"Dan was on an errand to her place while the tramp was there. He saw him working in the orchard as if he was trying to do two days' work in one. Dan said he couldn't hire a man to work as he was working.

"I was rather amused at Dan," continued Mrs. Cullom. "When I returned from having taken Mrs. Lenair home in the evening (on the day that I told you that Dan went and brought her in the morning to spend the day), Dan came and took the team. 'Caroline,' he said, 'if you send me after Mrs. Lenair many times more I shall be falling in love with her, for I think she is real good, as well as being smart and bright.' 'What! Dan Cullom,' I said. 'She wouldn't have an awful talking man like you, even if you had a diamond on the end of every hair on your head.'"

When Mrs. Cullom was about to leave, Mrs. Herne said: "I have enjoyed your visit so much, Mrs. Cullom. You have got me interested in Penloe and his mother. I do so want to see them."

That evening Mrs. Herne related part of Mrs. Cullom's conversation to her husband and asked him if he knew Penloe or his mother.

"Penloe I have seen a few times, but his mother I have never seen," replied he.

"What kind of a man is he?" asked his wife.

"Well," said Charles, "I hardly know him. He is certainly a remarkable appearing young man. He is so different in his looks and expression from any man I have ever met or seen; so different from the kind that I have always associated with, that I could be no judge of such a man any more than I could be a judge of millinery or silks and satins, for I have had just about as much to do with one as I have with the other."

"Well," said his wife, "I want you to arrange in some way so we can meet them, for I am all worked up over them after what Mrs. Cullom has told me, and am very curious to see them."

"Something will happen in some way, so that we will meet them," he replied.



CHAPTER VIII.

BEN WEST'S EXPERIENCE IN THE KLONDIKE.

At the time Ben West went to the Klondike, a long tedious journey on a trail had to be made. He realized that whatever ability he possessed for making his way in that country, he lacked experience as a miner. So he was on the lookout to see if he could find one or two men of experience. He met many men on his journey, some of them having had most remarkable experience in mining and everything else. He met a man by the name of Adams that he thought would fill the bill; for he said he had mined in Colorado, Idaho, Arizona, and Nevada. From the talk Ben West had with different men, he knew now that he was in a country where men had no known reputations to back them; where every man was looked upon by every other man as being "on the make," without any scruples of conscience; where you would be laughed at if you took in all men said about themselves; where a man's word was worth very little and the only thing that counted was "something was in sight."

Adams told Ben West if he wished to secure his services, he would have to pay his expenses to Dawson City and give him five hundred dollars in cash before leaving Dawson City to go prospecting, and furnish him all supplies, and he, in return, would give Ben West half of whatever he found. Ben West, having several thousand dollars with him, was willing to take chances, and hired Adams. He also met another man in his travels who had had some experience, but was "dead broke." His name was Dickey, and he told Ben West if he would grub and stake him and give him one hundred dollars in cash when in Dawson City, he would give him half of what he found. Ben West agreed to Dickey's proposition, and the three men traveled together to Dawson City.

Their journey was of a most tedious, trying character, the weather being disagreeable in the extreme. It rained more or less every day, making the travel exceedingly slow and difficult; it being so muddy and slippery, you seemed as if you went two steps backward to every one you went forward. The trail in many places was washed out and had to be repaired before they could proceed. In some places land-slides had blocked the trail, and it involved a great amount of labor to clear them off. Everything around Ben West was of a most discouraging nature. What with being cold and wet all day; leg weary in the extreme when night came; bill of fare very meagre, consisting of bread, beans, bacon, and coffee, the men he hired sometimes felt like throwing up the sponge. For they met many returning who said the country was hell and no good; many were sick lying along the side of the trail; some were dying, and they saw some dead; also a good many dead pack animals were seen. His surroundings were certainly blue.

One morning he awoke very early, long before it was time to rise. It was raining hard, and the thought came to him, another long tedious wet day's journey; how much longer would this fearful traveling last? Would they ever reach Dawson City, or would they, like many others, die on the road? Then he thought, why was he here? He could not help contrasting the difference between his environments here and those in Orangeville. Here all around him was black, barren, cold, wet, and dismal; with nearly every one cursing the country and calling it hell; and some felt like calling for some small boy to kick them because they were fools enough to come here.

Then he thought of his parents in Orangeville with every comfort inside, and a perfect paradise of fruits and flowers outside. He thought of California's lovely skies, its balmy, invigorating breezes, and its many, many sunny days. He said, what would the people who are journeying along here think if they had a climate like that in Orangeville, which is matchless this side of heaven? He continued interrogating himself. Why did I come here? Did I not always have more of the very best and greatest variety of food than I could eat? Yes. Did I not always have more fine clothes than I could wear? Yes. Did I not always have more money than I needed to spend? Yes. Could a man be more popular than I was in Orangeville? No. In short, could a man have a much better all round time anywhere than I had in Orangeville? No. Then why am I here in this strange country, away from friends and loved ones? A small voice whispered to Ben West, and said: "It is because of your love for popularity, your greed, and because you are a slave to Julia Hammond." It was the name of Julia Hammond that roused Ben West from his reverie, that caused him to be restless, to rise, to proceed on his journey, and bring his iron will to bear, to overcome all obstacles.

After enduring over thirty days of disagreeable, rainy, muddy weather, it changed to cold, freezing weather, with snow falling. Many more hardships the party endured before reaching Dawson City.

When they arrived at Dawson City they felt very rocky and completely played out. The first week they were in Dawson City, they just rested and took care of themselves and got well and recuperated. Then Adams said to Ben West he wanted his money. So Ben gave him his five hundred dollars, and he also paid Dickey one hundred.

So, after Adams got his money, he said: "Come West, let's see the sights."

Ben said: "I am here to make money, not to fool it away."

Adams said: "Why, West, we have had hell enough in getting here; let's have some fun to-night. Come, West, and see the show and take in the elephant."

Ben West said: "Adams, I know now where most of your money goes that you have made mining; but women and whiskey will not get mine."

"Go slow, West, these girls are not respectable according to rules and regulations of society, and I don't say they are, but look out and see that some one woman does not get away with your money. She may be considered respectable as the world goes, but there may not be a great difference between the one woman and these girls. I have seen the world, West, and men like you before."

Adams' remark had the effect of taking the sails out of Ben West's self-righteous spirit, and he said nothing more.

It was agreed among the three that they would remain in Dawson City another week and then they would go prospecting.

The day before starting to go, Ben West thought he had better get his men, so he went round to the saloons, dives and dance-houses. After searching about all such places, he found Adams in a dance-house, and Dickey in the corner of a saloon. Both men were busted and seemed glad to have Ben come and take care of them. By the next day he got both men straightened out, and they proceeded on their prospecting tour. Ben West was determined to learn from Adams all he could in the way of mining. After they had been out about a week, Ben sent Dickey in one direction while he and Adams went in another. He watched Adams very closely and learned lots from him. When they had been together about a month, Ben West was getting tired of Adams for several reasons. One day he was prospecting about a quarter of a mile from Adams, when he found something rich. He brought a few samples to camp at night and showed them to Adams. When Adams looked at the samples, he said: "West, you have struck it." So the next day Adams went with Ben to see the mine, and by doing more work it proved to be all that Ben West had expected. Now that a mine had been found, Adams wanted to get a settlement with Ben West, as he had been away some time and wanted to get back to Dawson City. Ben West did not think he owed Adams anything, as Adams had not found the mine, but for some reason Adams thought he ought to have an interest in what West found; so they had some wordy trouble. After many hot words, Ben West agreed to give Adams two thousand dollars, which offer Adams accepted and then returned to Dawson City to see and enjoy more fun as he called it. Two weeks later an agent representing the North American Mining Syndicate bought Ben West's claim for fifty thousand dollars, giving him a draft for forty thousand and ten thousand in gold coin.

