"You have said enough, sir," replied she, indignantly.

"Don't be hasty, my pretty one. If you will do me the honor to become Mrs. Whippleton, it will make everything all right; and really I don't know what else to do with you."

"Don't listen to him, Marian," I interposed, in a low tone. "Go into the cabin, and keep out of his sight."

"This plan will make everything comfortable, Miss Collingsby. Your father will see that he is mistaken, and the business of the firm will go on as usual, with your friend Phil as book-keeper at a thousand dollars a year. Will you accept?"

"No, sir."

"No?"

"Certainly not."

"Then I suppose I may as well make an end of Phil. He is only a stumbling-block in my path," added the wretch, cocking his pistol.

"Gorrificious!" exclaimed Peter, appearing at the companion-way at this moment, so opportunely as to indicate that he had been listening to the conversation. "What you goin' to do with that rewolver, Mr. Whippleton?"

"Go into the cook-room, and mind your business there, you scoundrel," said the skipper, angrily, as he pointed the pistol at the cook.

"Gorrificious!" muttered the man, as he disappeared.

Marian, indignant at the proposal of Mr. Whippleton, followed the cook, and I was alone with my persecutor. The skipper laid his revolver upon the rudder-head, as though the end of the sensation had come for the present. I was left to my own suffering for the next two hours. Mr. Whippleton sat at the helm in silence, perhaps brooding upon the plan his busy brain had devised. Occasionally he raised the whiskey bottle to his lips, and drank. I was afraid that his frequent drams would arouse the fiend within him, and induce him to use his revolver upon me. He was intoxicated, and violently irritated against me. My anxiety for my fate was so great that I almost forgot my aching head and painful limbs. I kept very still. No one had thought to give me any breakfast; but I did not feel the need of it, though a cup of tea would doubtless have done me good.

I was still in doubt whether the whiskey bottle would ultimately prove to be my friend or my foe. The skipper maintained his position at the helm till dinner was ready, and then was able to totter into the cabin, when Peter had taken his place. He did not come on deck when he had finished his meal; but Marian soon appeared, and said he had tumbled into one of the berths. He had taken his revolver with him.

"Can't you turn over, Philip?" said she, standing beside me. "I will cut your cords."

"No! Don't do that. Gorrificious! Mr. Whippleton will kill us all."

But I turned over, as far as I was able, and the resolute girl cut the rope that bound my hands together. She had hardly done so before Peter sprang upon her, and hurled her over to the other side of the standing-room. I disengaged my hands; but the line which secured my feet was made fast to a cleat, and when I attempted to rise, I was thrown down upon the floor. Peter leaped upon me, and shouted for Mr. Whippleton.



CHAPTER XXVI.

IN WHICH PHIL FINDS THE TABLES TURNED, AND THE MARIAN RUNS INTO CHICAGO RIVER.

"Gorrificious!—Mr. Whippleton!" shouted Peter, as he lay down upon me.

"Let him alone, Peter," pleaded Marian, as she rushed to the rope which bound my feet.

"Can't do it, miss. Mr. Whippleton will shoot me," answered the cook, in high excitement.

Marian cast off the rope which bound me to the cleat, and then untied my feet; but the negro had placed his knee upon my breast, and held me by the throat with both hands. The condition to which I was reduced was desperate, and only desperate measures could redeem me. I began to struggle, and when my feet were free, I began to use them with considerable vigor. But I was very feeble, and with the advantage he had over me, I was not equal even to the old negro.

The battle was going against me, and I heard the uncertain movements of Mr. Whippleton in the cabin. Marian wrung her hands in despair, when she saw her resolute effort apparently so signally defeated. Out of breath and out of strength, I was compelled to abandon the struggle as useless; but my fair ally was not so demoralized. She took the tin cup, which the negro used for his drams, and pouring some whiskey from the skipper's bottle, she dashed it into the face of the cook, just as Mr. Whippleton was coming up the steps from the cabin.

"Gorrificious!" yelled the negro, blinded by the potent liquor, and smarting with pain in his eyes.

I made one more desperate effort to free myself, and as Peter was obliged to use his hands for the comfort of his eyes, I easily shook him off this time. At the same instant the crack of the revolver startled me; but I was not hit. Marian stood near me with a large champagne bottle, from which she had poured the whiskey, in her hand. I seized it, and sprang upon Mr. Whippleton as he aimed his pistol at me the second time.

I struck him a heavy blow upon the head with the bottle, and he fell back into the cabin.

My strength seemed to come back, as the prospect brightened before me. I descended to the cabin, and proceeded to ascertain the condition of Mr. Whippleton.

"Is he dead?" gasped Marian.

"No; I think not," as I felt of his pulse, and then of his breast to see if his heart still beat.

"O, I hope not," cried she, terrified at the tragedy of which she had become a part.

"Gorrificious!" howled Peter, who had been washing his eyes at the side, and was now able to use them again.

I picked up Mr. Whippleton's pistol, and returned to the standing-room, to guard against any attack on the part of the cook.

"Don't shoot me, Mr. Phil, don't!" cried he.

