted to know, sure, myself,
from you. I had n't forgot; don't you think it,
Ma'am, for I dressed him and washed his bosom
many a time.
Did n't the bunch of grapes hang
down, the small grapes at the bottom and the
stem at the top, Ma'am?"
"Yes, it did."
"And where was it exactly, Ma'am? Could
you put your hand on the exact spot, now, do
The Birth - Mark.
305
you think, if you was to jest meditate over it and
try?"
"No doubt I could; it was just over the heart,
Judith."
"Do you suppose, Ma'am, that there might be
another mark on another boy just like that one?
Do you s'pose that two marks on two babies is
just both alike?"
"I can't say, Judith; I should hardly think it
probable, but it might be; but why do you
ask?"
'Cause, Ma'am," whispered Judith, holding
tight the hand that lay beneath hers on Mrs.
Summer's lap, "'cause the boy up stairs, that's
so sick, and that we've saved, has got just such
another mark on his heart as little Master Harry
had."
"O Judith! It can't be," exclaimed Mrs.
Summer.
"Yes, Ma'am, 't is so; I've counted the grapes
over a hundred times since he's been lying nigh
306
Peter's Strange Story.
{
dead, up stairs, there; there's thirteen on 'em,
the same mark, Ma'am. Do you s'pose two
marks can be just alike on two boys like that?"
"I don't know, Judith. Oh, it makes me
faint!" murmured Mrs. Summer, as she leaned
back in her chair and closed her eyes.
Judith ran and fetched the hartshorn, and
bathed her mistress's temples; then she sat down
by her and rubbed her hands. Mrs. Summer re-
vived and said,-
୧୯
"O Judith, how could you so disturb me?"
"I thought you 'd like to know about it,
Ma'am, and it may be,"-
"No, no; it can not be; it is impossible!"
"I've heard, Ma'am, that nothing's impossible
with the Lord; and we did n't never hear that
little Master Harry was dead; and I always said
that he was alive, and you'd get him home.
Now, did n't I?"
"Yes, you have, Judith; but I thought,”—
Ce
'Well, Ma'am, will you come up stairs and
The Birth - Mark.
307
look at the mark, yourself, and at the boy? If
little Harry is alive, he could n't look more like
Master himself than the boy that's sick, up stairs,
does."
ce
'Oh, I'll go up some time and
child,—to - morrow, not to- night.
doctor know of the mark, Judith?'
look at the
Does the
"No, Ma'am; I was n't going to tell no doc-
tor, nor nobody, 'bout my suspicions, till I was
righted in 'em. I bathed him and rubbed him;
the doctor has n't seen the mark once. That
was the true reason that I did n't let Mr. Casper
know of him. I thought, soon as I see that
't was Master's boy, who should nuss him and
take care of him but me, Ma'am?'
And the doctor says it was you that saved
him, Judith," said Mrs. Summer; "I think I
should like to go up and see him."
"No, Ma'am, do n't you go and do nothing
sudden. Hain't I been all these weeks a thinking
on it over for you? Wait a bit, may be 'tain't
308
Peter's Strange Story.
little Master Harry, and may be again 't is."
"If it should be, I want to see him, Judith;
but, after all, I don't suppose it can be.
you remember how many children were
Do n't
sent to
us in answer to the advertisement for him?"
"Yes, Ma'am, but nary one of 'em had a mark
of thirteen grapes on the breast, did they?
"No, none."
They all had marks of some kind, though,
did n't they?
"Yes, but all different."
Just so, Ma'am ; but this one ain't different ;
it's exact, like that, every way. I think, Ma'am,
it's little Master Harry himself."
Mrs. Summer covered her face with her hands,
and Judith thought she was praying; so she
arose and went into the tea - room to finish wash-
ing the dishes and putting the room to rights.
After this she came back and said to her mistress,
ce
'Don't let it trouble you, Ma'am; it will all
come round right."
The Birth - Mark.
309
"Yes; I know that, Judith; all things are
right; and I'm contented to let it be as God
wills," said Mrs. Summer; "but I'd rather not
talk any more about it.”
I
"No, Ma'am, we won't talk 'bout it; we'll rest
it over night. When things bothers me, Ma'am,
says
to my
Joe, we'll rest 'em, and to - mor-
row may be they 'll take a different look; but I
always did feel it, night and day, that the Lord
would bring back little Harry, and so He has,
just by means of Master's befriending poor little
creatures that was like bad off.”


CHAPTER XVII.
QUESTIONINGS.

ETER had had a long nap after
his dinner that day, but, lengthy as it
was, he was awake nearly two hours be-
fore the solitude of his room was again
disturbed. He had begun to feel the strength
returning through all his frame, and while he
waited, and turned his head on his pillows, and
kicked out his feet to the extremest length of his
legs, and doubled his fists, and thrust them, first
one and then the other, under the pillows;-
when these expedients for disposing of the time
Questionings.
311,
had tired him, he lay quite still and sought to
amuse himself by finding new objects of interest
in the room, and taking long surveys of the
portrait.
But the afternoon stole away. The sun moved
from the window which faced the bed. Peter be-
gan to feel hungry, and to think it was time he
had something to eat; but he recalled what the
nurse had told him, and he concluded she might
not get time to bring him anything. Accus-
tomed to exercise patience, he was quite able to
do it while reposing in this warm bed. He
looked at the picture of the mother and child, and
was glad they were happy together; then he won-
dered, as he had many times before, if his mother
used to hold him so closely and loved him so
much. It seemed strange to think that he had
had a mother, and he thought a mother must feel
somewhat as he felt for Baby.
The thought of the little girl nerved him, and
he revolved the questions he would ask of the
312
Peter's Strange Story.
doctor the next time he saw him, about getting
on his way to the child. He thought he was
perfectly well now, and could go in the morning,
and, resolved on trying his strength at once, he
sat bolt upright for a moment; but this effort
proved his weakness, for he sank back dizzy.
He was lying thus when he heard the door open;
turning his eyes, he saw the doctor advancing,
and behind him was his dear old friend, Mr.
Summer. Peter could scarcely credit his senses,
but he stared the harder as he saw Mr. Summer
smile, and his face get rosy, and the pleasant,
shrewd twinkling of the eyes behind the
glasses.
Ce
Why, our patient looks paler this afternoon
than he did yesterday!" said the doctor, ap-
proaching the bed.
you did?" he asked.
"Do n't you feel as well a
as
"Yes, Sir;" said Peter, his eyes still on the
gentleman in the rear of the doctor.
"How do you do, my boy?" inquired Mr.
Questionings.
313
Summer, now approaching the bedside and taking
Peter's thin hand in his own.
"I'm better, a great deal better," replied
Peter.
"When did you come?"
"I came here to-day; I came from the South
last week, and found you had run off from your
work at the butcher's."
Ah, it is your boy, then; but, pray, do n't
disturb him," said the doctor in a low voice.
"I wanted to find Baby!" said Peter, faintly.
"All right, my boy, all right; here," said Mr.
Summer, going to the table and pouring a little
wine whey that stood on the table into a glass;
"drink this ;-there, now, you'll get some
strength."
Ce
'I've given that to him every day," said the
doctor.
"He has been through the mill by his looks,"
said Mr. Summer; "he's but the skeleton of
himself now, and he was always as thin as a
ghost."
314
Peter's Strange Story.
}
"Do you know how Baby is?" asked Peter of
Mr. Summer.
"Yes, I saw her to-day as I came; she has
got more color on her cheeks than you have, my
boy."
"Then she ain't dead! Oh, I'm so glad;
I'm so glad!" exclaimed Peter, beginning to
cry.
"There! there!" commanded the doctor;
"hush up; your tea is coming right up now; ain't
you hungry?"
"Yes, Sir, I'm real hungry," sobbed Peter,
the tears rolling down his cheeks.
Ce
Well, you shall have some breast of chicken;
and I'll see about something else too when I go
down," said Mr. Summer. "You've been a
good boy to think so much of that little girl.
How did you travel from New York here,
pray?"
"I walked," said Peter, wiping his face with
his hand.
Questionings.
315
"All the way, Peter?"
"Yes, Sir," said Peter.
"Did you have
the way?"
have any money to buy your food on
Peter shook his head.
"None?" questioned Mr. Summer.
"Not any," said Peter; "that bad boy that
stole my shoes, met me, and took all my money
from me, the night before I started."
"Well, have you begged on the way here,
Peter?"
"Some times, and sometimes the folks gave me
something to eat; 'most everybody was very good
to me."
Mr. Summer looked at the doctor, and the
doctor returned the glance, and then made a ges-
ture which intimated that there had better not be
any more questions asked. At this moment
Judith entered with the tray containing Peter's
supper, and the doctor, after a few directions to
her, said,-
316
Peter's Strange Story.
"I think, Mr. Summer, that we will relieve
this sick boy of visitors now; may be he will en-
joy his tea better than talking."
<<
Certainly," exclaimed the latter.
There,
How tired you look!" said Judith, as the two
gentlemen quitted the room; "it's been too much
company; now jest let me fix you up against the
pillows, and have your tea comfortable.
I'll spread this napkin over the counterpane, and
here's another to tuck under your chin. I've
got some briled chicken to night, and here's
wine jelly, too; you shall have all the good things
to make you well and strong!"
"I wonder what makes everybody so good to
me," said Peter, with his mouth full of chicken;
"I don't see why; I do n't deserve it."
"Hey! little boy, do you s'pose that folks only
gets what they deserves?"
"But some folks do deserve good things,"
said Peter; "they are good."
"Well, then, you be thinking you're one of
Questionings.
317
'em; I guess you be, my self," said Judith, put-
ting the curtains farther back from the windows,
to let in the twilight.
Peter shook his head two or three times,
"I ain't," he said, setting down the tottering
tea - cup.
"Well, if there's anybody that is deserving,
it's my master," said Judith; "he's a born,
good man, and a - doing good all the time."
"When is he coming?" asked Peter.
Why, little boy, he 's been and come to -
day. Didn't you know 't was him with the
doctor?"
""
"That was Mr. Summer," said Peter.
"Well, Mr. Summer is my master,” said Ju-
dith, with an accent of pride in her ownership of
him; "that's his picture, took when he was a
young gentleman.”
"I thought 't was somebody I'd seen, but I
could n't think of Mr. Summer," said Peter,
gazing at the picture while he swallowed his toast.
318
Peter's Strange Story.
"Yes, that's Mr. Summer, and this is his
home."
"Then is Baby here?" cried Peter, quickly
dropping the spoon in his hand.
"Who's Baby?" demanded Judith; "there's
no chick nor child here but you!
Oh, she is here," cried Peter; "Mr. Summer
told me he had seen her to - day."
"Who is she? tell me," again demanded Ju-
dith.
"She's my Baby, that Mr. Summer sent to
the farm, ever so long ago, and it's her I come to
find."
"Then she's at the farm, sure!
a dozen children and more there,
There's half
children he 's
taken out of poverty, and with no father, and
with no mother, and sent them to be brung up;
she's there, no mistake; Master called there to -
day as he was coming home."
"It n't the farm here?"
"No, no; that's a mile off," said Judith; "I
Questionings.
319
mean the farm-house where them children be;
you did n't s'pose Master 'd have 'em all here?"
"I did n't know," said Peter, returning to his
attack on the food.
"It must be the child that 's s"- sick, Ju-
dith had begun to say; but she noticed that Pe-
ter's eyes were fixed questioningly upon her, and
a sudden instinct caused her to change the word
"the child that 's so small.'
and say,
"Yes, that's her," said Peter, with his first
faint attempt at a smile; "she's so little!"
"I thought may be 't was," said Judith.
And she loves me ever so much," said Peter,
his whole face lighting up with the thought of his
proprietorship in such a treasure.
"Poor little boy!" exclaimed Judith, looking
with sympathy at the changed countenance, as she
remembered that the doctor had said the little girl
at the farm must die.
"I'm 'most well, now," said Peter. "I shall
get up tomorrow morning!"
1
320
Peter's Strange Story.
"Don't you dare to get out of that bed till the
doctor says you may," said Judith, in a sudden
spasm of authority. "Did n't I nuss you all
these weeks back to life, when you were just
dead and gone? And now you'll go and bring
on a relapse and disappoint everybody! Don't
you, I say!"
Peter saw by the voice and the look of his
nurse, that he would have to submit, so he said,
meekly,
"If the doctor says I may?"
"Well, he won't say you may; so you jest
'commodate yourself to circumstances, little boy.
You do n't know how bad off you be, yet.”
Peter had now finished his tea, and he leaned
back against the pillows as though he was indeed
"bad off." Judith hastened to put him back in
the bed, saying, as she smoothed out the pil-
lows,—
"You jest see, now, how weak you be, and
talk about getting up in the morning! Master
Questionings.
321
would n't like ye to talk so, not a single bit of
it."
Peter closed his eyes and said,—
"I'll stay as long as the doctor says."
"That's right! That's what you owe to
Master and me e; I guess you'll find out in the -
end that more folks than the Baby loves you."
Judith now let down the window curtains and
lighted a candle; then she gathered all the soiled
dishes on her waiter and prepared to leave the
But before she had reached the door it
room.
was opened by Mr. Summer.
'Just take a look at him, Master," she said,
softly, "with his eyes shut. Don't you think he
looks 'mazingly like your portrait, there?”
That's a fancy of yours, Judith,” replied Mr.
Summer, looking up as she wished; "you are
thinking every boy looks like my portrait,—
if the boy has a round face and light hair."
'Well, Master, look! It's the same forehead
and chin; can't you see it 's the same; he's 'maz-
322
Peter's Strange Story.
ing like you was, Master, in ever so many
ways."
"You'll be wanting me to adopt him, next,"
said Mr. Summer, smiling.
"I wish you'd do it, Master; he ain't like
them other boys down to the farm,- nothin' like
'em. He's all gentle like, and patient," said
Judith.
"Pshaw! Let him go to sleep if he can," was
the reply.
"He won't wake soon, after he goes to sleep,
Master; he'll sleep like a mole," said Judith ;
Ce
'he's a pretty boy, ain't he?" she continued,
lingering by the bedside.
୧୯
Yes, he looks bright and gentle, as you say,
now he is washed; but the first time I saw him
you could n't tell whether he was white, or
yellow, or black, he was so covered with dirt,"
said Mr. Summer.
He's had hot baths enough, since I took him
in hand, if that's all," said Judith; " and such
Questionings.
323
poor, worn-out clothes he had on,
in the closet there."
they are all
"I'll see he has some new ones, Judith, when
he gets up again."
Have you had any talk with Ma'am, since
went down stairs with the doctor, Master?
you
in-
quired the nurse.
"No, why?
"Why, nothin' much, Master; I did n't know
but she might have told you 'bout a talk we
had," said Judith, looking confused and unde-
cided.
"What have you and she been talking about,
Judith?"
'Bout this boy, Master," said Judith, burst-
ing out in her eagerness to have Mr. Summer
acquainted with what she thought proof positive
that Peter was Mr. Summer's own child; 'bout
this boy, here; I think Master, he's your own
little Harry as was lost nine years ago in New
York."
324
Peter's Strange Story.
"Judith, you are getting demented," said Mr.
Summer, turning a shade paler and looking indig-
nant; "you imagine every boy that has no home
or parents must be my boy."
"No, Master, please Sir, I don't; I never said
before that a boy was yours, did I? Now say,
Master?"
"You are always giving rein to your fancy,
though, and thinking this and that boy look
like me.
I wish you'd stop it; it's disagreeable
to me."
"Master, you jest go down stairs and ask
Ma'am to tell you what the reason is that I think
this boy, as lies here, is yours. Jest ask her,
and make her tell you the truth. Master, what
I know I know." Judith finished her adjuration
by snatching up the tray of dishes, and tossing
her head, in high dudgeon; then she went out of
the room and shut the door after her.
Mr. Summer, left alone with Peter, sat down
in the large chair which stood by the bedside,
Questionings.
325
crossed his legs, took off his spectacles, wiped
them, and, having replaced them over his nose,
gave a long, steady stare at the face which lay on
the pillow. Then he directed his attention to the
portrait on the wall; but as the light from the
candle was insufficient to render the features
distinct, he again turned and fixed his eyes upon
the boy.
Peter was now asleep, breathing softly and
regularly, and his face, though thinner than when
Mr. Summer had first seen it, wore a sweet,
hopeful expression, more winning than the flush
of health. His thick, light brown hair, brushed
back from his forehead, looked glossy and soft,
and the blue veine showed plainly at the temples
and across the forehead.
Mr. Summer exam-
ined the lines of the face closely, touched the
white brow as he smoothed off the hair with his
hand, sighed, and then moved away from the bed
and walked softly and uneasily about the room.
Twice or thrice he stopped to regard the quiet
1
326
Peter's Strange Story.
face, and then proceeded in his uneven walk.
Judith's talk to him had disturbed the serenity
of his thoughts, and awakened painful feelings
associated with the loss and long search for his
child in the past years. After a few turns and
stoppings, accompanied by sighs and smothered
words, he went down to join his wife in the sit-
ting - room.


