With the energy of despair he let fly an arrow with all his force; but the weak shaft glanced from the tapir's side without doing it the slightest damage. Then Martin turned to fly, but at the same moment the tapir did the same, to his great delight and surprise. It wheeled round with a snort, and went off crashing through the stout underwood as if it had been grass, leaving a broad track behind it.

On another occasion he met with a formidable-looking but comparatively harmless animal, called the great ant-eater. This remarkable creature is about six feet in length, with very short legs and very long strong claws; a short curly tail, and a sharp snout, out of which it thrusts a long narrow tongue. It can roll itself up like a hedgehog, and when in this position might be easily mistaken for a bundle of coarse hay. It lives chiefly if not entirely upon ants.

When Martin discovered the great ant-eater, it was about to begin its supper; so he watched it. The plain was covered with ant-hills, somewhat pillar-like in shape. At the foot of one of these the animal made an attack, tearing up earth and sticks with its enormously strong claws, until it made a large hole in the hard materials of which the hill was composed. Into this hole it thrust its long tongue, and immediately the ants swarmed upon it. The creature let its tongue rest till it was completely covered over with thousands of ants, then it drew it into its mouth and engulfed them all!

As Martin had no reason in the world for attempting to shoot the great ant-eater, and as he was, moreover, by no means sure that he could kill it if he were to try, he passed on quietly and left this curious animal to finish its supper in peace.



CHAPTER XXIII

MARTIN MEETS WITH FRIENDS AND VISITS THE DIAMOND MINES

One day, after Martin had spent many weeks in wandering alone through the forest, during the course of which he was sometimes tempted to despair of seeing the face of man again, he discovered a beaten track; at the sight of which his heart bounded with delight. It was a Saturday afternoon when he made this discovery, and he spent the Sabbath-day in rest beside it. For Martin had more than once called to remembrance the words which good Aunt Dorothy used to hear him repeat out of the Bible "Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep it holy." He had many long, earnest, and serious meditations in that silent forest, such as a youth would be very unlikely to have in almost any other circumstances, except, perhaps, on a sick-bed; and among other things he had been led to consider that if he made no difference between Saturday and Sunday, he must certainly be breaking that commandment; so he resolved thenceforth to rest on the Sabbath-day; and he found much benefit, both to mind and body, from this arrangement. During this particular Sabbath he rested beside the beaten track, and often did he walk up and down it a short way, wondering where it would lead him to; and several times he prayed that he might be led by it to the habitations of civilized men.

Next day after breakfast he prepared to set out; but now he was much perplexed as to which way he ought to go, for the track did not run in the direction in which he had been travelling, but at right angles to that way. While he still hesitated the sound of voices struck on his ear, and he almost fainted with excitement; for, besides the hope that he might now meet with friends, there was also the fear that those approaching might be enemies; and the sudden sound of the human voice, which he had not heard for so long, tended to create conflicting and almost overwhelming feelings in his breast. Hiding quickly behind a tree, he awaited the passing of the cavalcade; for the sounds of horses' hoofs were now audible.

In a few minutes a string of laden mules approached, and then six horsemen appeared, whose bronzed olive complexions, straw-hats and ponchos, betokened them Brazilians. As they passed, Martin hailed them in an unsteady voice. They pulled up suddenly and drew pistols from their holsters; but on seeing only a fair youth armed with a bow, they replaced their weapons, and with a look of surprise rode up and assailed him with a volley of unintelligible Portuguese.

"Do any of you speak English?" inquired Martin, advancing.

One of the horsemen replied, "Yees, I spok one leet. Ver' smoll. Where you be com?"

"I have escaped from the Indians who live in the mountains far away over yonder. I have been wandering now for many weeks in the forest, and I wish to get to the sea-coast or to some town where I may get something to do, that I may be enabled to return home."

"Ho!" said the horseman, gravely. "You com vid us. Ve go vid goods to de Diamond Mines. Git vork dere, yees. Put you body on dat hoss."

As the Brazilian spoke he pointed to a spare horse, which was led, along with several others, by a Negro. Thanking him for his politeness Martin seized the horse by the mane and vaulted into the saddle, if the rude contrivance on its back might be so designated. The string of mules then moved on, and Martin rode with a light heart beside this obliging stranger, conversing with much animation.

In a very short time he learned, through the medium of his own bad Portuguese and the Brazilian's worse English, that he was not more than a day's ride from one of the diamond mines of that province of Brazil which is named Minas Geraes; that he was still many leagues distant from the sea; and that he would be sure to get work at the mines if he wished it, for the chief overseer, the Baron Fagoni, was an amiable man and very fond of the English,—but he could not speak their language at all, and required an interpreter. "And," said the Brazilian, with a look of great dignity, "I hab de honour for be de 'terpreter."

"Ah!" exclaimed Martin, "then I am in good fortune, for I shall have a friend at court."

The interpreter smiled slightly and bowed, after which they proceeded for some time in silence.

Next evening they arrived at the mines; and, after seeing to the comfort of his horse, and inquiring rather hastily as to the welfare of his family, the interpreter conducted Martin to the overseer's house in order to introduce him.