"I won't, if you behave yourself; but if you don't obey all my orders, I will put a bullet through your head. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Mr. Phil. 'Tain't none of my quarrel, and I don't care nothing at all about it. I obeys orders whoever is in command," he replied, rubbing his eyes with his handkerchief.



With his aid I lifted the form of Mr. Whippleton from the cabin floor, and we bore it to the seat in the standing-room, where I had lain so many hours. The Marian had come up into the wind when the cook left the helm, and I put her about, heading her to the south-west. Miss Collingsby took the helm at my request. She was pale and excited; but she was firm. For my own part I felt like new man, and the new order of things seemed to soothe the pain I was still suffering.

I examined Mr. Whippleton very carefully again. I felt the beatings of his heart, and I was satisfied that he was not more severely injured than I had been.

I did not intend to make any more mistakes, and with the same cord which had confined my hands, I tied his wrists together behind him. I secured his feet, and made him fast to the jib-sheet cleat. He was now in precisely the same situation as that to which I had been reduced, and in which I had been only half an hour before. He lay very still; but I was satisfied so long as I knew that he breathed. His face was covered with blood, for the bottle had broken under the blow, and cut his head. I directed Peter to wash his face and bathe his head in spirits.

"Gorrificious! Things is turned right over," said he.

"They are; and, Peter, I give you the same instructions which Mr. Whippleton gave you. Don't you let him get away," I added, as I seated myself at the side of Marian.

"No, sir."

"I'm not drunk, Peter."

"No, sir; sober's you was the day you was born," chattered the cook.

"If you want to get back to Chicago without a hole in your head, you will see that Mr. Whippleton don't get loose. I shall keep this pistol beside me, and I shall not go to sleep."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"See that you mind."

"Don't be afraid of me, Mr. Philip. I always minds the captain, whoever he is," replied the polite cook, who, like thousands of others, was disposed to submit to the powers that be without asking any questions.

I did not mean to depend upon him for any service, except in the cabin and cook-room, and I was confident that the pistol would make him obedient. Peter rubbed the head of his late master diligently, as I told him to do, until his patient showed signs of returning animation; but he did not come to his senses for two hours. He was thoroughly steeped in whiskey; indeed, the yacht had the odor of a rum-shop, with what had been drank and what had been spilled.

"How do you feel, Phil?" asked Marian, after the excitement had partially subsided.

"Better, much better."

"Does your head ache now?"

"It does, severely, I should say, under ordinary circumstances; but I don't mind it now, since the prospect is changed. You are a brave girl, Marian," I added, gazing at her with admiration.

"I was terribly frightened. I was afraid Mr. Whippleton would shoot you."

"I think he would; he did fire at me; but he was too tipsy to take aim."

"Whiskey has been our friend, this time."

"It is more apt to be our friend when our enemies drink it than when we drink it ourselves. That was a happy expedient of yours, to give Peter a dram in the eyes."

"Gorrificious!" exclaimed the cook. "Twan't happy for me, miss."

"Because you were doing wrong," said Marian.

"It was a brave act of yours, my dear cousin, and I am proud to call you so now," I added.

"I am not a baby. I don't know what made me think of that; I wasn't strong enough to do anything else."

"You couldn't have done any better."

"Gorrificious! I think you could, miss," interposed the cook.

"I blinded Peter with the whiskey, and you struck Mr. Whippleton with the whiskey bottle, and he was so tipsy he couldn't reach us till it was too late," added Marian. "But, Philip, you must be hungry. You haven't eaten anything to-day."

"I am not hungry, but I am faint," I replied.

"Take a little drop of whiskey, Mr. Philip," said Peter, turning to me.

"Not a drop: I would faint away a dozen times before I would touch a drop. Go down and bring me up some tea, and cook me a beefsteak, Peter."

"Yes, sir," replied he, hastening below, apparently glad to get out of the reach of a pistol ball.

"I can scarcely believe that we are still safe, Philip," continued Marian.

"I owe my safety to you, cousin."

"And I certainly owe mine to you."

"We can call it square, then; but not many young ladies, I am sure, would have been so courageous as you were. The battle was lost when you came to the rescue."

"I shall never cease to be grateful to you for your care and protection, Philip."

"And I shall be just as grateful to you. Let us both thank God, from the depths of our hearts, for his goodness to us."

"Do you know where we are, Philip?" she asked, glancing over the waste of waters ahead of us.

"Not exactly; but I think I can find my way back to Chicago."

"The lake is large, and we may get lost."

"No; if we keep on in our course, we shall come out somewhere. I don't know this side of the lake, but I am tolerably familiar with the other side. We crossed the lake, and have sailed to the northward since one or two o'clock this morning, when Mr. Whippleton hit me on the head."

"It was four o'clock in the morning; I asked Peter," said Marian.

"Very well. It was not far from two when we came about this afternoon. We sailed towards the north about ten hours, and I should judge that we made at least fifty miles. I think I can tell by this map nearly where we are. As I understand it now, our course is south-west, and we have not less than a hundred miles to make."

"How long will it take?"

"As the breeze is now, it will take twenty hours. We shall arrive some time to-morrow."