For a few weeks afterwards Ben West felt rich, then, strange to relate, a feeling came over him that he was poor, and must make at least half a million. About a month after he had sold his claim, he met three men from his native State, California. He was glad to see men from his State, and they were glad to see him, when they heard him say that he had sold a claim, as they had very little money and might need some financial help. Ben West found their company very entertaining and liked to be with them. After awhile it was decided that all of them should go in as partners. When they had been out prospecting a few weeks as partners, it is singular to have to state that there was trouble over every little show of a claim, and many other matters caused unpleasantness, though before they became partners they were all great friends. But the partnership business seemed to make them all at outs with each other. After they had been out awhile prospecting, Ben West found out that two of his partners were tender-footed men, never having had any experience as miners, though they at first tried to make Ben think they had.

"I have got through with partners," said Ben West, "and from this time on I will prospect alone; then what I find will belong to me, and no second party can claim a share and growl because he can't have it all. Besides, this partnership is a failure after all. There is more or less trouble all the time about cooking, packing, getting the fuel for fire, cleaning up, and putting the things away afterwards. Then how will it be if a good prospect is found? I shall have all the work to do and only get half." This resolve was made after a long hard journey of several days, over a rough slippery trail with now and then deep snow to wade through, and also over rocky points that one is almost sure to find in the mountains.

The two tender-footed men were good fellows, but, like too many others, when the novelty of the enterprise began to develop into a stern reality, and there was manual labor to be performed, and hardships to be endured, and some personal sacrifices to be made, they began to lose heart, get homesick and weary, and to shirk their part; also to be surly and disagreeable. "We won't quarrel," said Ben West, "but when we get to Antelope Springs we will divide our stores and then each one will 'shift for himself,' as the saying is."

In a few days they arrived at the Springs and at once divided the supplies. After a couple of days' stay, Ben West started out again prospecting, and slow tedious work he found it. He toiled day after day, tired and weary at night, but blessed with a night of sweet sound sleep so that in the morning he was fresh and ready for another day's work. Things went on in this way for awhile, then he came to a place that had been tried but abandoned. Here he worked for about two days and found what he was looking for. But it was not rich, though his hopes seemed to revive once more. Here he brought his camping outfit and went to work in good earnest for about ten days. He took out from fifteen to thirty dollars per day, and the prospect looked favorable. A party offered him twenty thousand dollars for his claim, but he refused it, and after some bargaining he sold it for thirty thousand dollars.

He decided now to not only prospect himself but to stake others for a half interest in what they found. Amongst them was a young fellow by the name of Lane, of doubtful reputation, and his partner Bruce. Ben West gave them a six weeks' outfit to go to a part of the country that had not been looked over at all. After they had been gone about four weeks Bruce, Lane's partner, came into camp and wanted Ben West. He was out in the hills looking for another claim, but Bruce went after him to get him to go with him to where Lane was, for they had found a good prospect that was very rich. After getting together the few necessary things that they needed, off the two men went, and sure enough it was a rich mine, one that was paying three to six hundred dollars per day. "Now," said Ben West, "I am opposed to any partnership business, and will sell or buy. Just one half of this claim is mine. I will take twenty-five thousand dollars or agree to give you the same amount for your half; and would like an answer at once or as soon as you can decide."

Lane and Bruce talked the matter over and finally concluded to sell. "It is a bargain," said Ben West, "and we will now go back to town and I will give you your money."

It looked stormy before bedtime and next morning the snow was quite deep. Though the snow was still falling, they were anxious to get to town; so they started on the tedious journey of sixty miles through the snow, then over a foot deep. Their progress was slow and they did not make half the distance; being exhausted, they stopped for food and rest. After eating a cold lunch, they fixed a place and spread their slender allowance of bedding and turned in for the night. It was bitter cold, but they were tired; so it was not long before they were all soundly sleeping. When they awoke in the morning they realized that a very hard day's travel was before them, having about forty miles to make before supper.

When Ben West got up he did not feel quite right, for one of his feet felt kind of odd. It did not take Lane long to find out the foot had been slightly frozen. So to work they went and thawed it out, wrapped it up well and started. It did not snow now, but it was cold. Their progress was slow. When they had traveled about ten miles, Bruce said: "I will push ahead and get a sled and some of the boys to come and meet you, so make all the distance you can."

"All right," said West, "send four men with a sled and something to eat. I will pay the bill and the men for coming."

Bruce arrived in town some time after dark, but though very tired and hungry he did not eat until he had started four good stout men after his comrades, whom they met some nine or ten miles out. Poor Ben West could go no further, for his foot was quite painful, and he and Lane both waited and watched for relief, which came at last. It was almost midnight when the relief party arrived. They brought a fine lunch and a bottle of wine, which both enjoyed very much. After the lunch was eaten all hands started for the town, where they arrived just as the day was breaking. The frozen foot proved to be worse than at first supposed to be. It would keep the owner an invalid for at least two weeks. Ben West said: "Here is a pretty mess. My fortune just at my fingers' end and a frozen foot tied up for half a month, when I have so much to do. Why did I not take better care of myself?"

At this time Bruce came to see how Ben West was getting along. He found him nervous and a little feverish. "Just be quiet," said Bruce, "it is the best medicine you can have." After Ben West had paid Lane and Bruce for their claim, Bruce said to West: "If you like I will go with another man, that you may name, and work in your mine until you come to us. For my pay I want fourteen dollars per day and I'll furnish my own grub." The bargain was made. Bruce and the man started the next day, and just sixteen days after Ben West was at his mine.

They had a large pile of pay dirt ready for a clean-up; it was exceedingly rich and several claim buyers had heard about the rich mine and were on the ground to buy it from West. After a great deal of talk West said: "The mine is worth a million, but I want to get out of this country, and the man that pays me five hundred and fifty thousand dollars gets the mine."

An hour afterwards the agent for an English syndicate purchased the mine. Ben West having now made his pile determined to lose no time in getting back to Orangeville, but he intended to stay in San Francisco till he was thoroughly recuperated before going home.



CHAPTER IX.

AN ARRIVAL.

George Combe has said, "Mankind love their young and take charge of them with common accord, yet the love of offspring is much more intense in the female than in the male, and this difference is manifested from earliest infancy. The boy wants his whip, horse, drum, top or sword, but observe the little girl occupied with her doll. She decks it in fine clothes, prepares for it night linen, puts it into the cradle, rocks it, takes it up, feeds it, scolds it, and tells it stories. When she grows older she takes charge of her younger brothers and sisters. Nothing possesses, in her estimation, greater charms than babies. When she has grown to maturity and become herself a mother, with what sweet emotion and gushing tenderness does she caress her little ones."

While the love of offspring is more or less strong in all, yet it does not manifest itself if there are other tendencies predominant in the character. Take a woman in whom the love of dress and society is most active; she will not care for offspring, if her circumstances are such that it would debar her from enjoying style or society; or if the artistic inclination is the strongest in her character she would not want offspring; or if great intellectual tastes are very strong and love of children only moderate, she would not want offspring; or where persons have consecrated themselves fully and unreservedly to a spiritual life in order to become spiritual parents to many, to them offspring would be a hindrance in their work. But where the domestic faculties are the strongest, the home is lonesome without children. In some the maternal instinct is exceedingly strong, for it manifests itself to such an extent as to become the ruling passion; nothing else but offspring can satisfy them. And this maternal passion is expressed in matchless language by Mr. Stephen Phillips:[1] "Lucrezia's sudden outburst of grief and rage against her lonely fate is, poetically speaking, one of the finest passages in the play:"

[Footnote 1: Literary Digest, Dec., 1899.]

GIOVANNI. Lucrezia! this is that old bitterness.

LUCREZIA. Bitterness—am I bitter? strange, oh strange! How else? My husband dead and childless left. My thwarted woman—thoughts have inward turned, And that vain milk like acid in me eats. Have I not in my thought trained little feet To venture, and taught little lips to move Until they shaped the wonder of a word? I am long practiced. Oh, those children, mine, Mine, doubly mine; and yet I cannot touch them. I cannot see them, hear them—Does great God Expect I shall clasp air and kiss the wind Forever, and the budding cometh on? The burgeoning, the cruel flowering; At night the quickening splash of rain, at dawn That muffled call of babes how like to birds; And I amid these sights and sounds must starve I with so much to give perish of thrift! Omitted by His casual dew!

GIOVANNI. Well, well, You are spared much; children can wring the heart.