CHAPTER XVIII.
THE LOST FOUND.

HEN Mr. Summer entered the
room, he found his wife sitting alone.
Judith had replenished the fire, and
lighted a cluster of candles in a
candelabrum, and then had gone to the kitchen
to make sundry preparations for the morning's
meal. Mrs. Summer, who was leaning her head
upon her hand, did not observe her husband's
entrance until he had spoken.
"Well, wife," said he, drawing his chair up by
the side of her's," the boy up stairs is Peter, the
328
Peter's Strange Story.
little rascal; he's walked all the way up here to
find that baby girl. But what's the matter?
You look very tired."
"I had not thought I was tired; no, I am very
well," she replied. "Then it is Peter. Henry,
how does he look?"
"As though he had been very sick, but he eats
and sleeps now like a trooper, and the doctor
says he'll come through it all right.”
"How do you think he looks?"
ce
Why, I told you, dreadfully wan and
worn.
He came all the way without money, and
on foot,― begged his food, and slept by begging,
too, I dare say; then lost in that snow
Judith's a grand nurse; upon my word, she's
done marvelously well for that boy."
storm!-
"She has been talking to me about the boy,
Henry," said Mrs. Summer, hesitatingly. "Judith
has got an idea that he may be our lost Harry;
do you think he looks like you? She says he
does."
The Lost Found.
329
୧୧
So she said to me; but that 's Judith's hubby,
to find children that look like me; she is al-
ways doing it, you know!'
'Yes, I know; but she says that there's more
than a resemblance to you in this boy, that makes
her believe he is our child."
"What is it? She wanted I should ask you
something about a true reason. What is her
true reason?
"She says that there is a mark on the boy's
breast like the one on little Harry's. You re-
member that?
"Yes, yes, of course I do, perfectly; it was
so distinct and so peculiar, like a painting, you
know."
"Well, Judith says it's the same, exactly, in
every respect," said Mrs. Summer, laying her
hand on her husband's knee, and looking earnest-
ly into his face; "now do you think there might
be another child having the same mark as
ours ? "
330
Peter's Strange Story.
{
Mr. Summer looked in the fire steadily a mo-
ment before he spoke, then he said,—
"Yes, there might." Then he added, "I
have given up our boy long ago. I don't think
we shall ever find him."
"Judith is sure this child is ours," said Mrs.
"At all events,
Summer in an earnest tone.
though I can't believe it myself, we can look
at the mark and judge about its resemblance."
"Oh yes, we'll satisfy ourselves with that;
but you must remember that will not be a
proof."
"I know it; but I'd like to see the mark; will
you go up stairs with me? You say he is asleep,
and we can see it without disturbing him. "
"Yes, I'll go up with you; but we won't im-
agine for a minute that this child is ours. Do n't
let us suffer another disappointment; wife; let us
bide our lot as the Lord has made it for us."
"So we will, and so we do, do n't we? But
I must say, I was very much overcome when Ju-
The Lost Found.
331
dith talked with me about it. It took me so ut-
terly by surprise."
"You had better put it off until morning; you
are excited and fatigued to - night."
Ce
No, I shall sleep the better for going up,
Henry; I am excited, I know; but it will allay
that if I can only satisfy myself"—
"Of what?" asked her husband;-" that this
boy may have a mark like our lost boy's, but
not
that he is the same. Remember that."
ce
Yes; I remember, Henry, it is improbable; Ι
told Judith so; I reminded her of the number of
times that we had thought we had found our
child and been grieved over again. She insists
on the resemblance. But let us go up now, and
see for ourselves.”
Mrs. Summer made a movement towards the
door, and her husband rose and followed her.
They entered Peter's room together, and drew
towards the bed. He was sleeping calmly; the
shaded light of the candle made him look even
1
Peter's Strange Story.
332
paler than he did by day - light. Mr. Summer
bent over and moved away the bed - clothes from
the neck of the boy, then he unbuttoned the
night - gown and pulled it back from the left side,
exposing to view the bony little frame beneath,
with its birth – mark plain upon it.
Mr. Summer bent down and looked closely
through his spectacles at the scarlet spot, then
he stepped back and motioned his wife into his
place, while he went to the foot of the bed to
bring the candle. Shielding the light from the
face of the boy, he placed it near to his breast,
and together they counted the round red spots
which were clustered in the mark.
·
•
"Did you make them thirteen?" whispered
Mrs. Summer.
"Yes, but I'll count them again," replied Mr.
Summer in the same accent.
And for the second, and third, and fourth time,
they numbered the scarlet spots; then they looked
at each other silently and questioningly, then they

KILBURN SC
The birthmark.
The Lost Found.
333
turned their gaze upon Peter's face.
After a
moment Mr. Summer began to count the
grapes.
୧୧
"It's the same," he said, in a whisper; sit
down; you have stood too long now; " and he
seated her in the easy chair near the bed. Then
he put the candle in its place, poured out a
glass of water, and brought it for Mrs. Summer to
drink.
"There, drink; I told you it would be too
much for you,” he whispered, as he put it to her
lips.
Mrs. Summer swallowed the draught without
replying; then she rose and looked again at the
birth mark, and at the face of the child.
"It's the same mark, exactly," said her
husband, returning to her side, "and in the
same position, too.”
Mrs. Summer nodded. Then her husband
again seated his wife in the easy chair, and sat
down, near her.
334
Peter's Strange Story.
"Yes," he whispered, "it's the same mark;
and if the age corresponds with that of our
child, and we could learn about his childhood,-
if there were any proof besides the birth - mark,
anything by which we could identify him as
ours !
"There was another."
"What was it?"
"Don't you remember, the joint of the thumb
on the left hand of our little Harry was stiff? ”
asked Mrs. Summer.
"No, was it?'
""
"Yes, it made the thumb crooked. Look
and see if this child's thumbs are both straight."
Mr. Summer lifted the counterpane again from
Peter's left hand and examined the thumb. He
tried it with his own thumb and finger and found
he could not straighten it out. He put the hand
back in the bed, and sat down again. His face
was covered with perspiration, and taking off his
glasses, he wiped his face with his handkerchief.
The Lost Found.
335
and rubbed his spectacles and put them on
again.
"Well, do speak!" said his wife.
"The left thumb is crooked!" said Mr. Sum-
mer.
"O Henry, is it possible this can be our lost
boy?"
"I don't know; it seems very much like it,
though. Now, do n't be agitated; do n't, for his
sake; if you awake him suddenly, and alarm him
while he is so ill, it may deprive him of life; be-
sides, we are not sure.
""
"I think we are, Henry!" Mrs. Summer said,
looking over at the face of Peter.
"Do you thinks he looks like me?" inquired
Mr. Summer.
"I can't tell how he would look if he were not
asleep, and if he were well.”
"But his hair's like mine, light, and just as
thick !"
"Yes."
336
Peter's Strange Story.
"And is n't his face shaped like mine?”
"His face is as round as our baby's was.'
"Yes, and so is mine round," whispered Mr.
Summer. I think I shall take another look,”
he continued, bringing the candle nearer to the
face of the sleeping boy.
"Don't wake him, Henry!
وو
"No; but look and see how this child has suf-
fered."
"I begin to believe it is our boy," said Mrs.
Summer. "What can we do to prove it?
"We can only wait until he is well; other
proofs will rise naturally if it is so. We shall
see resemblances to ourselves in character and
looks, we will wait."
"He looks dreadfully thin. How good the
Lord is if he has brought back our boy to us,
Henry ! ”
"He is good, any way!"
"I know it, I know it; but this is a special
goodness."
The Lost Found.
337
1
"I think you had better go to bed. I will sit
up to - night and watch; I can't sleep; and some
one ought to take care of him through the night."
"If you sit up, I shall," said Mrs. Summer.
"Nonsense!"
"Don't you wish, Henry, that you had taken
this boy, last fall, into our house, and cared for
him, and saved him this fearful exposure!"
"If I had, we might never have made this
discovery about him, might never have found
out that he is our boy," returned Mr. Summer,
after a moment's silence.
"Oh yes, we might, in some way."
"I doubt it. No one but Judith would have
noticed this mark so particularly, and she would
never have seen it if she had not had to put him
into a hot bath."
"We will believe it is all for the best," was
the answer.
"It is. This childlessness, during these years,
has been good for us; we needed it to make us
338
Peter's Strange Story.
more the children of God. Let us be very hum-
ble and grateful in receiving back our boy, if, in-
deed, he is ours."
"O Henry, it must be that he is; I love the
boy already; and I believe I must have felt an
affection for him when I first saw him, that made
me wish to take him home.”
ce
'Perhaps so; the maternal instinct is strong."
Now if it be true, we shall have such a coin-
fort in him!"
"You see how the Lord provides for every
need; if we only half trusted him, we should
prove it oftener than we do.”
"Judith has trusted always that we should find
Harry; she said so to-night, and she has often
said so, she had faith for me," replied Mrs.
Summer.
"I believe this boy possesses naturally good
qualities; they found him truthful and faithful in
the butcher's shop,- they gave me a very good
report of him."
The Lost Found.
339
"I'm very thankful,
thankful," was the response
"for
he might have grown dreadfully vicious; he's had
plenty of opportunities."
"Where vice is in the nature, a boy does not
need opportunity to develop it; it grows like
weeds; but where a nature is open and truthful
like this boy's, it does n't take to vicious habits,
they are repugnant to it.”
"I do n't like his name,-Peter, I shall not
call him by that name.
""
"We will wait awhile, before we call him by
any name; he may not be our boy, after all.”
"He must be; I think he must."
"Well, well; we must be submissive if he is
not, and we will be most grateful if he is. I think
he is," said Mr. Summer.
At this point in the whispered conversation,
old Judith carefully opened the door and pro-
truded her white head. Observing Mr. and Mrs.
Summer sitting near the bed, she entered, and,
drawing near, said,-
340
Peter's Strange Story.
"Is n't he a proper, nice looking boy, Ma'am?"
"Yes, Judith; but how miserable he looks.'
"You should have seen him when my Joe
brought him in to me that night, out of the
storm; he was like one dead. O Ma'am, he 's
got color on his cheeks and lips, now,-see, he's
all right now, Ma'am ! "
"You have been a faithful nurse, Judith," said
Mr. Summer.
"Just so, Master; 'cause, was n't he your boy?
Did n't I see that inark, and know it, the very
first night he came in this house? And did n't I
know that the Lord had brought home the poor
wandering lamb? ”
"You believe him to be our boy?" questioned
Mr. Summer.
"As certain as he's there, Master," said Ju-
dith, pointing with her long fore finger to the
bed, and shaking her head with energy.
Ce
"I think I'll sit up here to night, Judith,
said Mrs. Summer; "you have had the care of
The Lost Found.
341
him so long, that I'll take it upon me, now.
""
"Law, Ma'am," answered Judith, "I never set
up watching him since the first two or three
nights. I see to him the last thing 'fore I go to
bed, and by daylight again in the morning. He
don't need watching, -he's slept sound all
night, and he will to - night, that's what he
needs, sleep and good vittles."
"Did you leave him alone, Judith?"
"Why, I moved my bed in the next room, and
slept there all the time, with the door open; and
if he needed anything in the night, I was at hand
for it; but he needs sleep, all he can get, to set
him up again."
"What has he said to you, Judith?" inquired
Mrs. Summer.
r
Just nothing; he hain't had no voice to speak
with, 'till yesterday!
"I wonder if he can remember before he went
from us?" Mrs. Summer asked.
"I should n't say nothing to him, Ma'am, 'bout
Peter's Strange Story.
that," said Judith; "I should just keep him still,
and not let him 'xpect anything till he gets well."
"His anxiety about that little girl at the farm
will be apt to put him forward; he wants to see
her so much!" said Mr. Summer.
""T ain't best to let him know that she is poor-
ly, 'cause that would fret him; but just say that
he can go to see her as soon as he 's well enough."
It having been thus settled by the father and
mother that Peter was undoubtedly their lost
child, they left him to Judith's care, and went to
their room, overcome with feelings of the deepest
thankfulness.