Peter brought my dinner on deck, and though my appetite had been spoiled by the rough experience of the trip, I ate enough to make me feel tolerably strong. Marian kept the helm all the afternoon, and I lay upon the cushions where I obtained a little sleep, which made my head feel better. The fair helmswoman promised to wake me if anything went wrong. About sunset Mr. Whippleton came to his senses again. He had been asleep most of the time, for we heard him snore.

"O, my head!" groaned he, as he opened his eyes, and then rolled off the cushions in his efforts to get up.

I called Peter, and we put him back again.

"My head! My head!" repeated he.

"Mine felt so this morning," I replied, in consoling tones.

He struggled to rise, but the rope had been carefully secured.

"Untie me, Phil," cried he, angrily.

"Excuse me," I replied. "I have you where I want you, and for your sake I hope we shall have a quick passage to Chicago."

"Is she headed for Chicago?"

"Yes, and has been for four hours. The tables are turned."

"Untie me, Phil. I am in great pain."

"If I can do anything to relieve your pain, I will, but I will not untie you."

He pleaded and begged for me to release him, but I dared not do so. He complained bitterly of his head, and made me various offers to let him go. I assured him that I should hand him over to the police the next day; until then, I would do anything I could to make him comfortable, except to give him his liberty. I brought up the bedding and pillows belonging to one of the berths in the cabin, and prepared an easy couch beneath him. I directed Peter to give him his supper, and to feed him like a child. He said he was comfortable then, but begged for whiskey. I refused to honor this demand; and finding that Peter was boozing more than I deemed best, I emptied all the bottles into the lake, with the hope that the fish would not be harmed by it.

Marian retired at an early hour; but she came on deck in the middle of the night, and insisted upon taking the helm; yet I dared not sleep, for the wind was freshening, and we spent the rest of the night in talking. At daylight I discovered the steeples of Chicago in the distance. We had a stiff breeze then, and at six o'clock I ran the Marian into the river.



CHAPTER XXVII.

IN WHICH PHIL VISITS MR. COLLINGSBY AGAIN, AND IS A HERO IN SPITE OF HIMSELF.

Having run the Marian into the river, I brought her alongside the pier at her usual landing-place. I was very tired, and my head still ached severely. I had hardly touched the pier before a man stepped on board without any invitation, and came aft to the standing-room where I was.

"Who runs this boat now?" demanded he.

"I have been running her for the last few hours," I replied.

"What's her name?"

"Her name is the Marian now. Formerly it was the Michigan."

"All right, then. I attach her, and take possession, in the suit of Washburn versus Waterford."

"I'm willing; I have no further use for her," I replied. "But what's the trouble?"

"Mr. Waterford's gone up."

"Gone up where?"

"Failed, and those that can get hold of anything are doing so. I have got hold of this boat."

"I thought Mr. Waterford was a rich man," I added, glancing at Marian.

"Most people thought so; but he is a bankrupt now. He made some ten or twelve thousand dollars, they say, in a lucky speculation, and on the strength of that has had the reputation of being worth a hundred thousand. He and Mr. Whippleton have been making some bad speculations in lands, which will not fetch what they paid for them. While they were looking over the affairs of Mr. Whippleton, who ran away, they found that Waterford was as deep in the mud as he was in the mire. I have been on the lookout for this boat since night before last."

"What has been done about Mr. Whippleton's affairs?" I asked, with no little curiosity.

"His partner has been overhauling his business, and finds that he has been terribly swindled. Officers have been on the lookout for him since he left, and telegrams have been sent in every direction. They can't find him, or even hear of him. He went off in his boat, and they think now that he has made his way into Canada. Where have you been all this time with the boat?"

"On a cruise. Are you an officer?" I asked.

"Certainly I am. How could I serve a writ if I were not?"

"Do you know where there is another one?"

"I can find a policeman, I suppose. What do you want of him?"

"I have a prisoner I wish to put into safe keeping."

"Who is he?"

"Mr. Charles Whippleton."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed the officer.

I pulled off the blankets in which the late junior partner had enfolded himself, and exhibited my prisoner.

"What's the matter with him? Is he sick?"

"He has a sore head. But please to get another officer, and a carriage."

"Let him get two. I want one," said Marian.

"I don't know you; but I begin to think you are the clerk that disappeared," added the man.

"I am; I was in the employ of Collingsby and Whippleton."

"Nobody knew what had become of you; but Mr. Whippleton's mother said you had run away with all her property. The officers are on the lookout for you also."

"I am at their disposal whenever they want me," I replied, choking at this disagreeable information.

"Mr. Collingsby thinks you have gone with Whippleton, and that you were concerned with him in the frauds."

"Does he?"

"Is this lady Miss Collingsby?"

"It is."

"Her father and mother believe she has run away with Mr. Waterford. There's all sorts of stories floating about. I suppose, if I bring one of the police, they will arrest you."

"No matter for that; bring him along. If I had been guilty, I should not have brought Mr. Whippleton back."

The officer departed, and I lowered the mainsail. I told Peter to put the yacht in good order.

"Can't you untie me now, Phil?" asked Mr. Whippleton.

"Not till the officers come. I don't intend to make any more blunders."

"You have wound me up completely," said he, bitterly, as he glanced towards the city. "I suppose I must take things as they come."