LUCREZIA. Spared! to be spared what was I born to have, I am a woman, and this very flesh Demands its natural pangs, its rightful throes, And I implore with vehemence these pains. I know that children wound us, and surprise Even to utter death, till we at last Turn from a face to flowers; but this my heart Was ready for these pangs, and had foreseen Oh! but I grudge the mother her last look Upon the coffined form—that pang is rich— Envy the shivering cry when gravel falls And all these maimed wants and thwarted thoughts, Eternal yearning, answered by the wind, Have dried in me belief and love and fear. I am become a danger and a menace, A wandering fire, a disappointed force, A peril—do you hear, Giovanni? Oh, It is such souls as mine that go to swell The childless cavern cry of the barren sea, Or make that human ending to night wind.

In Mrs. Charles Herne, this feeling was not quite as strong as that expressed in the play, but after they had been married two years, she did some quiet thinking in that line. She would sit alone at times, and let her imagination be active in the thought, what delight it would give her if when her husband came in the room where she was, she could take him over to a little crib and turn back the corner of a fancy worked cover and show him such a sweet, wee, little face nestled on the pillow, and what joy it would give her, when her husband came in from his work to put a little one into his arms and see how delighted he would be to take the child, and then see him sit down and hear him use language which belongs to baby talk. Again she thought what pleasure it would give her to start a little toddling form down the pathway to meet her husband, and to see the little one stand still when it met its father, and raise its little arms to be taken up. All these thoughts and many more passed through the mind of Mrs. Herne, for she now knew for a certainty that such joys would be hers, and many a pleasant laugh and joke she and her husband had over the coming of a little tot.

One day a little later there was started in the most sacred room in the house a vibration by the doctor which reached the auditory nerve of the nurse conveying to the brain a most joyous statement, "It is a boy." The nurse carried it to the kitchen, "It is a boy." The Chinaman cook carried it to the Jap chore boy, "It is a boy." The Jap chore boy carried it to the teamsters, "It is a boy." The teamsters carried it to the men on the ditches, "It is a boy." The ditch men carried it to the men in the orchard, "It is a boy." The prune trees took up the glad news and whispered it to the apricot trees, "It is a boy." The apricot trees whispered it to the peach trees, "It is a boy." The peach trees whispered it to all the other fruit trees, "It is a boy."

When Pet, Bell, Blanche and Daisy, with their large udders full of rich lacteal fluid, heard the news, "It is a boy," they gave forth an extra flow of milk that night. When the frisky mules in the barn lot heard the joyful tidings, "It is a boy," they just cut up and threw their hind feet higher than ever. You could not see them for the dust they made. The roosters crowed, "It is a boy," and the hens cackled, "It is a boy." The orioles in the mulberry trees warbled out the song, "It is a boy." The dogs, Dash and Rover, in their play that evening barked at each other, "It is a boy." The cats Tom and Malty purred, "It is a boy." It seemed as if the vibrations in all the buildings and all over the ranch rang out the glad tidings, "It is a boy."

In the evening when all Mr. Herne's men congregated in their fine quarters to have some music, Osborn sat down to the piano and played while all the men sang, that old negro song:

"Give 'em more children, Lord, Give 'em more children; Give 'em more children, Lord, Give 'em more children."

Osborn said to the boys when retiring, "What a feeling of joy the advent of a little boy has brought to us all on the ranch. Mr. and Mrs. Herne have got their wish now, for they both wanted a son."

Barnes said: "What a fine time we will have with the little fellow, when he is old enough to toddle. We will have him over here most of the time."

One day after dinner when the baby was about a month old, a man standing six feet three inches and weighing two hundred and twenty-five pounds, came on the porch where Mrs. Herne was sitting with the baby, and said: "Mrs. Herne, the boys want me to take the baby to them. They are all sitting under the mulberry trees."

Mrs. Herne said: "All right, Frank." But the nurse seemed to be alarmed lest he might hurt the infant, as he was so large and awkward, not used to handling a baby four weeks old, so she followed Frank and the baby to where the boys were. Frank said: "Here boys, each one of you can hold him just long enough to pass your opinion upon him." The men seemed to take as much pride and interest in the child as if he were their own. After the boy had been in each of the men's arms and they had passed their judgment on him, the nurse wanted to take the child back, but tall Frank said: "No, I took the baby from Mrs. Herne and I am going to see the child in her arms safe again." When putting the baby in her lap he said: "The boys all think he is the brightest baby they ever saw."

After he was gone the nurse said: "You ought to see how gentle those great men handled that baby."

Every day the men always inquired and talked about the baby, and were eager to watch its growth.

If you entered the house of an evening about the time the baby was put to bed, you would hear a very sweet, soft voice singing:

"Hush! my child, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed. Heavenly blessings without number Cluster round thy sacred head."

There is great talk made among many persons about catching different kinds of disease and sickness, but how seldom you hear people talk about the contagious qualities of hope, joy and love. Supposing on a ranch the owner gets up in the morning and starts the vibrations going, "That All is life, All is love, All is joy, and All is God," and there is a hearty response by his wife who takes up the invocation, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, and All is God." And carrying them into the kitchen, she adds to them by singing this song:

"The thorns that pester and vex my life Have changed to the flowers in June, All sounds, disorders, pain and strife Have rounded into tune."

From the kitchen the chore boy takes up the sayings to the teamsters, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." The teamsters take up those life-giving words, and instead of swearing at their teams all day, and talking about hell, their thoughts and talk is, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." The men on the ditches and in the orchards echo the glad thought, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." And the birds in the trees sing with gladness, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God," and that very interesting ring-neck bird, the kildee, as it runs along the ditches and moist places in the orchards, speaks in its peculiar way that, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." And the music of the waters as it flows along, rippling in the ditches, sings "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." The winds talk it to the trees, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." The trees whisper it to each other, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God," and the music of the insects say the same thing, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, and All is God." When the God of day, with his effulgent brightness, rises over the hills in the morning and scatters his luminous rays on the ranch, and writes in lights and shadows his hieroglyphics that "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God." And the one grand anthem that is being sung in the hearts and lives of all on the ranch is, "All is life, All is love, All is joy, All is God."

With an aspiration like that on the ranch, all cursing and swearing would disappear; smallness, meanness, jealousy, covetousness and greed could not live in that atmosphere. That spiritual air in circulation would kill out all lustful thoughts, pride, vanity, love of strong liquors, and of coarse animal food. Everything would manifest the fruits of the Spirit, which are peace, joy and love. All sickness and disease would disappear, because those life-giving, purifying thoughts would become incorporated and assimilated in the mind, nerve force, and enter into the blood, flowing through its veins and arteries all over the whole system, making the entire organism sound and pure, a fit temple for the dwelling of the Eternal One.



CHAPTER X.

MRS. MARSTON.

In the last three years the beautiful little city of Roseland with its avenues of palms and magnolias had a boom. Large substantial brick and granite blocks were erected. Very many new and handsome residences were built, besides putting a new appearance on some of the old buildings. The commercial, professional and mechanical classes were all doing well, and living in expectation of doing still better.

Among those who had prospered by the rise in real estate was a Mrs. Marston, who owned one of the finest residences in Roseland. At the time that she enters our story her age was about forty and she had a son who was twenty years old, a month before he left for Paris, and he had been gone away four months. Why he had gone to Paris, the stories concerning his mission to that gay city did not quite harmonize. His father came to the conclusion ten years ago that his mother was too much like himself, in being a positive, dominant character; that she was a little too masculine in her makeup, and he thought he would prefer a lady for a wife who did not weigh quite as much, and one that was a little sweeter in disposition, and more playful. When he reflected that he was worth one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, he thought that some of the joys of having a sweet wife should be his, and particularly when he had seen Josephine Stearns, whom he thought would more than meet his most sanguine expectations, for to his mind, she seemed to possess all those very desirable qualities of disposition which he so much admired. In a very indirect way he made his mind known to Mrs. Marston, who pretended she did not like such a proposition, but if he would give her fifty thousand dollars and let her have the boy, she would consent to a divorce. Her husband thought it over in this way. He said, "I am not happy in living with my wife, don't like my home at all, and what good does it do a man to be worth one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, if he is not enjoying some of the greatest pleasures in life. Better have only a hundred thousand dollars with a pretty sweet young lady like Josephine, than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars with my present wife." Next morning he scratched his head, and said in a slow kind of a way, "I think fifty thousand dollars rather steep, but I do not wish to have any fuss or quibbling, and you can have the boy, and I will give you twenty-five thousand dollars in cash, and twenty-five thousand in real estate," which she accepted. To look at her you could not tell what her feelings were, but way down deep in her heart she was overflowing with gladness to think she was free.