CHAPTER XIX.
STRUGGLING WITH A SECRET.

HE next morning John came up
from the farm, to black Mr. Summer's
boots. He presented himself at the
kitchen door, and having informed Ju-
dith of his errand, he waited for her to hand him
the materials.
Judith, who had risen earlier than usual, and
had accomplished as much as two leisurely in-
clined servants might have done, was now busy
preparing breakfast, and so refused to be di-
verted.
344
Peter's Strange Story.
"Does you s'pose I'm servant to the children
at the farm! I think not," she said, as she stirred
some soda and milk together, and carefully
poured the mixture into the muffin batter.
"I'm afraid Mr. Summer will want his boots
before I get 'em blacked for him,” said John.
"Well, I don't want nobody prowlin' round
in my chambers, else I'd let you go for 'em your-
self; you wait a minute,- Mr. Summer does n't
get up in the morning with the roosters."
""
"But when he does get up, he wants his boots
clean, do n't he?" persisted John, who did not
just like Mr. Summer to think that he had been
slack in meeting his appointment, but who never-
theless felt a natural fear of old Judith.
୧୧
Well, you just bring me an armful o' wood
to mend the fire, and I'll get the boots right
away, now ;" and Judith, as good as her word,
went off to find them, while John went on his
errand.
The boots, blacking, and brushes having been
Streggling with a Secret.
345
produced, John was ordered to take them all out
upon the gravel plat by the kitchen door - step,
and there, under Judith's vigilant eye, for
she had set the door wide open, he pursued his
work.
Ce
Now, soon's them boots is ready, John, fetch
'em in, and then run over to the gully and pick
some cresses for Master's breakfast; he likes 'em
fresh," said Judith.
"This command expedited the work of the boy.
He soon brought in the shining boots, and then,
with a tin - pail in his hand, ran for the water
cresses.
While he was gone, Judith went up stairs with
Peter's breakfast.
"What do you think you'd like to eat, this
morning?" she asked, as she arranged the pillow
and wrapped a shawl around his neck.
ec
Anything," replied the boy; "I'm so hun-
gry."
"I've got something nice and hot for you,'
""
346
Peter's Strange Story.
she said, brushing back his hair, and wiping off
his face and hands with the wet
wet end of a
towel.
Then she laid out the breakfast on the server
before him, put him in readiness, and said,-
"Now you must eat as slow as you can; I can't
stay by, 'cause I've got Master's breakfast to at-
tend to."
ter.
"Is Mr. Summer up, yet?" inquired Pe-
"No; it's too early for Master yet; he'll be
in here, though, when he does get up, you may
be sure.'
""
"I dreamed last night about Mr. Summer,"
said Peter.
Well, I'll come up by and by and hear the
dream; but I must hurry down or the breakfast
will burn."
'How kind your master is to me! Is he just so
kind to every body?" asked Peter after he swal-
lowed the wine whey that Mr. Summer had sent.
Struggleing with a Scrct. - 347
"Mostly; there ain't nobody that he ain't kind
to; but he 's kinder to some than he is to others;
he's good to them he loves."
ter.
"Then I think he must love me," said Pe-
ee
Well, he does, more 'n you think, too;
now I'm going, but I'll come up again 'fore
long; you can eat all I brought this morning;"
and Judith hurried off to her duties.
She found John with a pailfull of water
cresses, which she set him washing and shaking,
while she rang the bell to let her master and
mistress know that breakfast was ready.
"How's that little girl at the farm, this morn-
ing? Have you heard?" she asked.
"Heard she was very low," John replied.
You ought to have asked particular; did n't
ye know that Master is dreadfully interested in
that child?"
"I did n't know he was thinking more of her
than of the rest of us.'
""
348
Peter's Strange Story.
"Oh, you don't s'pose he's the right to like
who he pleases, and let the rest alone, do you?"
asked Judith, as she poured into the muffin irons
the second installment of batter.
"Yes; but I s'poses he likes us all," said
John.
"That's well done," commented Judith, tak-
ing the dish of cresses from him, and carrying it
to the table.
"Now, you take this muffin iron, and watch
the cakes, while I 'tend the table; let 'em brown
kind o' delicate, like that one; but do n't ye burn
'em; if you do"-and without waiting to say
what would happen to him, Judith vanished into
the breakfast - room, to attend to the wants of
Mr. and Mrs. Summer, who had come down
stairs.
Ce
Have you seen the child, Master?" was her
first question after she had supplied his plate.
No, Judith; I went to his door, and heard
his knife and spoon clicking, and concluded that
Struggling with a Secret.
349
he was eating his breakfast, and so I would not
interrupt him."
"He's looking real chipper, this morning,"
said Judith; "he's got a bright look to his
face."
"I shall go right up after breakfast," said Mrs.
Summer, "and
and see how he looks by day-
light.'
"John has been up this morning from the farm,
to polish your boots, Master, and he says Baby
very bad."
is
"The boy will be grieved; better not let him
know that she is so sick," was Mr. Summer's re-
sponse.
"Don't tell him nothing to put him back,” ex-
claimed Judith, "'cause he 'll not get over a pull-
back, I'm 'fraid."
Judith now brought in the hot muffins which
John had assisted to bake, and the maple syrup
which had been made on the farm, with some hot
plates.
350
Peter's Strange Story.
"How nice this syrup is!" exclaimed Mrs.
Summer; "don't you think the little boy would
eat some of it, Henry?
""
"Yes; take him up a couple of hot cakes, Ju-
dith, and some of the maple syrup, and tell him
I shall be up soon to see him," said Mr. Sum-
mer.
Judith accordingly took her way up stairs with
the dainties. Peter had finished his breakfast,
and pushed the waiter of dishes a little one side,
and now, reclining against the pillows where he
had been placed, was looking out of the window
upon the morning sky.
"I've brought you something more for break-
fast," said Judith. Master said you could have
these hot cakes; do you like 'em?"
"I don't know; I never eat any," responded
Peter.
ee
Well, just taste o' these; I made 'em;
they've got a little too much sody in 'em, I
guess; but they 're good and light, and the maple
Struggling with a Secret. 351
syrup is splendid!
'Tain't everybody that can
have just such a breakfast 's this."
"I don't want anything more," said Peter.
"I've eaten all I can.”
"Oh, don't you feel so well, this morn-
ing?"
"Yes, I'm better; but I can't get up; I tried
after I had eaten; I felt so strong then; but I
can't, and I wanted to get on to Summerville to
see Baby."
"You can't get up," exclaimed Judith, sharp-
ly; "Baby 's well enough, I guess; she's bet-
ter 'n you be, and you a worryin'! Master won't
like it, if you do that."
Peter did not answer, but looked past Judith,
out of the window, and into the fresh April at-
mosphere. Judith looked closely at him, and
observed that, though he was but a boy, there
was that in his eye which showed the resolute
spirit of a man. Mr. Summer's decision and
will, and Mrs. Summer's nervous energy both
352
Peter's Strange Story.
failed to impress the old servant as did Peter's
persistent expression. His eye never wavered in
that concentrated power which, latent in the na-
ture of the boy, had nerved him for the endurance
of past hardships, and for whatever might come
in the future.
Well, don't you eat no more if you do n't
want to," said Judith.
"Was I sick a good while?" asked Peter, look-
ing up into her face with a questioning glance.
ce
'Yes, 'bout five weeks sence you was found
in the snow storm."
-
Ce Who took care of me all that time?”
"I did; all alone," answered Judith, with a
touch of pride in her voice.
"You are good, too," said Peter; "but seems
to me Mr. Summer is thinking all the time about
helping people, is n't he?”
Judith nodded, and the boy continued,—
"I dreamed last night that I went through a
great snow-storm hunting for Baby, and, by and
Struggling with a Secret.
353
by, after a long search, I found her lying in a
bed; and when I stooped down to take her up, it
was n't Baby at all; it was Mr. Summer him-
self."
"Dear me; do n't go and dream no more 'bout
snow - storms," exclaimed the colored woman in
a tone of remonstrance. I do n't want you to
get into the snow again, not even in your
dreams."
At that moment, Mr. Summer, who had has-
tened somewhat to complete his breakfast, en-
tered the room.
"This boy's been dreaming 'bout being in the
snow again," she said, as she took up
the tray
and went out.
Mr. Summer came to the side of the bed, and
took Peter's hand in his, saying kindly and
softly,--
"I trust you will never fall into another
snow bank as you did in coming here."
He spoke in so tender and affectionate a tone
354
Peter's Strange Story.
of voice that Peter looked up into his face with
surprise. No one had ever before used that tone
to him.
"I'm glad I did n't die that time; and now I
shall soon see Baby," he said.
"Yes," answered Mr. Summer, laying one
hand on the boy's head, "directly, when you are
strong enough."
How soon will that be, Mr. Summer?" in-
quired Peter.
"I think in about a week's time, not less;
you are very weak, and I can not let you get out
of the bed until you can bear it,” replied the gen-
tleman, scanning the face uplifted to his.
"Do you think, Mr. Summer," began Peter,
after a short pause, "do you think that they will
take me back again in the butcher's shop?'
୧୯
swer.
guess not, my boy," was the emphatic an-
"I was afraid they would n't,
off so," said Peter; "but I guess
after I had ran
somebody will
Struggling with a Secret. 355
take me, don't you?
People have been kind to
me, and I hope they won't stop now.
Ce
Humph! somebody will be glad to have you;
that 's me!'
ce
""
I should like to work for you, Mr. Summer,
if I only could work up here in the country, near
Baby; could I?"
>
"Don't think so much of her, do n't, my boy,"
said Mr. Summer, with tears gathering behind
his spectacles.
"I hain't nobody else to love," the boy an-
swered, meekly, "except the Lord."
"You have got me to love," exclaimed Mr.
Summer, involuntarily putting his arm around
the child and pressing him to his bosom.
Peter was surprised and a little embarrassed
at this unusual manifestation of affection, and he
made an effort to withdraw himself from the em-
brace. Mr. Summer immediately changed the
pillows and took off the shawl from Peter's shoul-
ders, covering him up in bed.
356
Peter's Strange Story.
"There, lie still and rest; did you think no-
body cared for you?" he added.
"Not exactly that; you are very kind; but
Baby has always loved me.”
"So do other people."
This was a new revelation to the child, and as
he felt somewhat puzzled to account for it he said
nothing in reply.
"Have you had your drink?" Mr. Summer in-
quired, going to the table.
"Yes, Sir."
"And how did breakfast taste?"
"It was good."
ee
Ah, here comes Mrs. Summer," he continued,
as that lady made her appearance at the door, and
looked uneasily towards the bed; "she is going
to sit with you this morning, while I go out on a
little business."
Peter nodded, and Mrs. Summer, after a pro-
tracted and excited gaze at his face came and sat
down by the bed - side.
Struggling with a Secret.
357
}
"Now be prudent in what you say, wife," said
Mr. Summer, in a low tone of voice.
"I have brought in a story to read to him;
do n't you think he will like it?"
er
Yes, I am sure of it; and now I will bid you
both good morning;" and he went out and closed
the door.