"Your mother accuses me of running away with her property. How could that be if she gave you an order for the package?" I inquired.

"I dare say you will get at the whole truth in due time. It is not necessary for me to say anything more."

And he did not say anything more. He was in pain bodily; but I am sure his sufferings mentally were infinitely more intense. As I looked at him, reclining on his couch, I could not help thinking that his mother was even more to blame for his misfortunes than he was himself. Instead of filling his mind with Christian principles, she had fed him with the dry husks of worldly wisdom. She had taught him to get money; that it was shrewd and praiseworthy to overreach and deceive. His father had died when he was young, and his mother had had the whole training of him. Before God, she was responsible, though her neglect and her errors could not excuse him. I thanked God anew, as I looked at him, for the Christian teachings of Mr. Gracewood, who had implanted in my soul a true principle.

The officers came, and Mr. Whippleton was relieved of his bonds, and permitted to stand up. He could not walk at first, and had to be assisted to the carriage. I was careful to have his travelling bag placed in the care of the officers. I had locked it up in the cabin when I obtained possession of the yacht, for I knew that its contents would go far towards indemnifying his partner for his losses. At my request, the officers took the prisoner to Mr. Collingsby's house. Marian and I went in one carriage, while the officers, with Mr. Whippleton, occupied the other.

"I tremble when I think of meeting my father," said my fair companion.

"You need not. He will be too glad to see you safe and sound to find any fault with you."

"I have been very imprudent."

"I know you have; but you meant no wrong. You are fortunate to be able to return as you are, for Mr. Waterford is a bankrupt, and a mere adventurer."

"My father was right."

"Fathers are almost always right," I replied, as the carriage stopped before the house.

I found that Marian was trembling violently when I helped her out. We were admitted to the library. Mrs. Collingsby was up, but her husband had not risen yet. The fond mother folded her lost daughter in her arms, and they wept together.

"Let me call your father," said she, leaving the room hastily.

"You will have a glad welcome from both of your parents, Marian," I added.

"My mother will not reproach me," said she, as Mrs. Collingsby returned.

"Where have you been?" inquired the anxious mother, as she took the hand of her weeping daughter.

"I was deceived, mother."

"But where is Mr. Waterford?"

"I don't know; I have not seen him since day before yesterday."

Mr. Collingsby appeared in a few moments in his dressing-gown, and had evidently made a very hasty toilet.

"Marian!" exclaimed he, with a degree of emotion of which I had not supposed him capable.

"My poor child! How anxious I have been about you! for that Waterford is a scoundrel."

"I know he is, father. You were right," replied Marian, as she sobbed upon his bosom.

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know."

Mr. Collingsby winked very rapidly; but as it was not dignified to weep, he did not do so. He glanced at me, and he must have suspected that I saw his emotion. He was evidently ashamed of it, for he gently disengaged himself from his daughter's embrace, and fixed his stern gaze upon me.

"So you have come back, Philips?" said he.

"Yes, sir, I have come back. I had business here, and I took the liberty to call."

"Where have you been, sir?"

"After Mr. Whippleton."

"So I thought," sneered he. "I suppose it would not suit your purpose to inform me where he is now."

"On the contrary, it would exactly suit my purpose, Mr. Collingsby. He is in a carriage at the door, between two officers."

"Don't say anything harsh to Philip, father," interposed Marian, wounded by his sternness towards me. "It was he who saved me from harm, and he has brought Mr. Whippleton back, with all the money he stole."

"Do you mean so?"



I went to the door, and requested the officers to bring in their prisoner.

"Is it possible that I have been mistaken in you, young man?" added Mr. Collingsby, glancing at me again. "I was satisfied that you had run away with my partner, because you had shared his guilt."

"You were mistaken, sir," I answered, as the officers conducted Mr. Whippleton into the room.

The prisoner was very feeble, and was placed in an arm-chair. His head was tied up with a handkerchief, and he looked as miserable as a human being could. He was not a man of great courage, and his mishaps appeared to have broken his spirit.

"What's the matter with him?" asked Mr. Collingsby, turning to me.

"He was hurt on the head."

"Philip had a hard battle with him, father; but finally struck him down, and he fell senseless."

"I ought to add, Mr. Collingsby, that Marian was the bravest girl I ever saw. I should have lost the battle, and I doubt if you would ever have seen either your partner or your money, if she had not taken part in the struggle," I interposed.

"All this makes a very strange story."

"Perhaps you had better hear the rest of it before you judge," I replied. "I thought it possible, after I left you day before yesterday, that Mr. Whippleton had gone off in his boat, and I hastened to her moorings. My supposition was correct."

"We knew he had gone in his boat, but we supposed he would land at some town on the other side," said Mr. Collingsby. "Officers were sent to Detroit and Toledo to intercept him."

Marian and I told our story as I have already related it, and we had an attentive and interested audience.

"But what has become of Waterford?" asked one of the officers. "If he was left at the creek, he must have gone somewhere."

"He won't go far, for he has not a hundred dollars in the world," said Mr. Whippleton. "Phil defeated all our plans."

All the party looked at me so earnestly that I am afraid I blushed; for, conceited as I am, it disturbs me to be made a hero.