The rise in real estate made her worth in all as much as her husband was when he left her. She was known in Roseland as being a lady that was fond of young people's company, and she was great on entertaining. She was one of those ladies who are proud, fond of dress and style, very particular about moving in the upper circles of society, but she had no interest or sympathy with plain, poor people. She loved to dress young for her years, was fond of going with young ladies and gentlemen bicycle riding. She generally had as guests one or two very pretty young ladies, and another of her fads was to make pets of a few sons of rich men. As she had a fine large house and loved to entertain, the leading young men in Roseland, and some of the prettiest and most stylish young ladies, were very often seen in her parlors and on her well-kept lawn. The lunches and suppers she served to her guests were the talk of the town. She had a sister who lived in Orangeville, but who was so different in her tastes and circumstances that there was nothing in common between them.

One day she was out driving, and her eyes caught the sight at a little distance of two persons walking on the sidewalk. She made the team walk slow when she saw them. They did not see her, but she took in at a glance what a clear complexion, bright eyes, and lovely form the young lady had. She said to herself, "How beautiful Stella has grown, but what plain clothes she has on." She reined the team towards the sidewalk and said, "Why, Stella, I did not know you had returned from school. Good morning, David," she said to her sister's husband. "Wont you both come to the house?" David said that Stella had just come in on the train and they had been doing a few errands and were expected back by Bertha at a certain time and could not stop now.

Mrs. Marston said to Stella, "I want you to come and make me a long visit. I will be out to-morrow at your house and arrange with your mother for your coming to visit me." She thanked her aunt for her invitation and said she would tell her mother.

Mrs. Marston had remarked on more than one occasion to her sister Bertha, that she would die if she had to stay in a place like Orangeville over night. As that lady did not feel she was ready to quit her material form with all its attachments and desires, she decided to leave Roseland at eight in the morning and that would give her ample time to have a long chat with her sister, and she could then be home by five in the evening in time to dress for dinner and receive whoever might call. She telephoned to her caterer to have ready next morning at eight, one quart of orange sherbet and one quart of vanilla ice cream, put into two nice dishes and packed in a box with ice, then put two wet sacks over the box and set it in another box with a cover. She telephoned to the livery stable to have her span of handsome chestnuts brought to her house next morning at eight. The next morning she was up bright and early and put on just a good plain dress, and was ready to take the lines promptly at eight from the man who had brought her team. She drove round to the caterer's and got her box, then she went to the meat market and told the man to put up six pounds of steak, she called at the bakery and had the man put in her buggy one frosted fruit cake, one plain cake, one lemon pie, and a peach cobbler, and one dozen fresh baked Astor House rolls. After she had got a little way out from Roseland she stopped at a Chinaman's garden and purchased a few early vegetables. When she reached her sister's home it was about ten, and after a few minutes' chat she said to her sister, "Bertha, I have come out to have a visit with you and Stella, and I did not want you to be giving yourselves a lot of work in the way of getting up a big dinner, so I bought a few things on my way out, and all they need is to set them on the table, except the vegetables and meat, and I will attend to the vegetables; the pies and rolls may need just a little warming."

Mrs. Marston was one of those ladies of skill and ability who could do anything in the kitchen equal to any hired help when she wished, and this morning she seemed to be so different to what she generally was, that her sister Bertha thought she either had improved greatly, or she had not judged her rightly. She seemed this morning so kind and thoughtful and so sisterly in her conversation and so ready to assist in getting dinner. Bertha said to Mrs. Marston, "Why, Helen, you have more steak here than we can eat in a week." To which Mrs. Marston replied, that she had brought lots of ice to keep it.

When David was called to dinner, it certainly did his eyes and stomach good to see on the table such a spread of luxuries and dainties, which were so seldom partaken of by the Wheelwright family, as they lived very simply. All enjoyed the new bill of fare very much, and the repast was seasoned by a very pleasant family conversation. David seemed to open his eyes several times at the turn things were taking, because there had been times when his wife and her sister did not harmonize at all.

During the morning when not observed, Mrs. Marston feasted her eyes on Stella's beautiful form in her new cut wrapper, and mentally said to herself, "When I get some new stylish gowns on that handsome figure, and that beautiful face under a becoming hat wont those Roseland dudes just go wild over her?" She laughed to herself and thought what fun she would have with her pets.

After dinner was through they sat at the table resting and talking, when David said he would like to have Stella come out and help him a few minutes.

Mrs. Marston spoke up and said, "Yes, dear; you go out and help your father. Your mother and I will wash the dishes."

Mrs. Marston thought now is the time to speak to Bertha about Stella making me a visit. She opened the conversation by saying: "Bertha, I have seen so little of Stella for several years, that I do wish you would let her come next week and make me a visit. Not having a daughter, I feel as if I would like to do something for Stella, that is to give her a good chance. She is a bright girl and has an exceedingly fine form, and about all she has ever seen of society are cow-boys and ranch men, and may be a few ordinary respectable fellows; but I want to introduce her to bankers' sons, young lawyers, and rich merchants' sons, and give the girl a show. You see, she is going on eighteen, and if ever she is going to have an opportunity now is the time. After a young lady gets past twenty, her chances with the young bloods are not so good."

"Well," said her sister, "you are very kind, Helen, and I don't know but what it might be a chance that she needs. You have my consent for her to make you a visit, and when you give her the invitation you can tell her what I say."

"There is one matter, Bertha, that you will pardon me for speaking to you about, and I hope you will let me do as I wish, and that is in the matter of fixing up Stella's wardrobe."

Bertha said: "Helen, she is your girl while she is with you, and you can do whatever you think best."

So when Stella came in from helping her father, Mrs. Marston said: "Stella, I have been talking to your mother about your coming to make me a visit next week, and she has given her consent and I do hope you will come and be my daughter for awhile. We will have a fine time, I can assure you. Only bring the clothes you come in. I will rig you out from head to foot."

Stella in her own mind felt this way: that she never had any personal experience of the circle that her aunt was a prominent figure in, and all she knew about the young men and young ladies connected with the swim, was only what she had heard and read. She felt that by personally coming in contact with those of different environments, it would widen her experience and give her a better knowledge of the world. So she very kindly thanked her aunt and it was decided that she would come on Thursday of the following week.

When she arrived Stella was warmly welcomed into the elegantly furnished home of Mrs. Marston. Her aunt kissed her and seemed delighted to have her niece with her. The bedroom that her aunt said would be hers was a gem of beauty, being furnished with one of those fine enameled brass bedsteads, a fine dresser with a long bevel plate French mirror, and on the dresser was an elegant toilet set. The curtains, carpets and draperies matched the tints of the ceiling and walls. Fine costly pictures hung on the walls representing mostly scenes of festivities in baronial halls and castles, also in modern Fifth Avenue palaces; showing up so well the gay brilliant throng of ladies and gentlemen in the height of their enjoyment. The decorations and furnishings of the room were well in keeping with the lovely figure that was to occupy it.

Mrs. Marston had a great deal of personal pride, and she did not care about taking Stella out till her wardrobe had been replenished. After breakfast next morning the door-bell rang and a minute or two afterwards Mrs. Rogers, the dressmaker, was announced by the servant to Mrs. Marston. When Mrs. Marston went in to see her she said: "Good morning, Mrs. Rogers; my niece is here and I would like you to see her so you can help me to select what you think would be suitable in the way of dresses and other garments for her."

Mrs. Marston called Stella in and introduced her to Mrs. Rogers and said: "Mrs. Rogers will go with me to do some shopping, and we want you to leave entirely to us the matter of selecting your dresses. I am sure you will be pleased when we get through."