CHAPTER XX.
ANXIETIES AND PLANS.

R. Summer went down stairs
and started for his farm. His step
was elastic, his eye brightened with
a joyousness that was unusual to
even his happily constituted nature, and his heart
overflowed with gratitude for the fatherly care
that had thus saved, watched over and restored
his child. He was full of the happy secret,- So
full that he could not help babbling it in dis-
jointed sentences as he walked on.
"This is a happy world! a wonderful world!"
he exclaimed; "everything is ordered wisely
Anxieties and Plans.
359
and sure, and that is how the child was preserved.
I'm one of the happiest of all this wonderful crea-
tion ! "
¿
In this frame of mind he approached the gate
where he met the doctor driving in.
Going to the farm?" inquired the latter, as
he reined up his horse.
"Yes; I want to look into affairs there, and
see the sick child. Have you been down there
this morning?
""
"Just come from there," responded the physi-
cian.
"How are they?"
"That little one is as bad as bad can be; she
may drop off any time."
Poor thing!"
"Yes; it may unsettle the boy at the great
house. Is he quiet this morning?"
"Yes; he has had a
but,"
comfortable night
"But what? Anything new?"
360
Peter's Strange Story.
Now Mr. Summer, though he was positive that
Peter was his own boy, wanted some one to
confirm his convictions; and Dr. Skillton, who
would no doubt remember all about the birth -
mark, was the person to whom Mr. Summer
wanted to confide his secret. He could not wait,
though he had counseled his wife to do so; so he
planted his cane in the gravel with decision and a
prefatory ahem, and said,-
୧୯
Doctor, I'm going to say something to aston-
ish you!"
Ce
Pray, say on, as fast as you can," was the
physician's smiling reply.
"Doctor, that boy up at my house is, I believe,
my own!
९९
"
What do you mean, Mr. Summer?— that he
is your son?”
"Yes, he is, I really believe, my son!"
"The son that you lost when a little child, Mr.
Summer? Do you mean that boy?"
Re
Yes, my boy; my boy, I say, Doctor; our
Anxieties and Plans.
361
little Harry, lost at four years of age, in the city.
You remember?”
"Of course I do, all about it; but where are
the proofs? How did you find it out? Perhaps
you have imposed upon yourself."
"Not a whit, Doctor, not a whit," said Mr.
Summer, beginning to defend his position as the
doctor assaulted it. "Judith discovered the
birth - mark, and she would n't even commit the
secret to you until she had informed his mother
and me all about it."
"I remember the
mark on your child," said
the doctor; "it was on the breast, the left
breast."
"Yes; and you will find it there this morning,
the same mark, and the same boy, I think,-
I mean, I believe and hope. Do examine it, and
look at the face and form of the child. You
ought to be able to identify him as well as I."
"I hope it may be true, for your and your
wife's sake," said the doctor; "but you truly as-
362
Peter's Strange Story.
tonish me. I did not dream that I was helping
to give you back your boy."
"And for the boy's sake, too, I hope it! He's
a likely boy; I always knew it; a likely boy,
Doctor," said Mr. Sunmer.
ce
Well, I shall hasten on now, Sir," said the
doctor, giving a nod and smile to his friend;
"for I am anxious to see the proofs that the boy
is yours.
""
The doctor whipped up his horse, and Mr.
Summer turned his face towards the highway,
passed through the gate and walked briskly over
the grassy road. He had passed near the spot
where Peter had fallen in the snow, but of course
he did not know that. His thoughts were full of
his child, of the boy, as they called him, for
they could not call him Peter any more, and they
did not yet like to call him by the name of his
childhood.
accelerated pace, Mr.
Hastening on at an accelerated
Summer soon walked the distance between his
Anxieties and Plans.
363
own house and the farm - house.
The door
stood open into the living-room where he had
entered the previous day, and he walked in.
There was no one there, but rapping loudly with
his cane, he soon called in Molly.
"Where is Casper?" he asked.
"He is out at the big plowed field by the river,
Sir," she answered.
"Where is Casper's wife?"
"In the dairy.".
"And where is the sick one, the Baby,
hey?" interrogated Mr. Summer.
"She is out in the garden, on t'other side of
the house; we put her on a pillow in the go-
cart and drew her out there, and Susan's caring
for her."
"Oh ho! then you are all busy here this morn-
ing, it seems.
"Yes, Sir, we are busy all the time; come and
see the curd, Mr. Summer, please, in the dairy ?"
she asked.
364
Peter's Strange Story.
"I'll come; I like the taste of curd; always
did when I was a boy," and Mr. Summer followed
the girl into the dairy where he had been the day
before.
"I came in to see the little girl this morning,"
he said to Mrs. Casper, who stood bending over
an immense tub, her sleeves stripped up to the
shoulders, and her stout, red arms moving about
in the white, smooth mass before her. "How
do you think she is?"
"She is out now in the herb garden; the doc-
tor tells us to keep her out in this nice, soft air,
as much as we can; she is no better, though,
nor no worse."
"I'll go out there; but I'd like a taste of
these curds which you are breaking up, first."
"Certainly, Mr. Summer; fetch a plate,
Molly. This is a dreadful sweet curd, I think,"
she replied.
After Mr. Summer had gratified his boyish
taste for cheese curd, he went round the house
Anxieties and Plans.
365
to the garden, where the sun shone full on the
curtains of Baby's go-cart.
The cadaverous
cheeks and eyes of the child showed more plainly
in the open air than they had done yesterday in
the house. Mr. Summer, hoping to rouse her,
said,-
Baby, do you remember Peter, the boy who
used to hold you, and feed you, and care for you,
with Granny? Do you remember him?"
But Baby showed no sign of having heard him.
She lay still, her eyes half closed, holding her
doll in a careless embrace.
Mr. Summer took hold of her hand and
asked,-
"Would you like to see Peter,- good, little
Peter?"
The child looked up, but gave no indication
of having understood what had been said.
Susan, the girl who had charge of her, laid
down the tongue of the go-cart, to gather a
bunch of dandelions for Baby, and Mr. Summer
366
Peter's Strange Story.
took up the tongue and moved the vehicle slowly
along the walk.
"If she could only live until the boy is well
enough to see her, I should be so glad !" he mut-
tered to himself as he walked along.
Susan brought the dandelions and laid them by
the child's face; she looked at them, touched one
with her finger, and then turned away.
"Pick a bunch of those yellow blossoms for
me," said Mr. Summer; "I want them for a
sick child at my house. "
The dandelions were gathered for him, and,
holding them in his hand, he walked back and
forth by the side of the wagon in which Baby
reposed, looking upon the poor, dwarfed body so
near its dissolution. He gave thanks that this
child had lived its short life, and had been so dear
to his own boy; he felt a yearning of the heart
towards this little one because of that affection,
and he longed to be able to prolong her life and
impart to it some of the precious things within his
Anxieties and Plans.
367
control. Benevolence had beeome a habit, and
now gratitude gave it new strength.
At the expiration of a half hour, Mr. Summer
advised that Baby be taken to the house or drawn
under the shade, and then he left the garden, and
went to inspect the farm - horses, and cows, and
sheep, and survey the broad fields which swept
back towards the woods, and down to the river,
which altogether formed this beautiful farm.
As the morning progressed, however, Mr.
Summer, remembering the object of interest at
the house on the hill, turned his feet homeward
with such delight as he had seldom experienced.
It was a long, hot walk, but this was what he
had needed to dispose of the fever of excitement
which the last night's discovery had produced.
Puffing and blowing, his face red and wet with
perspiration, Mr. Summer came into his hall-
door. Judith, who had missed him, and gone
half a dozen times to look down the avenue and
see if he was coming, met him entering the door.
368
Peter's Strange Story.
}
"O Master, you will make yourself sick gad-
ding about or foot like this. And since you 've
been gone something has come over Ma'am; for
she went into her room crying, and as she did n't
seem to want to talk about it, I thought you
orter know, the first thing."
"What did the doctor say to her? Do you
know?"
· Can't say, Master; the doctor come and went;
I heard him, but I was mixing yeast and so
could n't see him, myself."
"Who is with the boy?"
"Nobody, now, I guess; I sat with him a spell,
but I've got extry work to day, and shall de-
-
pend on you and Ma'am to keep him in spirits.
He ain't used to being fussed over, and would n't
know what to make of it. He'll have to learn
that hearafter."
"He don't like to trouble people; but it will
not take him long to accustom himself to our
ways, Judith."
Anxieties and Plans.
369
"I s'pose so, Master; he's sot up this morn-
ing a good while in bed, and he looks better;
he 'll soon be around; and then look out,—if
he is homesick he 'll be off from us,-
he 'll run
away again. He ain't the boy to have his will
crossed much, gentle as he is; he's got your will,
Master!" said Judith, with a flap of the duster
which powdered Mr. Summer's coat.
"Wait, let me brush you off before you go up
stairs; I'll make you all clean again in a min-
ute," and she took the brush from the hat - rack
and began to brush away with vigor.
"Have you noticed any demonstrations of will
in him?" asked Mr. Summer.
୧୯
Only in his eye, Master; that shows it.
Now you go up to Ma'am, and see what's the
matter, please."
"How is the boy?" inquired Mr. Summer,
stepping into his wife's apartment, where she was
busily inspecting a closet of linen.
१९
He is better, Dr. Skillton tells me, this morn-
1
370
Peter's Strange Story.
ing," she answered. "His night's rest has really
strengthened him.”
୧୯
Could you interest him?"
"Yes, somewhat; but his whole mind and
heart are set on getting on in his journey,- in
going to the farm where Baby is. He loves her
with all his heart, and he has n't a feeling for me
except gratitude. It makes me feel dreadfully,"
said the lady, sitting down in a chair and wiping
her eyes.
Ce
Well, that is natural; you can't expect to
change the nature of the child, wife; I am glad
to find that he is so constant and faithful in his
attachments; it speaks well for his character, and
it will be some time before his heart opens to us.
We must expect that, and wait for it to come
naturally, not press him for it ;-why, he does
not know that we have any claim upon him."
"I know that."
"Did the doctor express his opinion of him?"
"Yes; he looked at the boy's chest to examine
Anxieties and Plans.
371
the birth - mark, and found it
membered that Harry's was.
is no doubt that he is our boy."
exactly as he re-
He thinks there
Well, there is nothing to fret ourselves
about; so don't look downcast."
"I asked him if he would like to be my boy
and live with me; and he answered that he
thought he would rather go and stay with Baby,
and work on the farm,- that you had said he
could do that."
So I did say something about his doing that,
but we must gradually lead him to a knowledge
of the condition of things. I like his sticking to
his principles and his friends.”
"Oh, he has got your will and headstrong de-
termination, right over; that is proof enough of
itself that he is your son, Mr. Summer."
Mr. Summer smiled as though he had received
a compliment, and answered,-
"I don't think that will be of great disadvan
tage to him, wife."
372
Peter's Strange Story.
୧୯
Perhaps not; I hope not," she replied; "but,
a strong will in a child is worse than the same
thing in a man.'
95
"Then we will trust that it may not injure him
when he is grown up, and we will moderate it
with a little judicious authority while he is a child.”
"Now, Henry, the child is very weak and must
be indulged, so the doctor says; so don't ex er-
cise any authority till he can bear it.
"Oh, I shan't inflict it upon him until he can
bear it, wife; let us do our best to keep him
quiet, for there will be excitement enough soon
for him. That little girl is in a very bad way,
and if she dies while he is so weak, it might be a
great injury to him.”
"That's what makes me feel so hadly," said
Mrs. Summer, putting the linen out of her lap
and taking up her handkerchief to her eyes;-
"to think that child has got all his love, and it
will be so difficult for me to get it back; I can't
be much sorry if the child dies."
Anxieties and Plans.
373
"Now, wife, I'm astonished; can't you see
that the love of the boy must have fallen to some
object? It is this that has been the saving of our
boy. I am willing he should have her all his life;
and if she lives, I will take her into our family,
that he may have her to care for as he used to.
Do you think I'd do such an ungrateful act as
to selfishly cut off all the poor joys that child
has had, because we are able to bestow richer
ones upon him? I think the Lord has been mar-
velously good to him in his isolation and poverty,
to give him this object to attach his love.”
"Well, I hope it will all come right. I'm
very sure it will, too, for everything does. Judith
wants to be the one to tell him that he is our
child. She spoke of it this morning, and I think
it is better to come from her. I can't tell him,
"Yes, that is well; she is the one to do it;
she's got her usual good sense about the matter;
she must not speak to him until tomorrow or
374
Peter's Strange Story.
1
next day; it will depend on how he gets on.
go in and see him soon."
I'll
"Don't talk to him much; I'm afraid he won't
love us."
"9
"Why, what a foolish fear, wife!"
"I can t help it."
"Well, one can't wrest a child's love from him
willy - nilly; love comes naturally, and I do n't
think there is any more doubt of our winning our
boy's affection than there would have been if he
had lived all the time until this moment with us ;"
and Mr. Summer walked off, as he finished speak-
ing, to make a call in the blue - bedroom where
Peter lay ruminating and longing to be up.