"What were your plans, Mr. Whippleton?" asked Mr. Collingsby.

"I suppose I have nothing to gain by concealment," replied the culprit. "If I had never seen Waterford, I might have been an honest man to-day. I went into some land speculations with him. We bought two hundred acres at Bloomvale, confident that the new Blank and Plank Railroad would pass through the centre of it, for it was one of the routes surveyed, and we had an assurance that it would be the one adopted. Instead of coming direct to the city, as we were almost certain it would, they tapped the North Central, and left our land ten miles from any road, and good for nothing but farming purposes. We spent ten thousand dollars in log-rolling in the legislature, and were defeated in the end. I took forty thousand dollars out of the funds of the firm, which I intended to replace when I sold my land. Phil's trial balance first frightened me, and finding that I could not get out of the scrape, I decided to take what money I could get, and go to China, where I hoped to win a fortune, and make good my losses here. I had started for Europe when I left in the Florina, and should have got off if Phil had not followed me."

I was a hero in spite of myself.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

IN WHICH PHIL MORALIZES UPON WORLDLY WISDOM, AND BIDS FAREWELL TO DESK AND DEBIT.

The conference was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Collingsby, senior, who had been sent for. He gave his granddaughter a very cordial greeting, and the events which had transpired were all rehearsed for his benefit.

"How did you expect to get away in your yacht?" asked the senior partner.

"Waterford was to go with me. A friend in St. Joseph had offered me a thousand dollars for my boat, and I expected to sell her to him. We then intended to sail through the lakes to Collingwood, and proceed to Montreal. Waterford was to have made Marian his wife at St. Joseph."

"The scoundrel!" ejaculated the father.

"He was to return, make his peace with you, and save me from harm. We should have succeeded if Phil had not been so zealous to serve the firm. He upset my calculations no less than three times, and finally broke my head. You have no fault to find with him, Mr. Collingsby, however it may be with me."

"Mr. Philips, I trust you will excuse any harsh words I may have used," said the senior partner.

"Certainly, sir; but my name is not Philips."

"What is it?"

"Philip Farringford, sir."

"Yes, father, and he is my own cousin," added Marian.

"Nonsense! We will talk of that some other time."

"I think you had better open that bag," I suggested.

It was opened, and all the money which the junior partner had gathered together was taken from it. Mrs. Whippleton's treasure was found, just as I had left it, with the seals unbroken.

"That is Phil's, and contains nothing belonging to the firm," said Mr. Whippleton, as the officer produced the package. "I hope you will give it to him."

I explained the nature of the contents, and to my great gratification it was restored to me. The graceless son acknowledged that he had signed his mother's name to the order upon me for its delivery. He had procured the nurse for his mother, and she informed him what had been done during our interview. It appeared that she had placed herself at the door for this purpose.

"Mr. Collingsby, I hope you don't intend to proceed against me, now that I have made all the restitution in my power," said the culprit.

"I don't know; I will see."

"The false invoices cover about forty thousand dollars. My capital in the firm, and my share of the profits, will reimburse you for about thirty thousand. I will give you a deed of my lands for the balance, so that you will lose nothing by me."

"I have lost through you my confidence in mankind," replied Mr. Collingsby. "I have no desire to persecute you."

"I have given up every dollar I took with me. My yacht will bring a thousand dollars. You shall have that."

"I will take the boat at that price, and place the amount to your credit."

"Thank you, sir."

"For the rest, I will consider the matter; but for the present, you must be where I can find you."

The officers conveyed him to the prison, where he had an opportunity to reflect upon the folly of worldly wisdom.

"Philips, you have done well," said Mr. Collingsby, as the door closed upon the departing junior of the firm. "You have been honest and faithful, and I thank you."

"So do I," added the old gentleman. "It seems we haven't lost anything, after all."

"Philips has—"

"Philip, if you please, sir," I interposed.

"Excuse me; Philip has saved us from loss, and as he is very fond of boats, I propose to make him a present of the yacht belonging to Mr. Whippleton, as a testimonial of our gratitude. What do you say, father?"

"Certainly, Richard," replied the patriarch.

"I have already taken Mr. Faxon into the firm, and the business will continue as before. Of course we shall retain you as book-keeper, and your salary will hereafter be one thousand dollars a year."

"I thank you, gentlemen. I am very grateful to you for your kindness and consideration," I replied, satisfied that virtue is its own reward even in this world.

"Beyond this, I am greatly indebted to you for your services to my daughter."

"My cousin was very kind to me," said Marian, archly.

"Your cousin!"

"Yes, father; he is really my cousin."

"Pshaw! How can he be your cousin?"

"His name is Philip Farringford. His mother was your sister."

"Come, come; no more of this. We have had romance enough for one day," said the old gentleman. "I have been annoyed by letters from Farringford in St. Louis, hinting at something of this kind."

"I am sorry the letters annoyed you, sir; but my father wrote only the truth," I replied.

"Your father! Do you mean to assert that my miserable son-in-law is your father?" added the old gentleman, savagely.

"I do, sir."

"But my daughter is not your mother?"

"Yes, sir; she is."

"That's enough. I don't want to hear another word about the matter; and what's more, I will not."