Stella laughed and said: "If you show as much good taste in selecting my dresses as you have in the furnishing and decorating of my very pretty room, I am sure I shall be more than pleased." Her aunt was delighted with the compliment.

Mrs. Marston said to Mrs. Rogers: "Did you come over on your bicycle?"

"Yes," said that lady.

"Well," said Mrs. Marston, "I will get mine and we will go now and do the shopping."

At the Marston mansion towards evening several large packages arrived. Mrs. Marston opened two large ones, looked them over, then said: "Here, Stella, these are for you."

After Stella had looked at them she said: "Why, aunt, dear, they are beautiful, but I am not going to be married now; they are pretty enough for the most charming bride in Roseland."

While handling the fancy worked underskirts and nightdresses, the fine silk underwear and costly fancy silk hosiery, she remarked: "It is very kind of you, aunt, to get all these fine things." Then a box was opened and there was a great assortment of the best shoes, so that Stella might select several pair from it. She was quite pleased with the different materials her aunt had selected for her dresses, and Mrs. Rogers would be up next morning to take her measurement. She was going to put on a force of assistants for completing them as soon as possible.

Stella was about the same as a prisoner in her aunt's house for a week. But she had a most enjoyable time in reading some very costly illustrated books of travel which her aunt had purchased more for style and appearance than for anything else.

Her aunt said one day, she did not get any time to look at books, but she was glad Stella could amuse herself in that way so that she might not find the time long.

"No, indeed, aunt," said Stella, "I have enjoyed every minute of the time I have been with you."

The week that Stella was a prisoner her aunt had so arranged matters that there were few callers and Stella did not see them. And she herself was out most of the time. Stella was not the least sensitive in regard to the matter of not going out with her aunt till her new dresses were made, because she saw that she would be a very conspicuous figure among the well-dressed young ladies of her aunt's circle. She would look like a speckled bird among a flock of white pigeons.

After the dress-making was completed Mrs. Rogers went with Mrs. Marston to the milliner's and purchased a pretty hat, Mrs. Marston saying she would bring Stella and let her select what more she might need in the line of millinery.

The week following was one of excitement for Stella, for every day she was out riding once or twice with her aunt, and meeting so many young ladies, and the well-dressed young men were very particular when bowing to Mrs. Marston to recognize the pretty young face at her side. Towards the end of the week Mrs. Marston gave a swell reception in honor of her niece. The very elite of Roseland were there, also a few from other places who were on a visit to friends in Roseland, and all made a very gay and brilliant party. But if any young lady that evening looked attractive, bewitching, fascinating, and possessed the power of making the blood in some of the dudes present tingle from the roots of their hair to the end of their toes, it was that fresh young girl from the country, with her sparkling eye, her ready wit; with resources that seemed inexhaustible for sustaining interesting conversation together with a manner so simple, so unconscious in all she said and did and so unassuming, which added much to the charm of her personality. All these characteristics were manifested in fine well rounded form. Is it any wonder that some young gentlemen saw a certain form floating before them after they had put their heads to their pillows that night, and their brains were active in planning for further acquaintance with that young lady?

Some of Mrs. Marston's pets lost no time in availing themselves of the standing invitation to call any time. Other parties were soon given by young ladies in Roseland, at which Stella had very pressing invitations to be present. The young ladies liked her very much; she was so natural, so sweet, so unaffected; they observed she was not what is called "fellow-struck;" while she seemed to enjoy and be perfectly at home in the society of young gentlemen, the young ladies saw no signs of her flirting with any of them. There is that peculiarity in the character of a certain class of young ladies, that while they may think it is their privilege to flirt and carry on with the young men they know, yet when a strange young lady is introduced into their circle of gentlemen friends, they have more respect for her if she shows some originality and does not behave just exactly as they do.

Mrs. Marston was delighted at the impression Stella made on her circle of acquaintances, and now the dudes of Roseland paid Mrs. Marston extra attention and politeness since they had the pleasure of meeting her niece.

Young Ryland, the banker's son, said to Barker, the rising young attorney at the Arlington Hotel, "Say, Barker, what do you think of that new flower which Mrs. Marston has put into our garden?"

"I think," said Barker, "she is the prettiest and most fragrant bud I have seen; a very rare specimen."

Ryland said: "She is quite a study; the more you see of her, the more interesting she grows."

After Stella had been at her aunt's about a month she was seen less in her aunt's company riding out, but more in the company of the most stylish men in the city. Her aunt encouraged her in going out with these young gentlemen. She talked very much to her about how rich young Ryland's father, the banker, was; and she expected Barker to become one of the most brilliant lights at the bar. To-day he was worth twenty-five thousand dollars in his own name. Then there was young Westbrooke, son of the leading merchant in Roseland, the only son. He was home from college, with bright prospects. There was young Brookes, who owned fifty thousand dollars in real estate, and had traveled in Europe and seen lots of the world. He was a very great catch, her aunt said. These four young men, who always dressed with great taste, were Mrs. Marston's favorite pets. For a while Stella favored each one of these young men with her company, in buggy riding, but towards the end of the second month Westbrooke was the only one with whom she was seen riding.

She never took her aunt into her confidence by relating her experience in going out with these various young gentlemen. She thought it policy not to; but to be pleasant to each one of them, even if she had decided not to keep company with some of them. She remembered she was her aunt's guest, and should make herself agreeable to her aunt and her aunt's friends. What she did not relate to her aunt she did to her mother, when she returned home from her visit the week after the second month of her stay in Roseland. In conversation with her mother, Stella said, "I am really glad I went to Aunt Helen's, for I have lived in two months a year of my life. I have seen so much of a world concerning which I previously knew nothing only by hearsay. I feel it has done me good in many ways. Aunt was kind to me, and made everything very pleasant, and so did her friends. I do say I am glad that I have lived in her world and tasted of its pleasures, because I don't go now on what I hear about that world. I know from my own personal experience. It has given me much to think about, and furnished a great deal of mental food for the study of character, and I have learned more about my own self. I know better now than I ever did before my strong points and weak ones." She told her mother what fine piano players the Miller girls were, what sweet singers Dr. Lacy's daughters were, and the male quartette was very fine. Ryland and Westbrooke are members of it, and after relating a number of other things which she heard and saw, she told her mother she could not tell her all now, but would some other time.

So one afternoon, when they were alone, Stella said: "Well, mother, I will relate to you now some of my funny experiences with some of the swell young gentlemen of Roseland. They were all aunt's special pets. I had been out riding with young Ryland, the banker's son, several times, besides sometimes meeting him at parties. He is very dudish, and dresses very extravagantly. He is labeled as catch number one, because his father has said his son should take his place in the bank some day, and on his wedding day he gets a gift from his father of twenty-five thousand dollars, with the promise of the bulk of his father's fortune when he dies. On the first few occasions when I met young Ryland he seemed reserved and quiet, but the more I went out riding with him I found he was getting rather soft. He did not seem to show any other traits of character, and his company was dull, but he made it more sickening each time with soft, slobbering talk. I only went out with him to please aunt. The last time I rode out with him he plead so hard for me to allow him to kiss my hand that I consented grudgingly just to quiet him, but after he kissed it instead of his being quiet, as I supposed he would be, it seemed to fire him all the more, so that he wanted to kiss my cheek. You ought to have heard the way he talked; you would think he was about to die, and the only remedy there was for him was to kiss my cheek. If he could only kiss me on the cheek, life would come back to him and he would feel a new man. In my own mind, I said to myself, 'This is the last time I ride out with you.' The more I tried to show how foolish he was to want to kiss a young lady that did not want any such manifestation of affection, the more he persisted, and said, 'I must kiss you.' I said, 'If I loved you, it would be a real pleasure to receive a kiss from you, but instead of loving you I lose all the respect I ever had for you because you try to force me to accept a kiss from you when I don't want it.' But he persisted, and said, 'I must kiss you, it will do me lots of good, and won't hurt you.' I said, 'Have you no respect for me or yourself to act so senselessly?' He replied, 'It may appear senseless to you, but I can assure you it would be bliss to me.' I tried to turn the subject of kissing me to something else, and did the best I could to entertain him in conversation on other subjects, but no; he was more stubborn than ever to think of nothing and talk of nothing but kissing me on the cheek. Not wishing to have any unpleasantness with him on aunt's account, I said to myself, 'You are nothing but a simple, little, contrary, foolish child, in a man's form, and I shall have to humor you as I would a little boy, for you have only the mind of one.' I told him if he, as a young gentleman of honor, would never say one word more to me about kissing, he could kiss my cheek just once, which he did and was quiet afterwards. He was very pleasant during the remainder of our ride, and when I got out of the buggy I was glad he did not ask if he could call again on me. When I think of him I cannot keep from laughing, the foolish simpleton. I would not have him for all the gold in California. I must tell you about another of aunt's pets I went out riding with several times. There was more to him than there was to Ryland; his name is Barker, and he is worth twenty-five thousand dollars, and aunt says he will become one of the leading lights of the legal profession. Well, he was full of humor and jokes disposed to be a little gay in his talk, and from what he related concerning himself one might infer he had been at times a little swift. One afternoon we were out in the country riding and he became very animated in his conversation about taste and style of young ladies' dresses, and from that went on to say what a fad it was among young men to notice and admire the bright hosiery which young ladies wore when bicycle riding, and continued in that style of talk, saying what good taste I displayed in my dress; he was sure that the pretty, bright hosiery, which he supposed I wore, would do his eyes good to behold. Just as he was apparently making a motion as if to inspect my hosiery, his nigh colt shied at an old post that was leaning over at the side of the road. He had all he could do to manage the horse. I laughed, and told him 'He had better keep his mind on the team, and not think about such things as the kind of hosiery I was wearing, that he must not look upon me as a dry-goods window.' He acted kind of mad with the colt, and said no more about ladies' hosiery. That was the last ride we had together.