CHAPTER XXI.
PASSING OUT OF SIGHT.

EN THE course of three days, every
person within ten miles knew that Mr.
Summer had found his lost boy,-
everybody except the one most inter-
ested in the news,- the boy himself.
The fact was studiously concealed from Peter,
who, now convalescent, wondered why he was
not permitted to go over to the farm; and why
the doctor looked at him so closely, and talked to
him so much about when he could first remember
things. But Peter was not ungrateful, and he
376
Peter's Strange Story.
1
$
told all he could recall, which was not very much
of importance.
A large number of people called at the house,
but no one saw the boy,- that was the doctor's
express order, that he was not to be troubled
or excited; and so they went away with their cu-
riosity unallayed.
handsomer, grand-
Old Judith moved about,
er and taller than ever. She was just now the
most consequential person on the premises. Bid-
den to keep her intelligence from the boy, and
longing with her intense, garrulous nature to im-
part it, she hovered around his room as a robin
hovers over her young, believing that it needed
only to have him possess the secret, and become
established as the heir of the house, to confer per-
fect happiness upon all of them. Peter was puz-
zled at the manifestations of her affection and at
the authority which she assumed over him; but
he accepted both, and returned the former with
genuine regard.
Passing out of Sight.
377
On the third day after Mr. and Mrs. Summer
arrived, Baby died, and it became some person's
duty to inform Peter of this event.
"I'll tell the boy, Master, all about it," said
Judith, "and make the hard news as soft as
I can, so he won't mourn much. Let me tell
him."
"Very well," was the answer.
So Judith approached the subject cautiously, as
she made up the bed, and dusted, while the boy
sat in the cosey - chair near the window.
Not a dozen yards from the window stood a
solitary old elm, whose long, pendent boughs
touched the earth with their tips, when the winds
swayed them, and which was now covered with
delicate, half-grown leaves. In a branch of this
tree, orioles, with scarlet and black wings, had
just commenced to build their nest. Peter
watched the movements of the birds with the
liveliest interest.
"I wish I could go out of doors! I wish I
378
Peter's Strange Story.
could go out and see them near by!"
he ex-
claimed, as one of the birds with a loud cry of
delight sped into the tree with her bill full of
hair.
"When the doctor says so, you can; but
you
do n't want to go to make me all the trouble
over again which I've had to get you well, do
you?"
er
No, but I'm well now; I know I'm well!
What do I have to stay in for? I shall ask Mr.
Summer to day if I can't go out to the farm; he
knows what's best!"
"And he'll tell you what's best, too,- he
speaks out the truth if it hurts folks feelings,
Master does! "
"He's never hurt mine!" said Peter, "he's
been very good to us; and the most I want to get
out for is to see Baby, and make her understand
how kind Mr. Summer was to her."
"She understands now, I guess," was the re-
ply, in an undertone.
Passing out of Sight.
379
"Baby do n't get any worse, does she?" in-
quired Peter, as he kept his eye on the birds in
the tree; "the doctor did n't say this morning
how she was."
"Did you expect that little thing would grow
up to be a woman, and she so weakly, too?"
asked Judith.
"I hoped she would; she would if she could
have had enough to eat. It seems strange to
me," he added after a little, " that folks that have
so much to eat, and so much to throw away after
they get enough, do n't send it to them that
have n't got anything, not even a piece of
bread."
Why, you child, the folks that have so much
don't half the time know that there's folks so
awful poor as that. How do you s'pose Master
would known you was a starving if you had n't
come and spoke 'bout it?"
"I know it; but do n't you think they ought to
find out about it,-go, and find out?”
380
Peter's Strange Story.
୧୧
'Do n't know but they had; but you see folks
has got their business to 'tend to, all the time;
Master's got his 'n, and I've got mine, and so has
Ma'am, though she do n't drive with it much, and
the doctor, too. S'pose the doctor could go
a-hunting up anybody besides his own sick
folks? If he did, he would n't bring 'em 'round
right as he did you, my child."
Well, the Lord sees us all, all the time," re-
sponded the boy, "and He knows about it. I
hope He will make Baby get well."
"Don't you go hoping for things that may be
can't never happen," said Judith; "let things
happen as the Lord fixes 'em to, and then they
will come right. They always does; I'se seen
'em and watched 'em all my life, and I'm sure of
it."
"That's what a man told me that I rode with
when I was coming here; he was a good man,
and he talked to me a great deal, and I liked to
hear him talk; I stayed all night with him, too;
Passing out of Sight.
381
he told me that I must submit if Baby died."
"That was good teaching, and so you must.
I
Other folks has big troubles; now Master has
had a big one; it nearly killed him; but he stuck
it through, and trusted in the Lord, and he's
come out all right; so does everybody that sub-
mits, and you must; and if you should hear that
your Baby has gone, why, you must believe it is
all right."
"But I want to go and see her, if I could;
I'm afraid she is going to die; I've been afraid
all the time, and that's why I came off here so
for, and left my work."
"Well, you could n't help dropping into the
snow; nobody could have stood it out in that
storm for a long spell. You might have died,
and what then? But you did n't, thanks to
my Joe finding you, and the nursing you got.
"
"I dreamed that I ought to come quick to her;
that's what I came for.”
"Well, you tried to get to her, and you did n't;
382
Peter's Strange Story.
so now, don't you think that the fault was your'n.
It wan't; and it's all for the best that you did n't
get there, too."
୧୯
Why, is Baby dead?" inquired the boy,
turning suddenly round from the window and fac-
ing Judith, in the sudden grief that her words had
excited.
"Yes, my little boy, she is dead!" was the
reply; "she died this morning."
୧ Oh, and I've been so near and could n't see
her!" cried Peter, in a burst of pain.
"But 't was all right, little boy," said Judith,
sitting down by him and lifting him in her strong
arms to her lap; "there, cry away, now, as
much as you want to, poor child! But the crying
won't make any difference; it had to be, you
know; the Lord did it."
Peter sobbed a while without anything being
said by either. Then Judith spoke:
"If you was a little stronger, you could go
down to the farm and see the poor little Baby;
Passing out of Sight.
383
but the doctor said you must n't go; that it would
be bad for you to go; but Master he would n't
have the death of the little girl concealed from
you, so I told 'em all I'd jest tell you, myself;
now, do n't feel no worse than you can help;
come, there's lots now left to you, more than you
ever had before."
"I know you are all kind to me, but,—I'm so
sorry !
"Now, I'll tell you about somebody else's
troubles, my boy, and see if you are the only one
that has to bear 'em. Master and Ma'am had a
little baby once, and
years old, he was lost,
when he was about four
and they could n't never
find him, and they suffered more than I can ever
tell you; their baby did n't die, but was lost in
the streets of New York; and nobody found him
for them; and so they bore their grief as well as
they could. But Master did n't give up to it, not
he; he jest went to work to help other folks out
of trouble, instid of setting still and nursing his
1
384
Peter's Strange Story.
own; and that's the way to do, 'cause good al-
ways comes of doing that way.
""
"And is that why he is so good to children?”
asked Peter.
"Yes, I s'pose so; though it's natural for him
to be good; he always was that; but his trouble
always made him remember other folks's trouble,
and so every chance that came to him to help the
poor, especially children, he took right hold, and
did it well!"
"Mr. Summer looks so happy, I did n't think
he'd had such a trouble."
"Well, that's the right way to do, to be hap-
py, and take everything in the best kind of spirits
that you can.
If Master had sat down all his
life and cried, why, you would n't never have
been helped to anything, and your poor Baby
would have died there and left you all alone in
the city. Now, you've got somebody to look to,
all of us here loves you, Master, and Ma'am, and
me.”
Passing out of Sight.
385
"Did she keep getting worse and worse?
asked Peter, his thoughts diverting to his own
loss.
She never had any strength; she was poorly
all the time, and kept so, and finally there wan't
no strength left in her, and she was gone out,
like the flap of a candle.”
"Do you think I can see her? I saw Granny
before she was buried; and I want to see
Baby."
"No, you can't; Master says it will be too much
for you, now. You must not stir from this room
until you are all right again, for you won't
get over the sickness you had in a long time."
"I am well over it, now."
ee
Well, the doctor knows best, and he says you
can't; there's a big box of things coming to - day
for you; do n't you want to see them?"
ee
Ce
What are they?
""
Clothes, and books, and things; ever so
many books, that Master sent to New York for."
386
Peter's Strange Story.
}
"I'm glad of the books. How kind he is to
me! What makes him so?"
"It's 'cause he knows you need kindness,
that's one reason; and he likes ye, and that's the
best one, I reckon."
"And may be it's all because he lost his own
little boy; may be it's that."
"I should n't wonder if that was it," replied
Judith; "he feels for every little boy that needs
help, you know."
"How old was his boy when he was lost?"
"Four year old."
"What was his name?"
""T was Harry."
"And did n't they never hear about him?
"Not a word, year after year; and Master, he
went here and there to find him, and he adver-
tised in all the papers, and it seemed as if it must
be if he was a living child he would be found for
him; for Master offered a big reward; but no
word ever came about him."
}
Passing out of Sight.
387
"Then he must have died," said Peter.
Well, that was what we all s'pected, that he
died, of course; if nobody ever heard a word of
him, we could n't think anything else."
"I wish he could find his boy, he would be so
happy with him, would n't he?"
1
"I s'pose so; if after all this time the boy
should be a good boy, and love him, and be good
to him."
"Why, he would; he could n't help loving
him and being good to him, unless he was a bad
boy."
Oh, he might have learned to like somebody
else, you know, and then it would be hard for
him to forget, and like Master! ”
"Yes, I didn't think of that; but he could
like them and Mr. Summer, too, could n't he?"
<<
We shall see, when we find him, what he 'll
do. But you have been a long time up, and I
shall jest put you to bed now."
So saying, Judith lifted her charge and bore
388
Peter's Strange Story.
him to the bed as she would have borne a
baby.
59
There, now, rest and sleep, and dream that
your trouble has all gone over to the left side,
and that you ain't going to have no more of it.”
"I do n't dream of Baby any more, now.'
"Well, so much the better; now you jest
dream of going out in the fields with me; we'll
go when you are stronger, and get flowers, and
wintergreen berries, and lots of things. I guess
you'll want to stay here a little while after you
get well, won't you?"
"I don't know as I've got anybody else to go
to now; the butcher, where I worked, wouldn't
take me back, I suppose; I shall have to stay up
here; Mr. Summer said I could work on his
farm."
Well, that's just a good place for you;
you'll get strong there; that's a good idea; now
make haste and get well."
"Can you tell me when Baby is going to be
Passing out of Sight.
389
buried?" Peter asked, after lying some
ments in silence.
"
"Tomorrow, I believe."
"Is Mr. Summer going to the funeral?"
"I reckon he will."
"And Mrs. Summer, too?"
mo-
I don't know 'bout Ma'am ; she don't never
go round here as much as he does, and she ain't
very well, now; but Master goes everywhere
here, and everybody knows him, and he knows
everybody, and they all love him. He's got
more friends than any other man in the country.
But, you must n't ask another question, now.
Shut your eyes, and think of nothin'."