"We can prove all that we assert, sir," I replied, firmly.

"Not another word about it. I want to believe that you are an honest and honorable young man; but I can't do it if you attempt to maintain such a gross imposture. It is ridiculous."

"I am very anxious that you should hear the story, sir. If you are not satisfied with the evidence, you shall never be annoyed again concerning it."

"I won't hear it," protested the senior Mr. Collingsby. "Did you come here, and get a place in our firm, for the purpose of pushing this imposition?"

"I desire to establish my birthright; but there was no conspiracy about my coming."

"My son-in-law is a miserable toper. I never want to see or hear from him again. He has brought disgrace and misery enough into my family. He teased me for money till I was obliged to leave St. Louis, and now he follows me here. Young man, whatever your name may be, I have a high regard for you after what you have done, and we will use you well in the future; but never mention this matter again. If you do, you shall leave us. I say it, and I mean it."

Under the circumstances I could say no more. The time for proving my claim evidently had not come. I made no promises in regard to the forbidden topic; but I decided to wait for a more favorable opportunity to press the subject. I was invited to breakfast with the family, and accepted. I was vexed and mortified to find that I was not acknowledged as a nephew, grandson, and cousin; but I found that I had one believer in Marian. I had convinced her with my unsupported word; but I intended to show her the evidence.

After breakfast I went to my boarding-house, and repaired at once to Mrs. Whippleton's room. She was better than when I had left her, three days before, and was able to open upon me in a volley of reproaches for my treachery and dishonesty, as she bluntly called them.

"I thought there wan't but one honest feller in the world, and I was cheated in him," said she, bitterly.

"Not exactly, Mrs. Whippleton," I replied, handing her the sealed package. "There are your papers and your money."

"No; you don't say it!"

"Open it, and see."

It took an hour for her to count the money and examine the papers. She compared them with the receipt I had given her, and nothing was missing.

"Well, I reckon you be honest, after all," said she, cheerfully. "Who'd 'a thought it! But where is Charles? I didn't know but he might got the papers away from you. He wanted to raise all the money he could to save himself from ruin."

"Not for that; but to set himself up in business in China," I replied; and then I told the story of her son's misdeeds.

"So he's in jail—is he?" exclaimed she. "Well, I was afraid it would come to this, when I heard he was in trouble, for Charles never was as shrewd as he ought to be."

"Shrewd!" I replied, in disgust. "He has followed out your maxims of worldly wisdom, instead of being true to God, himself, and his fellow-beings; and now he has his reward."

"Well, I don't know what all that has to do with it. I say he wan't shrewd," persisted the old lady.

"He has practised just what you taught him."

"No, he didn't!" replied she. "He wan't cunning."

"Good by, Mrs. Whippleton. I only hope you will live long enough to repent of your sins, and learn, before it is too late, that worldly wisdom will not carry an immortal being through this world and the world to come."

I had not patience to hear any more. I went to my room, and I did not leave it for a week. The blow I had received on the head, with the excitement and fatigue of the cruise down the lake, made me sick. I wrote to my father after I had been confined to my chamber three days; and when I was about well enough to go out again, he came to see me, though he started as soon as he received my letter. I had never seen him looking so well; and certainly I should never have suspected that he was the degraded sot whom I had met in front of the Planters' Hotel, in St. Louis. He was dressed in sober black, and was neat, and even elegant, in his appearance. He had grown moderately fleshy under the regimen of total abstinence, and all the toddy-blossoms had disappeared from his face.

We had a long talk in my chamber, and he gave me such advice as the occasion demanded. He thought that, as I had established myself in the good opinion of the firm, I had better stay with them, especially as the salary was very handsome.

"I shall hardly be able to leave the prohibited topic untouched," I added.

"Your own self-respect should induce you to do that. If your grandfather and your uncle will not hear you, there is no law to compel them to do so. Do you know when your mother intends to return?"

"I do not; I cannot even learn where she is; but Marian has promised to ascertain for me. I mean to stay with the firm about a year longer. If my mother don't come by that time, I shall go for her. I will find her."

"Well, a trip to Europe will do you no harm; but she will probably return before the year is out."

We decided to wait the turn of future events because we could not help ourselves, rather than because we were willing. On the following Monday, I took my place in the counting-room again, and it was Desk and Debit once more. My father called there during the day to take leave of me. It so happened that both Mr. Richard Collingsby and his father came in while he was there. They looked at him, but did not recognize him. They appeared to think they knew him, and spoke to him.

"I know your face very well," said Richard, "but I can't call you by name."

"My name is Edward Farringford," replied my father.

"And he is my father," I added.

"I am glad to see you looking so well, Edward," said the old gentleman, coldly. "I hear you are doing well; but don't say a word to me about that silly story."

"I don't intend to do so. I wish to say, sir, that while I plead guilty to all you have charged upon me in the past, I have no occasion to ask any favors for the future, except your kind regard. I wish to see my wife—"

"Never, sir! Never!" protested Mr. Collingsby, senior, as he rushed into his counting-room.

"I wish you well, Ned," added Mr. Richard; "but I am sorry to find you attempting to impose upon our family."