"Well, one evening young Brookes, who was said to be worth fifty thousand dollars in real estate, and had seen much of Europe in his travels, called to take me to the theater. I had been out riding with him several times, and met him at every party. After the play was over, it being rather a warm night, he asked me if I would not like an ice-cream, and I agreed; so we went into a cafe, and the waiter showed us into one of the private boxes. After bringing ice-cream, cake and soda-water, he drew the curtains. We had a very pleasant chat while partaking of the refreshments.

"Brookes asked me if I had any objection to his enjoying a cigarette.

"I said 'No.'

"Then he asked me if I would have one with him.

"I laughed, and said I had not become fashionable enough for that yet. I would have to live longer in the city.

"He said, 'Why, the Paris young ladies smoke.'

"'Yes,' I said, 'but I am not a Paris young lady.'

"In looking around the little compartment I observed some pictures on the walls, but I perceived that the artist was not a Rubens or a Raphael, and they belonged to that class of pictures that one would not see on the walls of a Sunday-school room.

"I saw Mr. Brookes was looking at them, and then he started a conversation about his travels in Europe, which was very interesting, saying he was a great lover of art and speaking of works of art he saw there. He said it was astonishing the genius that had been displayed in marble and on canvas to represent the beautiful form of woman. Continuing in that strain, and being free in his expressions, he finished by saying how lovely must be the beautiful work of nature which was covered up here, putting his hand on my shoulder. I smiled, and said, 'This work of Nature is not on exhibition this evening; when it is, I will send you a complimentary ticket.' He took the remark in good part, and laughed. We got up and went out, and he saw me to aunt's door in a very pleasant, gentlemanly way.

"Westbrooke, the merchant's son, was the most sensible young man I met. He appeared greatly interested in his college studies, and we had lots of good talks on school studies and other subjects.

"He asked me if he could come out to see me.

"I told him 'yes' for I should be pleased to see him.

"I want to tell you, mother, that when I was out and passing through those funny experiences with the three different gentlemen, I never felt in the least timid or scared. I felt just as calm and collected as I do now. I felt this way about the matter: While I have long ago lost all prudishness, yet I did not wish to stimulate their over-excited imaginations of sensuous things."

Mrs. Wheelwright said: "Well, Stella, if you had not been well balanced, I should have some doubt about it being best for you to go to your aunt's. But I knew, dear, your tastes and inclinations were not on the sense plane, and I thought the opportunity of living in another world for a while would do you good, for it would be the means of giving you a better knowledge of yourself than you could get in any other way."

Stella said: "Mother, the cow-boys and hired ranch hands have a hard name. Now, I know this class of men well, and my experience with and observation of them has taught me that any girl who behaves herself when in their company will always be treated with respect. There is some manhood about them in that way. But those fine city dudes have such a polished, underhanded, deep, sly, foxy way of attaining their ends. Dr. Lacy's girls told me that those fine, city young gentlemen loved nothing better than to get acquainted with some pretty, young, green, innocent girl and enjoy the fun of breaking her in. They are skilled in that art."



CHAPTER XI.

SAUNDERS' CUSTOMERS.

One day, when business was very quiet in the store in Orangeville, the following conversation took place: "Who is that young man of striking appearance, talking to that old man in the road there?" said Hammond to Saunders, the merchant.

"That young man," said Saunders, "why, his name is Penloe."

Hammond said: "Penloe, why that must be the fellow I have heard my wife talk about. Has he any other name?"

"That is all," said Saunders. "He does not wish to be called anything else but Penloe. All his mail comes addressed just 'Penloe, Orangeville, California.' No. Mr., nor Esquire, nor Rev. nor Dr. nor Prof., nor anything else. He and his mother are my best customers, in one way. Not that they buy much, but they never ask my price for the purpose of beating me down. Nor do they grumble about the quality of my goods. Why, those two have bought more from this store to give away to those in poor circumstances, than they have for themselves. And they keep very still about what they do in giving. There is the Jones family, who have more children than dollars; they live in that cabin under the hill, on the Squirrel Creek road. All Jones has is what he knocks out by hard day's work, and he don't always have work, either.

"Well, last winter, when his wife was in confinement and had a long sick spell of two months, and Jones had typhoid fever about the same time, they were about down to their last dollar and were in debt. When Penloe and his mother heard about them, they both went down to Jones' house. Penloe cut some stove-wood and helped round, and his mother took care of Mrs. Jones. Also, Penloe paid me $37.50 for merchandise, which I had furnished them. The doctor had been to Jones' about twice before they came to take care of him and his wife. They paid the doctor, and told him (to his surprise, as both his patients were very sick) that he need not come any more. And they cured them without any medicine. When Jones got well, they told him he could work on their place till he got work elsewhere. And they gave him his board and one dollar a day in cash for a month, and then he went to work on the Kelly ranch.

"Jones and his wife have turned over a new leaf since Penloe and his mother were with them. They look differently, act differently, and talk differently. Penloe's mother gave them a little sound talk on family matters. I feel a better man myself when they are round me.

"Penloe's mother is away now, and Penloe is not seen much about here; he is home most of the time, since he quit going out to work."

"That is a very different story from what you can tell about most of the young men in Orangeville," said Hammond. After which remark Hammond walked out of the store, apparently in a deep study.

Yes, he had much to think about, for he had seen a young man about twenty-two years of age giving himself, his labor, his money, and his best thought to help a poor family; to heal them of their sicknesses, to help them to become self-supporting and independent, by furnishing them work, and, above, all, to lift them to a higher plane of life, thus helping them to find within, the "kingdom of Heaven." Yes, he thought of Penloe's age, it was twenty-two; the very age when most young men think only of gratifying themselves in every little whim and fancy, of catering to their pride and vanity, and spending all their time, all their thought, and all their money on themselves; being lovers of themselves more than lovers of God or any one else. Or they have become absorbed in some girl, not because she touches their better nature and does what she can to lift them to a higher plane, but because she stimulates the activity of their sensual natures, causing them to live in bondage to their lower selves. Deluding themselves with the idea that they are enjoying life, they become so engrossed in the pursuit of 'sense-plane' pleasures that they realize no other life than the animal-plane of their existence, seeming apparently to be dead to all high motives, grand ideals and nobleness of purpose.



CHAPTER XII.

PENLOE'S SERMON.