CHAPTER XXII,
THE STORY TOLD.

HE NEWS that Mr. Summer had
found his lost child reached the quiet
home of the old Quaker, where Peter
had been so kindly entertained on his
journey; and, moved by a desire to know if it
were the boy with whom he had talked, and in
whom he had taken an interest, the old man
drove over to Summerville.
Having learned at the village store that Mr.
Summer's boy had been found, nearly dead, in
The Story Told.
391
the heavy snowstorm, which fell immediately
after Peter's visit to him, he concluded he must
be the same boy, and without further questioning
he proceeded to Mr. Summer's house. Judith,
who was washing off the piazza floors, accosted
him as he ascended the steps, with the voluntary
intelligence that her master was not at home just
then.
"It is not thy master that I wish to see, but
the little boy that was found," was the answer.
"Why, are you acquainted with him? 'Cause
they don't 'low nobody, out of the family, to see
him; it's the doctor's orders."
"I am somewhat acquainted with Peter," was
the reply; "he stayed all night with me on his
journey from the city; and I desire to see him
and talk with him again."
"Well, I'll tell him you 're here, and if he re-
members you, and wants to see you, I'll show
you up stairs."
She therefore walked in, and up to his room.
392
Peter's Strange Story.
"
There's an old Quaker down stairs," she said,
"and he tells me that you stayed all night with
him on your way here, and he talked with you,
and he wants to see you again ; but you need n't
see him 'less you want to."
"Oh, I know him," replied Peter, "he is the
good man I told you about; I do want to see
him."
"Well, do n't you go, now, and talk too much
if I let you see him; Master ain't here; but if he
was, I guess he 'd jest be glad to let this old man
up to see you; 'cause he was kind to you on your
hard journey. You see he thinks of all them
things, and I believe he'd bring him up him-
self."
Thereupon, the old Quaker walked into the
room a few moments after, and sat down near
Peter.
"I am glad to see thee, lad," was his saluta-
tion; "thou hast had a very fearful sickness I am
told."
The Story Told.
393
"I was lost out in that snow - storm,'
storm," was
Peter's reply.
"I told thee to stay over First day with me;
hadst thou done so, thou wouldst not have fared
so badly."
"But I was in such a hurry to get here, I
couldn't, you know. I wanted to see Baby, and
now," he added, his eyes full of tears, "I shan't
never see her, for she is dead."
"Didst thou not see her at all, Peter?"
"No, Sir; she was at the farm, and I was
brought in here when they found me; so I have
not been well enough yet to go and see her; and
yesterday she died.”
"Poor lad! thou hast had the bitter drops in
ง
thy drink, but thou must take heart and not let it
cast thee down."
"I shan't never see her, never, again !"
"Not in this world; but there is another world,
lad, that is better and happier than this; she
has gone to that, we trust; and thou mayst see
394
Peter's Strange Story.
her there. That is a better world than this, and
worth hard striving."
་
"Her soul has gone there; yes, I know, now,
that it was a dream I had, because she was alive
when I got here. It was not her soul I saw, but
I dreamed it."
୧୯
Yes, it was a dream; I said it was, lad, thou
dost remember."
"Yes; but I did n't think so then; I could n't
believe it was a dream; it was so real."
The Lord has been good to thee, Peter,
though He has taken thy little friend.”
Yes; when I was lost in the snow, it was so
dreadful dark and cold, I prayed to Him before
I went to sleep in the snow, and He took care of
me."
"He did, truly, friend Peter, and brought thee
out of trouble into a goodly heritage. Thou
must keep Him ever before thee, and walk in His
paths all the days of thy life."
"I know He is good," answered Peter, quickly;
The Story Told.
395
"I know it, I have found it out.
know it, but it is plain now."
Once, I did n't
"He has taught thee that by His providence,
and the lesson has no doubt been of profit to thee,
and will be during thy entire life.”
"I'm going to learn to read, now, very soon,
and study, and I shall read all those words in the
Bible that you told me about. I've got ever so
many books, some with beautiful pictures, and
some with such pretty covers. They came yes-
terday."
Thou must study the Word; thou wilt find
the best instruction in that."
"Do you think Baby's soul will ever come back
to see me?" inquired Peter.
ee
What does Mr. Summer tell thee about
that?"
"I have not asked him; he has not talked with
me about Baby at all; but he did tell me once in
New York that the soul, wherever it goes, do n't
never come back here to see us.
396
Peter's Strange Story.
"That is very true; the soul can not come
back."
"I shan't never see her any more, then, shall
I?" inquired the boy.
"No, thou wilt not see her here; thou wilt get
much good instruction in thy new home. Thou
wilt find things more easy to understand,- hard
things made easy for thee."
"Yes, they tell me there's a book among mine
which tells all about the soul; when I get so I
can read it. They won't let me study any yet,
though, not till I'm strong."
"Thou wilt find them very careful of thy
health, Peter; and thou must be grateful to the
Lord for it all.”
"I try to be grateful, and I love the Lord best
of anybody now Baby's gone!"
"Mr. Summer is no doubt very grateful, too,
that he has found his little son."
ce
Why, has he?" quickly demanded Peter,
with delight; "has he found his little boy?
The Story Told.
397
"Didst thou not know it?" demanded the old
Quaker, in surprise; "thou must know that thou
art Mr. Summer's own child."
୧୯
What, I Mr. Summer's child!" repeated Pe-
ter, hardly comprehending the information, so
wonderful was it to him.
"Yes, thou art. It was his lost child that
was found in the snow - bed, and everybody
knows it; had they not told thee the news?'
""
"No, Sir; I did not know it; Judith told me
that Mr. Summer lost a little boy long ago,- he
was only four years old; but she did not say I
was the boy."
"Then thou didst not know of it?" questioned
the old man.
"No, I did not!"
Then they had kept it from thee for some
purpose, and I have unwittingly informed thee.
I fear that I ought not to have told thee this
news."
"But if it is really so, why has n't Mr. Sum-
។
398
Peter's Strange Story.
mer told me? It must be some other boy."
Ce
No, no, lad; there has no other one been
found in the snow. It must be that thou art the
one; thou art his son ; but I regret that I have
told thee the news. The pleasure should have
been for thy father or thy mother."
"But they have n't said so to me; they have n't
spoken of it."
That is no matter, Peter, for they will speak
of it in the right time; but do not let the news
exalt thee in thy own esteem. Thy humility has
been very pleasant to me; and it is no doubt at-
tractive to thy parents. So, wait until it is their
pleasure to tell thee all about it, and keep the
secret I have told thee."
But it makes me feel afraid," said Peter.
CC
Why dost thou fear?"
"I don't know why; but it's so strange to
me."
But in good time it will all seem right, and
then thou wilt not be afraid. Thou art weak,
The Story Told.
399
now, from thy illness, and that was the reason,
probably, that thou hast not been told this change
in thy fortunes."
"Then if I'm the lost boy," said Peter, "I
ain't myself, but somebody else; I'm the little
Harry."
CC
Yes, thou art; that was his name, I remem-
ber."
"And I was lost, too; then that's how it hap-
pened that Baby's mother found me. She found
me on the street, and took me home, and took
care of me. She was good to me and loved me,
and when she died I took care of Baby."
"Dost thou remember this home before thou
wast lost?"
""
The first thing I remember was walking a
long time in the street alone, and crying, and I
was very hungry, I remember that, and of Baby's
mother taking me to her home, and taking care
of me.'
"Thou didst have a trial, poor lad, but it has
400
1
Peter's Strange Story.
!
been for thy good, and will be for the good of
many others, no doubt.”
At this moment Mr. Summer, walking into the
room, overheard the last sentence, and echoed it
in his hearty voice.
1
"That is true, Sir; trials are very good for us;
but what friend is this, my boy?" he asked, ad-
dressing Peter.
"This is the man that I stayed with all night
when I was coming here," replied Peter, with
some embarrassment in his voice; "the night be-
fore I was lost."
"Oh," said Mr. Summer;
"then if you were
of service to this poor child, on his journey here,
I am glad to see you, Sir;" and he cordially
shook hands with the old Quaker.
"He stopped over night with me," was the
reply. "I would have kept him longer, for I saw
that he was greatly fatigued; but he was eager to
proceed on his way, and I let him go.
""
"Yes, he had an object before him," said Mr
The Story Told.
401
imne, sitting down, and now for the first time
bserving hat there was a visible embarrassment
.n the manner of both the Quaker and the boy.
The silence was broken by the Quaker's say-
ing,-
"I heard of the accident which befell the boy,
ind that he was at thy house; and I called with
the desire to see him."
"That was very kind," said Mr. Summer.
He has suffered greatly, I perceive," con-
tinued the Quaker, without knowing whether he
had better unfold to Mr. Summer what had al-
ready been said to the boy.
"Yes, but he will soon be out and well again,"
returned Mr. Summer the doctor says, in a
Ce
week's time, he can go out of doors."
"And that will increase his strength," was the
answer.
Peter meantime looked from one to the other,
with a disturbed and uneasy expression, which
did not escape the attention of Mr. Summer.
402
Peter's Strange Story.
He instantly conjectured that Peter had learned
the truth from the Quaker, and said to him,-
"Well, my boy, what good news has this
friend told you? I see that he has said something.
What is it?"
Peter, thus questioned, forgot that he had been
instructed by the Quaker to preserve the secret
until his parents saw fit to tell him of it; and so
answered,-
"He has told me that you have found your
lost, little boy, Mr. Summer."
"Has he?" asked the latter, taking off his
glasses, rubbing them, and putting them on again
in a second, and turning meanwhile a couple of
shades redder in the face. "Has he? Well,
did he tell you where I found him?”
"Yes, Sir; he said, he said it was me ;- is
it me, Mr. Summer?" cried Peter, as pale as
Mr. Summer was red.
"I did not intend to break this news to thy
child. Sir," said the Quaker, in his measured
The Story Told.
403
tones; "I thought he knew it, and I spoke of
it to him inconsiderately; I regret it, Mr. Sum-
mer!"
"Is it me?" questioned Peter again, as soon
as the moderate voice of the old Quaker was si-
lenced..
"Yes, my boy it is," replied Mr. Summer;
"you are my own child, my little Harry ;" and
he stretched out his arms and enclosed Peter in
his embrace.
"And you are my father?" he asked, "my
own father?”
"Yes, I'm your own father, and Mrs. Sum-
mer is your mother, and you are going to live
with us all your life, after this, and I'm glad,
ain't you?"
"Yes! yes!
""
was the boy's eager answer;
"yes, yes! But why didn't you tell me of
it? "
**
Because I wished you to learn to love us a
little, first," said Mr. Summer; "but I see I need
404
Peter's Strange Story.
*
not have waited for that. The love we wanted
has already come."
"I thought he knew all about it, and I spoke
to him freely; thou must pardon me, Mr. Sum-
mer," interrupted the Quaker.
"No occasion, Sir, to ask pardon," said Mr.
Summer; "I'm glad of it; I'm glad it's over;
and you must receive my thanks instead of my
pardon for the office you have performed.”
Thy boy has a gentle disposition, I believe,"
continued the friendly Quaker; but he has a
more forcible will than most boys."
"Yes, he has shown real pluck in his travels,
this spring," was Mr. Summer's response; "and
he had won the friendship of all of us before we
knew that he was nearer to us than little Peter
But," he added, addressing the boy, now,
you are no longer Peter, but Harry,- Harry
Summer, my boy, do you understand?"
was.
୧୧
"Yes, Sir," replied Peter, a little intimidated
by the demonstrations which Mr. Summer made.
The Story Told.
405
}
"And thou wilt be a dutiful child, I trust,"
rejoined the Quaker ;
" and thou wilt help in thy
turn other poor little boys that have no homes, as
thou wast helped."
"He shall have the opportunities," replied
Mr. Summer; "and I hope the will is not to be
wanting."
"And thou must remember, lad," said the
Quaker to Peter; "I told thee the Lord always
hears when we pray to Him. He heard thee,
and answered thee in a way different from what
thou didst expect; but it showed His wisdom, and
goodness, and care. He gave thee a father and
mother; " and with these words the old Quaker
rose to take his leave.
As the Quaker left the room, Judith, who had
finished washing up the piazza, walked in.
Well, Judith," was Mr. Summer's greeting,
"you have been cut out in your office of spokes-
man; the boy has found out all the story you was
to have told him; he owes it to the gentleman
406
Peter's Strange Story.
who has just left us. He finely stole a march
""
upon you."
"How's that, Master?" asked Judith.
"Why, the old Quaker has told him that he is
Harry, and not Peter any longer."
Judith slumped in a chair with disappointment
and chagrin depicted upon every feature, her
hands resting on her knees.
"Now, Master, that's shameful, that a stran-
ger should come in here and tell him what I've
reckoned on so much! How did it happen?"
"Never mind; it's all right, now," cried Mr.
Summer; "we've got our boy, and he 's got us,
and we have all got you, Judith, so do n't be put
out about it."
९९
And, now," she cried, addressing the little
boy, "ain't you glad you was lost in the snow
storm, and my Joe found you, and I nursed ye
up and found the”.
"Ahem! Judith," said Mr. Summer, with a
precautionary gesture, "do you think we could
The Story Told.
407
have a little iced lemonade? It would n't go
amiss this warm morning."
"Don't think t 'would, Master.”
"Well, you just bring up the sugar, and the
lemons, and the ice, and I'll make it,— and, see
here, ask Mrs. Summer to step up and help us
about drinking it ;- now bring plenty of lemons
and ice, and you shall be the first one to drink
Harry's health.”