My father bowed, but made no reply, and the son followed the father into the sanctum.

"I can't stay here, father," I protested, cut to the quick by the conduct of my employers.

"Be patient, Philip. When I think what I was, I can hardly blame them. Keep your place. You will be nearer to your mother here, when she returns, than in any other place."

I consented to stay, and I did stay. My father went home that night, and I applied myself diligently to the work of opening a new set of books for Collingsby and Faxon. I was treated with a great deal of consideration by the senior and his father; but I never alluded to my relationship to them. I was sure of a storm if I did so.

Mr. Whippleton was discharged from custody after he had fully indemnified the firm for its losses. There were too many legal doubts in the way of his prosecution to render it advisable to proceed against him, even if the Collingsbys had been disposed to do so. But he was a ruined man. He could not even obtain a situation as a clerk in Chicago. His mother set him up in business in Cincinnati; but he failed, and lost all she had loaned him. His reputation followed him wherever he went. He finally obtained all his mother's property, and both of them were reduced to poverty. The last time I saw the old lady, I am sure she was a better woman, and was willing to confess that worldly wisdom did not insure either success or happiness.

Mr. Waterford was not seen in Chicago again. I afterwards met him in New York. Before his boat was sold, I made an excursion in her to the lagoon where the Florina was moored. Marian and other ladies went with me, and I sailed them home in the yacht, which was now my property. I found time to sail in her occasionally, and the Collingsbys were often passengers. I changed her name, and called her the ELLA GRACEWOOD.

I had a week's vacation in the summer, and visited St. Louis. Mrs. Greenough was delighted to see me, and treated me like a son. When I returned, I carried with me the relics of my childhood. One afternoon, on board of the Ella Gracewood, I showed them to Marian and her mother. Mrs. Collingsby recognized the portrait of my mother, and I think she was convinced that I was her nephew; but she was more prudent than Marian, and refused to commit herself.

I was no nearer my mother than when I came to Chicago; but I had a lively hope of the future. I still looked forward with glowing anticipations to the time when our little family should be reunited under the same roof.

* * * * *

I have told my story, and related all the catastrophes of a clerk. I staid in the counting-room of Collingsby and Faxon a year and a half, when the business was again closed by the death of the junior partner. Mr. Richard decided to retire, as he might have done years before. The new firm, to whom the business was sold, offered me a salary of twelve hundred a year; but I declined it, and was again free from any engagement.

My mother had not yet returned. At the last accounts she was living at Nice, with her brother, whose wife was very feeble. I was eighteen, and I determined to go to her. I could no longer endure the separation; and with this resolve I bade farewell to DESK AND DEBIT.

* * * * *

OLIVER OPTIC'S

LAKE SHORE SERIES.

SIX VOLS., ILLUST. PER VOL., $1.25.

Through by Daylight; Or, The Young Engineer of the Lake Shore Railroad.

Lightning Express; Or, The Rival Academies.

On Time; Or, The Young Captain of the Ucayga Steamer.

Switch Off; Or, The War of the Students.

Brake Up; Or, The Young Peacemakers.

Bear and Forbear; Or, The Young Skipper of Lake Ucayga.

Oliver Optic owes his popularity to a pleasant style, and to a ready sympathy with the dreams, hopes, aspirations, and fancies of the young people for whom he writes. He writes like a wise, over-grown boy, and his books have therefore a freshness and raciness rarely attained by his fellow scribes.—Christian Advocate.

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.

* * * * *

OLIVER OPTIC'S

STARRY FLAG SERIES.

SIX VOLS., ILLUST. PER VOL., $1.25.

The Starry Flag; Or, The Young Fisherman of Cape Ann.

Breaking Away; Or, The Fortunes of a Student.

Seek and Find; Or, The Adventures of a Smart Boy.

Freaks of Fortune; Or, Half Round the World.

Make or Break; Or, The Rich Man's Daughter.

Down the River; Or, Buck Bradford and his Tyrants.

These books are exciting narratives, and full of stirring adventures, but the youthful heroes of the stories are noble, self-sacrificing, and courageous, and the stories contain nothing which will do injury to the mind or heart of the youthful reader.—Webster Times.

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.

* * * * *

OLIVER OPTIC'S

BOAT CLUB SERIES.

SIX VOLS., ILLUST. PER VOL., $1.25.

The Boat Club; Or, The Bunkers of Rippleton.

All Aboard; Or, Life on the Lake.

Now or Never; Or, the Adventures of Bobby Bright.

Try Again; Or, The Trials and Triumphs of Harry West.

Poor and Proud; Or, The Fortunes of Katy Redburn.

Little by Little; Or The Cruise of the Flyaway.

Boys and girls have no taste for dry and tame things; they want something that will stir the blood and warm the heart. Optic always does this, while at the same time he improves the taste and elevates the moral nature. The coming generation of men will never know how much they are indebted for what is pure and enobling to his writings.—R.I. Schoolmate.

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.

* * * * *

OLIVER OPTIC'S

WOODVILLE STORIES.

SIX VOLS., ILLUST. PER VOL., $1.25.

Rich and Humble; Or, The Mission of Bertha Grant.

In School and Out; Or, the Conquest of Richard Grant.