The Rev. B.F. Holingsworth was the Congregational minister in Roseland, but he used to come out every Sunday afternoon to Orangeville and hold preaching service in the only church there. One Thursday he received word that his sister, in Oakland, was very sick, and wanted him to come and see her, and he would have to be away over the Sabbath; so he wished to get a supply for the two churches, but could not find any one to fill his place. In talking to the deacons of his Roseland church about the matter, they told him they would conduct the services at their church if he could find some one to fill his place at Orangeville.

It was customary for the Rev. B.F. Holingsworth to spend one day in the week in visiting the good people of Orangeville. Among the pastoral calls, he visited the home of Penloe and his mother. He was very much impressed with the spiritual thought and talk of both, and while neither were members of his congregation he well understood their position. He saw that for a man like Penloe to come and listen to the sermons he gave to the people of Orangeville would be like expecting a student in Harvard College to attend a kindergarten school, with the expectation of receiving instruction. The minister was broad-minded enough to perceive that the spiritual food he gave to his flock was kindergarten talk to Penloe; it was only milk, it was not meat; not the strong spiritual meat that Penloe lived on. It was all right for babies, but it was not fit for men who had attained divine realization in the universal Christ. The Rev. B.F. Holingsworth was too liberal and charitable to think less of Penloe for not attending his church. He was glad he had the courage of his convictions instead of masquerading, as some do, with the appearance of assent to all that is said and taught; but, being at the same time, within, at variance and holding views entirely different; but for policy, business interest, family peace, social position and standing, love of name and fame or salary, acting the hypocrite because they are arrant cowards.

When thinking of some suitable person to fill the Orangeville pulpit on the Sunday afternoon of his absence, he could find no one so well adapted by natural talents, education, experience, and deep spiritual insight, combined with an irreproachable life, as Penloe. So he went out to Orangeville to see him. Finding Penloe at home, he made known the object of his visit. Penloe did not answer him at once, but was silent for a few minutes; he was thinking that this was a call to a work which was not of his own seeking, and, as the call to the work had come to him, he decided to accept it and told the Rev. B.F. Holingsworth so.

The minister then went to Deacon Allen, of Orangeville, and explained matters to him, telling him that Penloe would select one of the hymns to sing before the sermon, but Penloe wished Deacon Allen to conduct all the other parts of the service, including the reading of the hymns. The minister desired the Deacon not to tell any one who was going to preach next Sunday, but to explain to the congregation why he was absent, and then to introduce Penloe. Deacon Allen had only seen Penloe once or twice, and while he liked the appearance of the man yet he knew very little about him. But, under the circumstances, he thought the minister had done the best he could.

It so happened it was the time of year when there was a number of visitors in Orangeville, which brought out an unusually large audience, for it included not only the regular attendants and the visitors, but those who seldom went to church but did so to-day because they had company. Mr. and Mrs. Herne, who seldom went, attended to-day, and took the baby with them, this being the first Sunday of the child being in short clothes. Of course, some of Herne's hired men had to go, to see how the baby behaved.

Stella was another irregular attendant at church, but young Mrs. Sexton, whose husband was away, came round in her buggy and wanted Stella to go for company's sake.

Stella, through being away at school so much and having gone to Roseland for a while, had only heard about there being such a young man as Penloe in Orangeville, but had never seen him; neither had her parents.

Penloe was about the first person at church that Sunday afternoon, and took a seat in the front pew, next to the pulpit with his back to the congregation, so, as the people assembled, they saw the back of some one but did not know who it was. When it was time for the service to commence the church was about full, but the people all seemed surprised not to see the minister present. Deacon Allen came forward, and opened service by giving out a hymn, which was followed by prayer. Then the choir sang, sweetly, "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Then reading from the Scriptures, which was followed by the singing of a hymn that Penloe had selected, and Deacon Allen gave out. The hymn was as follows:

"See Israel's gentle shepherd stands With all engaging charms, Hark, how he calls his tender lambs, And folds them in his arms.

"'Permit them to approach,' he cries, Nor scorn their humble name, For 'twas to bless such souls as these The Lord of angels came."

After singing the hymn, Deacon Allen explained to the congregation the cause of the minister's absence, and introduced Penloe, to the great surprise of those present. Penloe, in a simple, unassuming manner, stepped up to the desk and faced the audience. Casting his eyes over the mass of upturned faces, he said, in a very pleasant, musical voice:

"Dear friends, I will speak to you from the following words, 'Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.'"

The sermon was a most remarkable and original discourse. It held the close attention of every one present, and at its end the congregation sang:

"I think, when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How he called little children as lambs to his fold, I should like to have been with him then.

"I wish that his hands had been placed on my head, That his arms had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen his kind look when He said, 'Suffer the little ones to come unto me.'"

Penloe's sermon we will give, as told to her mother by Stella, and also the version published in the Roseland Weekly Gazette.

When Stella arrived home from church her mother noticed that her countenance was all animation, and her bright eyes seemed to glisten and sparkle brighter than ever; but she said nothing, knowing Stella would relate all she had seen and heard of any interest.

"Well, mother," said Stella, "I have had the greatest surprise and the greatest pleasure I ever had in my life."

"Why, Stella," said her mother, "I am very pleased to see and hear that something has delighted you so much."

"Who do you think I saw, and heard preach this afternoon?" said Stella.

"Why, I suppose the minister," said her mother, which was the same as saying, "I don't know, but want you to tell me."

"Well, mother," said Stella, "it was Penloe. I do wish you had been there to have seen and heard him. His face, when speaking, at times looked angelic. His eyes are so clear and bright, his voice sweet and musical, and he is so graceful in his movement, at the same time so simple and unassuming in his manner. He is symmetrical in his build, and as handsome as a picture."

"Is he really all that?" said her mother, with a smile.

"Yes," said Stella, "and there is something about him that is a thousand times more than all that; for there is an earnestness and sincerity of purpose and a power, such as I have never seen or felt before, in all he says and does. I don't know how to describe it, for he is so different to any man I ever met or saw; and, as for his subject, why, it was just grand. But I cannot help laughing when I think of the feelings of horror, and so much mocked modesty which I saw and heard expressed by many who were there this afternoon."

"Well, whatever could his subject have been about, to cause those feelings?" said her mother.

"It was this mother; he took for his text, 'Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.'

"He said it was not his purpose this afternoon to describe in detail the circumstances which led Jesus to utter those words, nor to enter in full into the history of those people at that time, nor to describe the way in which they were raised by their parents in those days, nor how children were treated in general at the time Jesus walked on the earth, but to dwell on the thought more particularly about how to bring the children to Jesus now, and how to help them find the Kingdom of Heaven within. He said the subject was such a large one that he could only dwell for a short time on one method for bringing the children to Jesus, and that was how to bring them up pure and make pure men and pure women of them. For purity of life and thought was one of the first steps in coming to Jesus, and finding the Kingdom of Heaven within.

"Penloe said such an innovation introduced into our society would be a God-send to us all, for it would bring about a change in so many ways for the advancement of the race, as to make the mind almost bewildered in the contemplation of the giant strides that humanity would make. I cannot begin to tell you all he said, mother, and I don't think the congregation took in the full sweep of his great thought.

"I will tell you one thing Penloe has done for me. He has cut what few strings there were which kept me in bondage to my sexual nature. I am free." And here the beautiful and intellectually bright girl laughed, and shouted again, "I am free! Free from that awful superstition of sexual bondage. Bless Penloe for helping me to my freedom," said Stella.

Mrs. Wheelwright said: "Stella, there have been millions of women who have died deaths of untold agony through being in bondage to their sexual natures."

"Mother," said Stella, laughing again, "I give you notice that on and after this I shall speak and act just the same when members of the other sex are present as I would with my own sex, I don't care what they may think. I will not be negative to their ideas, for I am free;" and here she clapped her hands, and said, "I intend to have the courage of my convictions under all circumstances.

"I must tell you, mother, there were a number there who were perfectly disgusted that Penloe should have introduced such a subject. You just ought to have seen the faces on some of the congregation.