CHAPTER XXIII.
HOME IN THE CITY.

PRING and the following summer
had sped away. Opening blossoms
had matured and fallen; the springing
verdure had lifted itself into tall grass,
which had waved and trembled, and ripened in
the summer air, and then had fallen beneath
the scythe and been swept into the garner. The
fruits of the field and orchard had matured. The
whole country had smiled in its beauty and plenty,
and blessed the eyes and hearts of men.
Home in the City.
409
And the change in the mode of life was to Pe-
ter what it might have been to a traveler, who,
wandering over a barren desert, scorched by
the glare, foot sore, and spent with hunger and
thirst, had at length reached the borders of a land
clothed with tropical luxuriance. Now, he had
only to wake in the morning, in the cheery light
of loving faces, and find that all wants had been
provided for, and that it needed but to reach out
and take the bounties offered. It was to go to
sleep at night on the softest couch, without fear
of disturbance or suffering any need upon the
morrow. There was to be no more hungering,
nor loneliness, nor blankness in his life. He was
really Harry Summer.
But the new life imparted little transforming
power to the character of the boy. His cheek
became rounded and full with health, his little
form gained vigor and elasticity, but the patience,
and humility, and gentleness, which had flowered
out in the hardness of wretched days, now, in the
410
Peter's Strange Story.
more auspicious surroundings, simply shone in
their own loveliness. His father, and mother,
and old Judith, soon learned that they loved the
boy for himself, and not because he was theirs,—
that he had that in his nature which commanded
their esteem as well as their affection.
As October returned, the family went back to
the city, and pleasant the handsome dining - room
looked to Harry, as they assembled after their
first dinner. The pale glow of the cannel-coal
fire, which shot into spires and minarets, fell on
his face as he leaned towards it in his chair,
and turned his gaze from one object to another on
the wall.
"I remember," he said, walking around the
table, "it was here, right here that I stood, when
I first came into this room, and my mother gave
me some shoes and stockings."
"There's no need of remembering everything
in your life, Harry," said his mother; "do
try and forget some of those unhappy events."
Home in the City.
411
Why, I want to remember them," he an-
swered; "why should n't I, too? It was a kind
act for you to do; and it did n't hurt me to be
without stockings and shoes as long as I did n't
get sick."
"I mean, my child, I wish you to just be
happy, and forget you ever was so miserable,"
was Mrs. Summer's explanation of her mean-
ing.
"But why should n't I remember that I was
miserable, and dreadful poor? It do n't hurt me
now, does it?'
""
"No, no; not a bit, my child, remember all
you want to," was the gentleman's indulgent
response, as he rubbed his spectacles and settled
them upon his nose, preparatory to opening a
volume of Audubon's choice drawings of birds,
for Harry to look at.
"All that's bad and all that's good?" ques-
tioned the boy.
"All that is unpleasant, you mean; yes, all
"
412
Peter's Strange Story.
the dark, sour times in your life, it won't hurt
you to remember them all."
"I should like to see the old house, and the
little garret - room, and Mrs. O'Brien, who used
to cook my dinner," said Harry, as he changed
his seat to one by the table on which the large
book was now unfolded.
""
"Well, you can go, go to - morrow, was
Mr. Summer's reply; "I would, if it's a pleasant
day."
"I would n't go quite yet, Harry," interposed
Mrs. Summer.
"Oh yes, I'll go to-morrow, if my father is
willing. I want to see the place where I used
to live."
But not all alone, Harry," suggested Mrs.
Summer.
Why not?" asked her husband; "noth-
ing used to hurt him then, and nothing will
now."
This settled the question, and on the morrow
Home in the City.
413
Harry Summer did go for a call in Flint street,
where little Peter used to live. Knocking timid-
ly at the door on the first floor, he was bidden to
come in. He found Mrs. O'Brien rinsing out
her clothes from the wash, and the room, which
ordinarily wore a topsy-turvy aspect, appeared
much the worse for the extra work on hand. The
inmate did not recognize the visitor, and she
wiped off her arms on the skirt of her gown, and
set forward a chair, beginning in a voluble man-
ner to say,-
"Is it the taxes, an' sure? for my man did
lave the money for ye. It's all here in this bit 'o
paper, an' I want the resate fixed to it.”
"No," said Harry, with a smile, "I do n't want
any taxes; I came to see you, Mrs. O'Brien, and
you do n't remember me.”
"Sure, an' your smile's loik somebody's I've
seen, but I do n't rightly know who's; take a
chair an' sit down."
Harry seated himself and took off his cap
1
414
Peter's Strange Story.
"Sure, I know ye now; ye 're nobody else but
that little spalpeen ov a Peter that I worrit my
self for as dead; an' ye're come back a gintleman
as fine as a lord;" and Mrs. O'Brien, between
her eagerness to look at him, and her fear of be-
ing too free, just walked quite around the chair
on which he was sitting, to make a thorough and
minute investigation.
"I did live, you see, Mrs. O'Brien."
An' ye did! An' I'm the one to be plased at
it; mony's the times I said to my man, 'Peter's
gone into the country, an' took the faver, an'
died;' but ye 're alive yit. An' ye found yer
kin, there?"
"I found my father and mother; or, I was lost
in a snow storm and they found me that way,
was the reply.
An' didn't I say ye was coming into luck?
Did n't I see it in yer face at onct? I did; an'
ye ain't proud, but come right to see your old
neebar an' friend!"
Home in the City.
415
"It was n't luck; it was because the Lord
took care of me, Mrs. O'Brien."
An' sure He did, an' nobody else; an' ye
desarve it, for yer goodness to the Granny that
died up stairs, an' to the poor mite of a baby.
An' how is she?
""
"Baby is dead," was Harry's sorrowful re-
ply.
An' sure she was too wakely to take hould!
An' how's yer father an' mither?”
"They are well, and glad they have got me
back; you must come and see them, Mrs.
O'Brien; they will be glad to see you, for your
kindness to me."
"An' I'll go, to onct, and be pleased to see
thim; but 't was little I did for ye. The cookin'
was nothing at all; an' the corner where ye
larnt the book was free; an' here's the same book,
the same it is," she cried, producing from the
smutty shelf, a flat, lean-looking little volume,
whose pretensions to cleanliness and whose odor
416
Peter's Strange Story.
were both questionable; "here 'tis; my man
said, 'Lay it up 'gainst Peter comes back;' an'
it's little he thought, ye'd be comin' to - day, an'
I in the suds!"
Harry took the book, and, as he looked at the
words he had last studied, he said,-
"I'll take it with me, and keep it always."
"An' will ye be buying in with the butcher,
now?" questioned Mrs. O'Brien, with a mani-
fest interest in his future movements.
"Oh, no; I shall study for several years, my
father says, and then I shall go into his busi-
ness."
"An' will ye go up an' see the little garret
where ye used to slape all alone?"
"Yes, I want to see the room."
"An' I'll go up with ye."
The two old friends climbed the dizzy, narrow
stairs to the top of the house, Mrs. O'Brien
stopping once or twice in the ascent to narrate
to a friend, whom she met on the stairs, the story
4
Home in the City.
417
}
of Peter's good luck and his safe return. The
dark, moldy apartment where Peter used to live.
was now occupied by another set of tenants; but
he looked at the walls, and the window, and the
cross, far up in the sunlight, and said to his com-
panion,-
"What a lonesome, dreadful room this is!"
"An' why should n't the baby all wither up in
it, an' the life go clane out ov her loik a pertater
plant that never get no shine o' the sun on it?”
"Yes, if she had good things to eat, and
warm clothes to wear, and a fire, my father says,
she would have lived; it was the want of these
that killed her; poor Baby!"
"An' it'sa shame, indade, to the rich that they
let the poor die loik the bastes in the wilderness,
all for want ov bread an' mate," exclaimed the
kind-hearted woman.
"But the rich do n't always know about it,
Mrs. O Brien," said Harry.
"An' 't is their duty to know, I take it; an'
418
Peter's Strange Story.
if ye've got a rich father and mither, just give
'em notis ov the way ye used to live up here in
the dark an' cold, an set 'em to think ov hun-
dreds ov poor cratures as bad as ye was, Pe-
ter."
"I will tell them
them what you say, Mrs.
O'Brien."
"An' Peter, when ye grow up, do n't ye be for-
gitting the hard times ye had with Granny an' the
baby."
"I sha'n't forget my sweet Baby," said Peter.
"She's in such a little grave, now, under a thorn-
tree, way off in the country.'
"An' ye've a good heart, ye have, to remimber
her so good; an' was n't ye jest as swate thin
as she? An' ain't ye now loik the flower ov the
swate shamrock? Yes, ye be, so clane an' white,
an' my man was always saying the same, an' he
knows, he does !"
"You were always praising me," replied Peter,
smiling at her encomiums, "and you must remem-
Home in the City.
419
ber, and come to see my father and mother.”
"An' will ye be going so soon, entirely? An'
ye will come another day, when I'll be looking
better, an' the room, too, Peter."
"Yes, I'll come; I'll not forget my old friends
Mrs. O Brien."
Harry described to his parents his visit at the
tenement - house, and also related the substance
of his conversation with the Irish woman, and
her special charge to themselves.
"And you did n't tell the woman that I had
been to that house, then, Harry?" questioned Mr.
Summer.
Oh no, Sir; I thought you could tell her, if
you wished."
"That's right, my boy, don't set out the
praises of your parents or yourself! Self- praise
is odious! Remember that, Harry !"
"Yes, Father, but I think, though, that all
Mrs. O'Brien said was dreadfully true."
"Poor child", exclaimed Mrs. Summer, "you
420
Peter's Strange Story.
have been through it all; you know just how the
poor live in those tenement - houses.”
"Yes, and Baby suffered so, and died; I shall
remember it always. But, Mother, if it should be
of benefit to other poor people, to a great many
other poor people,- that I went through it all,
then it was a good thing that I was lost and
lived there.'
Ce
Why, how can it be that your sufferings may
be of advantage to many others? I do not under-
stand that."
-
I thought to day," answered Harry earnestly
"as I was coming to this beautiful home from that
miserable place, that when I grow up to be a
man, I will take the money which I make in my
business, and build large, good houses, in the
place of these old ones,- houses with gas, and
water, and water tubs, to keep the people clean
and healthy, with other conveniences and com-
forts which will make poor people more happy,
and be for the praise of the Lord. Don't you
Home in the City.
421
think that's a good way to spend money,Father?"
"That's a noble thought, Harry," said Mr.
Summer, taking off his spectacles and rubbing
them very hard, and then rubbing his eyes hard,
also, before he replaced them; "a noble way to
use money, my dear boy; and if you 've anything
at heart like that, if your hapless and bitter
childhood prove seed whence shall spring good
deeds to the poor, then I bless the Hand which
thus disposed it."
"The old Quaker told me," said Harry, "that
every trial has a blessing on all sides of it.”
And so we leave Harry for the present, happy-
and hopeful, and bent on making bis life a bless-
ing to the needy.