Watch and Wait; Or, The Young Fugitives.

Work and Win; Or, Noddy Newman on a Cruise.

Hope and Have; Or, Fanny Grant among the Indians.

Haste and Waste; Or, The Young Pilot of Lake Champlain.

Oliver Optic is the apostolic successor, at the "Hub," of Peter Parley. He has just completed the "Woodville Stories," by the publication of "Haste and Waste." The best notice to give of them is to mention that a couple of youngsters pulled them out of the pile two hours since, and are yet devouring them out in the summer-house (albeit autumn leaves cover it) oblivious to muffin time.—N.Y. Leader.

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.



LEE & SHEPARD'S JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS.

OLIVER OPTIC'S BOOKS.

YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD.

A Library of Travel and Adventure in Foreign Lands. 16mo. Illustrated by Nast, Stevens, Perkin's, and others.

* * * * *

OUTWARD BOUND; or, Young America Afloat. $1.50.

"In Outward Bound," "the Ship Young America, sails for Europe, with a school of eighty-seven boys aboard her, who pursue the studies of a school, and at the same time work the ship across the Atlantic, being amenable to regular naval discipline."

SHAMROCK AND THISTLE; or, Young America in Ireland and Scotland. $1.50.

"This volume continues the history of the academy ship and her crew of boys, with their trips into the interior as well as voyages along the coast of Ireland and Scotland. The young scholar will get a truer and fuller conception of these countries by reading this unpretentious journal of travel, than by weeks of hard study upon the geographies and histories."

RED CROSS; or, Young America in England and Wales. $1.50.

"The third volume of Oliver Optic's Library of travel and adventure chronicles the doings of the Young America and her crew in British ports and waters, and is replete with thrilling adventures and descriptions of noted places."

DIKES AND DITCHES; or, Young America in Holland and Belgium. $1.50

"The author takes his readers on voyages up the rivers and canals of Holland and Belgium, on tramps through the cities, their schools, their art galleries, and their wonderful buildings, giving at every turn vivid impressions of what is seen and heard therein and thereabouts."

PALACE AND COTTAGE; or, Young America in France and Switzerland. $1.50

"This volume relates the history of the American Squadron (Young America and Josephine) in the waters of France, with the journey of the students to Paris and through a portion of Switzerland. As an episode, the story of the runaway cruise of the Josephine is introduced, inculcating the moral that 'the way of the transgressor is hard.'"

DOWN THE RHINE; or, Young America in Germany. $1.50.

This volume concludes the first series of Young America, and is as interesting and instructive as the preceding volumes. So great has been the success of this series, that Oliver Optic is now preparing a second. "Up the Baltic" will be the first volume, to be followed by "Northern Lands," "Vine and Olive," "Sunny Shores," "Cross and Crescent" and "Isles of the Sea."

Sold by all book-sellers and news-dealers, and sent by mail on receipt of price.

* * * * *

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.



LEE & SHEPARD'S JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS.

OLIVER OPTIC'S BOOKS.

THE BOAT CLUB SERIES.

A library for Young People. Each volume illustrated. In sets or separate.

* * * * *

THE BOAT CLUB; or, the Bunkers of Rippleton. $1.25.

"One noticeable feature of this author's books is their purity. Not a line is to be found in any work of his but what will tend to elevate and purify the mind of the boy or girl who may peruse it."

ALL ABOARD; or, Life on the Lake. $1.25.

"ALL ABOARD" was written to gratify the reasonable curiosity of the readers of the "Boat Club," to know what occurred at Woodlake during the second season; and though it is a sequel, it has no direct connection with its predecessor. The Introduction in the first chapter contains a brief synopsis of the principal events of the first season; so that those who have not read the "Boat Club" will labor under no disadvantage on that account.

NOW OR NEVER; or, the Adventures of Bobby Bright. $1.25.

The author has been for many years a successful teacher in one of the Boston Public Schools, and the knowledge of youthful character thus obtained has been used to good advantage in his works.

TRY AGAIN; or, the Trials and Triumphs of Harry West. $1.25.

The story of Harry West is a record of youthful experience designed to illustrate the necessity and the results of perseverance in well doing. The true success of life is the attainment of a pure and exalted character; and he who at three-score-and-ten has won nothing but wealth and a name, has failed to achieve the noblest purpose of his being. This is the moral of the story contained in this volume.

LITTLE BY LITTLE; or, the Cruise of the Flyaway. $1.25.

Paul Duncan, the hero of this volume, is a nautical young gentleman, and most of the events of the story occur upon the water, and possess that exciting and captivating character for which this author's books are famous. But the author hopes that something more than exciting incidents will be found upon his pages; that though he has seldom, if ever, gone out of his way to define the moral quality, or measure the moral quantity, of the words and deeds of his characters, the story will not be found wanting in a true Christian spirit.

POOR AND PROUD; or, the Fortunes of Katy Redburn. $1.25.

The history of a smart girl, where fortunes are made to depend upon her good principles, her politeness, her determined perseverance, and her overcoming that foolish pride, which is a snare to the feet. In these respects she is a worthy example for the young.

Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price.

* * * * *

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.

THE END