"The dressmaker, Mrs. Hopkins, and her daughter, said they would not have come to church if they had known the indecent talk that a strange man was going to make. The two May girls, with their beaux, were there, and after the service they acted as if they were afraid to speak to each other. They went out of the church with their heads down and seemed afraid to look anywhere; till they saw Deacon Tompkins' wife get in the buggy, and then the Deacon got in and took the reins and started the horse. But he had omitted untying the animal from the post, and they all had a laugh, and that broke the strain they were under, and they were seen talking to their beaux after that.

"After service I went up to the desk and gave Penloe my hand and thanked him for the help he had given me in breaking my bondage. I told him he had cut the last string of sex superstition for me. He smiled and pressed my hand and said he was glad to hear it.

"Mother, I did not know that Orangeville had such a young man as that. Why, just think of it! A fine Sanskrit scholar; he can read Bengali just as well as I can English, and by his reference to the Old and New Testament he shows he understood Hebrew and Greek. And think of it; he is only twenty-two years of age! He is a fine orator, very eloquent, and has such a command over himself and his audience.

"But, mother, great as his scholarship may be, he has a power that is greater; it is seen in his eyes and in every feature of his handsome countenance, and felt in the touch of his hand. Its source is not purely intellectual. I perceive it intuitively, but cannot explain it.

"Why, mother, I never thought Penloe was the kind of man he is. From what I had heard about him, I thought he was one of those quiet, goody-goody men, but instead of that he is a scholar of the most advanced school of thought."

Her mother said: "Stella, do you know why Penloe took the subject he did to-day and spoke from it? I think I know; it was this: not that he liked such subjects more than any others, and perhaps not so much; but he knew that if such ideas were presented to the public, it had to be done by those who were not in bondage to name and fame and salary. It had to be done by those bold, fearless thinkers who will speak the truth regardless of frowns and smiles. And Penloe did it because he knew there was no one else that would do it. It was pioneer work."

Stella said: "I think so, mother, and he certainly seems well qualified to do such noble pioneer work."

Mr. and Mrs. Herne, on their way home from church, talked the matter over. Mr. Herne said: "Penloe is the most remarkable man I have seen; so young and yet so gifted in every way. The secret of his power I do not know anything about, but he possesses a power such as no other man I have ever seen. I could not keep away from church if he was going to speak every Sunday."

Mrs. Herne said: "He has the clearest and brightest eyes I ever saw. I never get tired of looking into them. At times his face brightened so much during his speaking it looked angelic."

They were both very much impressed with the sincerity and earnestness of the man, but were not prepared to pass an opinion on the subject of his discourse. They thought well of his ideas, but did not know how they would work. It set them both to thinking, and it was their intention to try if possible to cultivate the acquaintance of Penloe.

The Roseland Gazette, which was published every Saturday, had the following:

"Last Monday and Tuesday strange stories began to be circulated through this city by persons coming in from Orangeville, concerning what was said in the Congregational Church there last Sunday. It seems that the Rev. B.F. Holingsworth, of this city, was called away to see a sick sister, and he got a man who goes by the name of Penloe to fill his place. The stories that were put in circulation are of a wild and varied character. Some started the rumor that Penloe preached that we all ought to go naked. Another story was, that he said we all ought to bathe together, regardless of sex, in a nude state. Then some said, he told the people that all families ought to sleep in one large room, to appear as much in a nude condition as possible, so as to satisfy all curiosity. These and other like stories aroused so much interest among the people of this city, that it has been the upper-most topic of conversation among them, and led to the inquiry whether it was so, and was the man a crazy crank or a fool, and how came such a man to be asked to preach.

"Our reporter went out to Orangeville to learn what he could concerning the matter. He first of all went to see Penloe to get a certified statement, but that gentleman could not be found anywhere. He had an interview with Mr. Saunders, the merchant of Orangeville, who said he was at church last Sunday and heard the sermon.

"When asked if the stories which were circulated in Roseland concerning Penloe's sermon were correct, he replied that in part they were, and in part they were not.

"When asked to state as near as he could remember just what was said:

"'Well,' said the merchant, 'I am not used to that kind of business, but, as near as I can remember it now, it was something like this:

"'In order for children to come to Jesus, they must be pure; that purity was the basis of all religious growth, and he thought the present mode of maintaining purity had the very opposite effect to what it was intended for.'

"Here Mr. Saunders stopped and told the reporter he had better go and see Deacon Allen, who would give him a better account than he could.

"'But I tell you,' continued Mr. Saunders, 'there has been more talk over this sermon this week in this store, by every one that has come in, than all other talk put together. This is the first time in the twelve years that I have kept store, that I ever heard any one talk about any sermon they heard.'

"'Well, Mr. Saunders,' said the reporter, 'what seems to be the judgment of the people about Penloe and the sermon? You have had an opportunity of hearing all kinds of opinions.'

"'Well,' said Mr. Saunders, 'I heard the old lady Eastman say, that the next time she sees her minister, she is going to lecture him for getting that low-down, vulgar man in the pulpit. Why, his talk was awful. Mrs. Reamy and Mrs. Roberts said they would have both got up in church and walked out, only it would cause so much disturbance. Two girls came in to get a spool of thread. While I was waiting on them one said to the other, "My mother said this morning that she would never again go to church, if that nasty talking man was going to preach." The other girl said, "My father says he is the smartest man that ever spoke in Orangeville or any other part of California. He wished he would preach every Sunday. Then, I saw Miss Stella Wheelwright go up to Penloe at the close of the service and give him her hand, and I was told she thanked him for helping her to cut the last cords of bondage to sex superstition. She seemed really delighted with his talk."

"'I cannot help laughing when I hear a number of persons who were not at church last Sunday, say, "I wish I had been to meeting last Sunday and heard the talk."

"The reporter next called on Deacon Allen and found that gentleman ready to relate a portion of the sermon.

"In reply to a question put by the reporter, Deacon Allen said: 'Well, there is one thing I liked about Penloe's sermon, instead of talking about the sins of the wicked people in Chicago, New York, London or Paris, he talked straight and square to the people he was facing, about their own sins, which were keeping them out of the Kingdom of Heaven, for it acted like a curtain over the windows of the soul so that one could not see the Divine, and feel the sacred presence of his power within. They had polluted the Temple of the Living God, and their eyes became blinded so that they could not see that they were heirs to a rich spiritual inheritance.'

"The reporter asked the Deacon what Penloe said in regard to the best way of bringing about the new method of raising all children up, as if they were one sex.

"The Deacon replied, saying: 'He said: "Character and environments are so different that each must work from the plane he or she is on. Nothing but the best judgment and experience will be able to grapple successfully with the problem, but it can be done; it has been done. And it will be comparatively easy for the next generation to put into practice, if it is done by the present. Avoid all kinds of food and drinks that stimulate the passions. And, above all, keep the mind interested in pure, elevating thoughts and engage in hearty wholesome recreations, so that the love for the pure and good in time will predominate, and the angel rule the animal."

"'I shall never forget,' continued the Deacon, 'how Penloe's clear, musical voice rang out through the church, how his brilliant eyes seemed to penetrate through every one present as he looked them in the face and put this serious question to them, "What victories have you gained over yourselves?"

"The Deacon said: 'It makes me feel disgusted to hear some persons who were at church on Sunday last talk about Penloe being low and vulgar, when a purer or more spiritual man never walked in this country; while their own characters are tarnished by being connected with numerous scandals. While Penloe is not a member of the same church as I am, yet I know a good man when I meet him and hear him talk.'

"Our reporter left Orangeville greatly regretting he did not have the honor to meet so distinguished a man as Penloe."

Mrs. Trask, wife of Dr. Trask, of Roseland, called on Stella's aunt, Mrs. Marston, and after a little general conversation, Mrs. Trask said: "Mrs. Marston, have you heard or read anything about the horrid talk that some crank preacher made in Orangeville last Sunday?"

"Why, no," said Mrs. Marston, "I have not looked at the Gazette and I have been out but little the past few days, for I have not felt very well lately, having had a bilious attack."

Mrs. Trask said: "I know, Mrs. Marston, you will be perfectly shocked when I tell you. Why, it's all the talk of the town; just think of it; a man getting up in the pulpit and telling the people that boys and girls should appear before each other naked, and that they all should be brought up as if they were one sex."