D. LOTHROP COMPANY'S
ALLEN (Willis Boyd).
PINE CONES. 12mo, illustrated, 1.00.
Pine Cones sketches the adventures
of a dozen wide-awake boys and girls in
the woods, along the streams and over
the mountains It is good, wholesome
reading that will make boys nobler and
guls gentler. It has nothing of the over-
goody flavor, but they are simply honest,
live, healthy young folks, with warm
blood in their veins and good impulses
in their hearts, and are out for a good
((
time. It will make old blood run warmer
and revive old times to hear them whoop
and see them scamper. No man or
woman has a right to grow too old to
enjoy seeing the young enjoy the spring
days of life. It is a breezy, joyous, en-
tertaining book, and we commend it to
our young readers."- Chicago Inter-
Ocean.
SILVER RAGS. 12mo, illustrated, 1.00.
Silver Rags is a continuation of
Pine Cones and is quite as delightful
reading as its predecessor. The story
describes a jolly vacation in Maine, and
the sayings and doings of the city boys
and girls are varied by short stories, sup-
posed to be told by a good-natured 'Uncle
Will.'" The Watchman, Boston.
THE NORTHERN CROSS.
"The Northern Cross, a story of the
Boston Latin School by Willis Boyd
Allen, is a capital book for boys. Be-
ginning with a drill upon Boston Com-
mon, the book continues with many inci-
dents of school life. There are recita-
tions, with their successes and failures,
drills and exhibitions. Over all is Dr.
Francis Gardner, the stern, eccentric,
warm-hearted Head Master, whom once
to meet was to remember forever!
The
"Mr. Willis Boyd Allen is one of our
finest writers of juvenile fiction. There
is an open frankness in Mr. Allen's
characters which render them quite as
novel as they are interesting, and his
simplicity of style makes the whole story
as fresh and breezy as the pine woods
themselves."- Boston Herald.
12mo, illustrated, 1.00.
idea of the Northern Cross for young
crusaders gives an imaginary tinge to the
healthy realism."— Boston Journal.
"Mr. Willis Boyd Allen appeals to a
large audience when he tells a story of
the Boston Latm School in the last year
of Master Gardner's life. And even ‘o
those who never had the privilege of
studying there the story is pleasant and
lively." Boston Post.
KELP: A Story of the Isle of Shoals. 12mo, illustrated, 1.00.
This is the latest of the Pine Cone Series and introduces the same characters. Their
adventures are now on a lonely little island, one of the Shoals, where they camp out
and have a glorious time not unmarked by certain perilous episodes which heighten
the interest of the story. It is really the best of a series of which all are delightful
reading for young people.
"It is a healthful, clean, bright book,
which will make the blood course health-
ANAGNOS (Julia R.).
fully through the veins of young read-
ers."
Chicago Inter-Ocean.
PHILOSOPHIÆ QUÆSTOR; or, Days at Concord. 12mo,
Go cents.
In this unique book, Mrs. Julia R. Anagnos, one of the accomplished daughters of
Julia Ward Howe, presents, under cover of a pleasing narrative, a sketch of the
Emerson session of the Concord School of Philosophy. It has for its frontispiece an
excellent picture of the building occupied by this renowned school.
"The seeker of philosophical truth,
who is described as the shadowy figure of
a young girl, is throughout very expres-
sive of desire and appreciation. The im-
pressions she receives are those to which
such a condition are most sensitive — the
higher and more refined ones and the
responsive thoughts concern the nature
and character of what is heard or felt.
Mrs. Anagnos has written a prose poem,
in which the last two sessions of the
Concord School of Philosophy, which
include that in memory of Emerson, and
its lecturers excite her feelings and inspire
her thought. It is sung in lofty strains
that resemble those of the sacred woods
and fount, and themselves are communi-
cative of their spirit. It wi" be welcomed
as an appropria souver ... - Boston
Globe.
O
""
SELECT LIST OF BOOKS.
ARNOLD (Edwin).
Oliver Wendell Holmes says of his poetry: "It is full of variety, now picturesque,
now pathetic, now rising into the noblest ealms of thought and aspiration; it finds
language penetrating, fluent, elevated, impassioned, musical, always to clothe its
varied thoughts and sentiments."
EDWIN ARNOLD BIRTHDAY BOOK. Edited by the
Poet's daughters. 24mo, gilt edges, 1.25; morocco, 2.50; seal, 2.50.
It contains an autograph introductory poem by Edwin Arnold, and choice quota-
tions from his poems for every day. The many admirers of the "Light of Asia"
will gladly welcome this graceful souvenir of the author, which is handsomely illus-
trated and daintily finished. Mr. Arnold contributes an original Poem for each month.
ART FOR YOUNG FOLKS.
Square 8vo, illustrated, tinted edges, boards, 1.50; cloth, gilt
edges, 2.25.
Familiar instructions for young artists, how to get materials, etc., and the story of
the visit of two New York boys to the water-color exhibition, by Lizzie W. Champney.
Also the biographies of twenty-four American artists, by S. G. W. Benjamin. All
very fully and finely illustrated. An art education in itself.
ARTHUR (Clara M.).
CHERRY-BLOOMS OF YEDDO. Illustrated, 12mo, 1.00;
full gilt, 1.25.
"The Cherry-Blooms of Veddo fall
upon us in the form of a snow-shower of
flowers and petals of genuine poetry. A
half dozen of the thirty or more poems cast
a mystic glow upon native and missionary
life in Japan. 'The Baptism' and
Easter are exquisitely touching, and
illustrative of Christ's conquest over the
pagan heart, and of the sad but silver-
edged experience of the missionary who
comes back to home-land bereft, but not
ETCHINGS FROM TWO
'The two lands are America and
Japan, much the larger part of the vol-
ume being given to Japan. The sketches
are descriptive and narrative, giving
graphic views of Japan and the Japanese,
with Naomi's hopeless and rebellious
grief." Christian Intelligencer, New
York.
"There is about them all a simplicity
and naturalness, the fragrance of fern
and flower, of meadow and woodland,
combined with a delicate finish in 1hyme
and measure, which evinces the touch of
the true interpreter of the hidden mys-
teries in art and nature."- Watchman,
Boston.
LANDS.
12mo, 1.00.
with notices of missionary work, such as
read by the friends of missions, will feed
the interest already felt in them."-
Watchman, Boston.
ARTIST GALLERY SERIES.
18mo, parchment paper, each 1.00. (3)
Seven little books not necessarily connected; made to be looked at rather than read.
Each book devoted to an artist; with the briefest possible sketch of his life; with
portrait and several examples of their most famous and representative paintings, all in
photogravure.
MILLIAS.
ROSA BONHEUR.
ALMA-TADEMA.
BOUGUEREAU.
MILLET.
SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON.
LANDSEER.
D. LOTHROP COMPANY'S
BANVARD (Joseph, D. D.).
1
LIFE AND CHARACTER OF DANIEL WEBSTER.
12mo, 1.25. (5)
"Daniel Webster is just beginning to be appreciated for what he really was - the
greatest American statesman His whole life was a battle for the Union. He did
more than any other one man for its preservation, and his reward was insults and
curses. But time rights all things and it will right this wrong.
This volume traces the statesman's career though all its vicissitudes showing what
relation each and every act bore to his symmetrical life as a whole
STORIES OF AMERICAN HISTORY. Illustrated, 12mo,
1.00 each. (4)
SOLDIERS AND PATRIOTS OF
THE REVOLUTION.
SOUTHERN EXPLORERS AND
COLONISTS.
PIONEERS OF THE NEW
WORLD.
PLYMOUTH AND THE PIL-
GRIMS.
FIRST EXPLORERS OF NORTH AMERICA.
BARRETT (Mary).
WILLIAM THE SILENT, AND THE NETHERLAND
WAR. With maps and engravings. 12m0, 1.25.
(5)
It describes in a clear and forcible excellent introduction to young and old
style the record of events which preceded
in the Netherlands the birth and growth
of the Dutch Republic, and forms an
for the study of Motley's great work."→
Cincinnati Courier.
BARROWS (Wm., D. D.).
THE INDIAN'S SIDE OF THE INDIAN QUESTION.
12m0, 1.00.
Presents the Indian's Side of the
Indian Question with admirable cogency
and simplicity. The volume is interest-
ing alike in its presentation of facts and
its discussion of methods and is sugges-
tive in its bearing upon the obligations of
Christians and philanthropists in view of
the conditions of the Dawes severalty
BARTLETT (Geo. B.).
law."
Boston Journal.
"This is Indian History with a pur-
pose The book is a means of intelli-
gence on a question, which within a year
has taken on so new a phase that it needs.
to be studied anew, and this volume is
the readiest means of information we
know of."-American Magazine, N. Y.
CONCORD: Historic, Literary and Picturesque. 12mo, illus.
trated, cloth, L00; paper, .50.
"Concord,' which answers the thou-
sand and one questions strangers and
visitors have to ask about the town,
has been written by M. G. B. Bartlett,
one of its citizens. The book is very
tastefully designed and prettily illus-
trated, and is both attractive and in-
teresting, giving the reader a view of the
town and of the localities which have
become famous through association, and
reciting the particulars of what may be
called its literary history. The following
is an outline of the contents: A Glance
at the History of the Town; The First
Church and the Pastors; The Old Grave-
yard and its Curious Inscriptions; Sleepy
Hollow; The Graves of Hawthorne,
Thoreau and others; The Battle-Ground,
and Accounts of the Fight, by Rev. W.
Emerson, Dr. Ripley and Lemuel Shat-
tuck;
Houses of Historical Interest
which were Built before 1775; Houses
of Literary Interest; The Library; The
Monuments; Various Organizations and
their Founders; The Concord Grape;
The Clubs; French's Studio, and His
Bust of Emerson; Walden Pond; The
Museum of Antique Curiosities; The
Rivers and their Surroundings; The
School of Philosophy, etc, etc. The
pictures include views of most of these
scenes."
"Literary World, Boston.
"One of the most valuable additions
to the library, and greatest aid to the
visitor who may turn his footsteps toward
the most intellectual village in America."
· Rochester Herald.
}
SELECT LIST OF BOOKS.
ADAMS (Sarah B.).
}
N
AMY AND MARION'S VOYAGE AROUND THE
WORLD. 12mo, illustrations from original photographs, 1.25.
Sketches from a journal kept by two sisters.
ADAMS (Rev. Wm. H.).
THE SEVEN WORDS FROM THE CROSS.
1.00
Meditations on the last sayings of Christ.
AFRICAN ADVENTURE
URERS.
Edited by Rev. G. T. Day.
$
12mo,
AND ADVENT-
12mo, illustrated, 1.00. (3)
An epitome of the elaborate works of Bruce, Speke, Grant, Baker and Livingstone.
ALDEN (Mrs. G. R.). (See PANSY).
ALDEN (Raymond M.).
A WORLD OF LITTLE PEOPLE.* Illustrated, 12mo, .60.
In this little volume the author gives an exhaustive description of ant-life, making
ants themselves the characters of the story, and the ant-hills of the various tribes
the scenes of the incidents described. Incidentally there is a good deal of interesting
information given about other insects and their curious habits.
ALLEN (Grant).
COMMON SENSE SCIENCE.
"The brilliant novelist and essayist,
Grant Allen, has grouped a series of
twenty-eight essays-or chapters-on
as many different subjects, treated in just
the way to make them suggestive, and to
awaken interest in further investigation.
Mr. Allen is especially interesting in the
treatment of natural history topics, also
those relating to what may be termed
everyday science. The object of the
author in these little essays was to place
before the American readers some of the
latest results of modern science, in sim-
ple, clear and intelligible language. Mr.
Allen, by a series of illustiative facts,
shows how curiously all things are inter-
laced in this world, one thing so dovetail-
ing into the next that it is impossible to
alter one of the pieces in the least degree
without upsetting the harmony of the
whole From one essay to another the
reader is constantly coming upon curious
12mo, 1.25.
(5)
facts and strongly stated deductions, that
keep up a continual lively interest
throughout the whole." Boston Home
Journal.
"It will do equally for the professional
naturalist, the reader who seeks a pleas-
ant entertainment, and the happy young
men and women who want an introduc-
tion to the study of nature. Mr. Allen
is fully abreast of natural history—not a
slight achievement and he is one of
the most delightful essayists of our time,
combining German scholarship with
British sense and French giace.
Boston Beacon.
"Grant Allen has the merit of writing
seriously in the most sprightly and inter-
esting manner." Independent, N. Y.
No more thought-compelling book
can be placed in the hands of an intelli-
gent, ambitious young man or woman
than this."- Chicago Tribune.
ALLEN (Mary E.). (See Safford, Mary J.).
* Recommended by the State Boards of Wisconsin and other States for their public

812 M626
ор

wils
UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA
812M626 OP
Mills, Lucy A.
Peter's strange story; or, Providence at
3 1951 002 069 217 R
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4 PT
6 PT
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10 ΡΤ ΑΒΓΔΕΞΘΗΙΚΛΜΝΟΠΦΡΣΤΥΩΧΨΖαβγδεξθηικλμνοπορστνωχ ίΞτ",/St=#°><><=
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MESH HALFTONE WEDGES
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133
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A4 Page 6543210
A4 Page 6543210
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65432
MEMORIAL DRIVE, ROCHESTER, NEW YORK 14623
RIT ALPHANUMERIC RESOLUTION TEST OBJECT, RT-1-71
0123460
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ROCHESTER INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, ONE LOMB
PRODUCED BY GRAPHIC ARTS RESEARCH CENTER