The Baron Fagoni stood smoking in the doorway of his dwelling as they approached; and the first impression that Martin received of him was anything but agreeable.

He was a large, powerful man, with an enormous red beard and moustache, and a sombrero-like hat that concealed nearly the whole of his face. He seemed an irritable man, too; for he jerked his arms about and stamped in a violent manner as they drew near, and instead of waiting to receive them, he entered the house hastily and shut the door in their faces!

"The Baron would do well to take lessons in civility," said Martin, colouring, as he turned to the interpreter.

"Ah, he be a leet pecoolair, sometime! Nev'r mind. Ve vill go to him,"

So saying, the interpreter opened the door and entered the hall where the overseer was seated at a desk writing as if in violent haste. Seeing that he did not mean to take notice of them, the interpreter spoke to him in Portuguese; but he was soon interrupted by a sharp reply, uttered in a harsh, grating voice, by the overseer, who did not look up or cease from his work.

Again the interpreter spoke as if in some surprise; but he was cut short by the overseer uttering, in a deep, stern voice, the single word "Obey."

With a low bow the interpreter turned away, and taking Martin by the arm led him into an inner apartment, where, having securely fastened the window, he said to him, "De Baron say you be von blackguard tief; go bout contrie for steal diamonds. He make prisoner ov you. Adios."

So saying, the interpreter made his bow and retired, locking the door behind him and leaving Martin standing in the middle of the room staring before him in speechless amazement.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE DIAMOND MINES—MORE AND MORE ASTONISHING!

If Martin Rattler was amazed at the treatment he experienced at the hands of his new acquaintances on arriving, he had occasion to be very much more surprised at what occurred three hours after his incarceration.

It was getting dark when he was locked up, and for upwards of two hours he was left in total darkness. Moreover, he began to feel very hungry, having eaten nothing since mid-day. He was deeply engaged in devising plans for his escape when he was interrupted by the door being unlocked and a Negro slave entering with four magnificent candles, made of beeswax, which he placed upon the table. Then he returned to the door, where another slave handed him a tray containing dishes, knives and forks, and, in short, all the requisites for laying out a supper-table. Having spread a clean linen cloth on the board, he arranged covers for two, and going to the door placed his head to one side and regarded his arrangements with much complacency and without paying the slightest attention to Martin, who pinched himself in order to make sure he was not dreaming.

In a few minutes the second Negro returned with an enormous tray, on which were dishes of all sizes, from under whose covers came the most savoury odours imaginable. Having placed these symmetrically on the board, both slaves retired and relocked the door without saying a word.

At last it began to dawn on Martin's Imagination that the overseer must be an eccentric individual, who found pleasure in taking his visitors by surprise. But although this seemed a possible solution of the difficulty, he did not feel satisfied with it. He could with difficulty resist the temptation to attack the viands, however, and was beginning to think of doing this, regardless of all consequences, when the door again opened and the Baron Fagoni entered, relocked the door, put the key in his pocket, and, standing before his prisoner with folded arms, gazed at him intently from beneath his sombrero.

Martin could not stand this. "Sir," said he, starting up, "if this is a joke you have carried it far enough; and if you really detain me here a prisoner, every feeling of honour ought to deter you from adding insult to injury."

To this sternly delivered speech the Baron made no reply, but, springing suddenly upon Martin, he grasped him in his powerful arms and crushed him to his broad breast till he almost broke every bone in his body.

"Och! cushla, bliss yer young face! sure it's yersilf, an' no mistake! Kape still, Martin dear. Let me look at ye, darlint! Ah! then, isn't it my heart that's been broken for months an' months past about ye?"

Reader, it would be utterly in vain for me to attempt to describe either the words that flowed from the lips of Martin Rattler and Barney O'Flannagan on this happy occasion, or the feelings that filled their swelling hearts. The speechless amazement of Martin, the ejaculatory exclamations of the Baron Fagoni, the rapid questions and brief replies, are all totally indescribable. Suffice it to say that for full quarter of an hour they exclaimed, shouted, and danced round each other, without coming to any satisfactory knowledge of how each had got to the same place, except that Barney at last discovered that Martin had travelled there by chance, and he had reached the mines by "intuition." Having settled this point, they sobered down a little.

"Now, Martin darlint," cried the Irishman, throwing aside his hat for the first time, and displaying his well-known jolly visage, of which the forehead, eyes, and nose alone survived the general inundation of red hair, "ye'll be hungry, I've small doubt, so sit ye down, lad, to supper, and you'll tell me yer story as ye go along, and afther that I'll tell ye mine, while I smoke my pipe,—the ould cutty, boy, that has corned through fire and wather, sound as a bell and blacker than iver!"

The Baron held up the well-known instrument of fumigation, as he spoke, in triumph.

Supper was superb. There were venison steaks, armadillo cutlets, tapir hash, iguana pie, and an immense variety of fruits and vegetables, that would have served a dozen men, besides cakes and splendid coffee.

"You live well here, Barney—I beg pardon—Baron Fagoni," said Martin, during a pause in their meal; "how in the world did you come by that name?"

Barney winked expressively. "Ah, boy, I wish I may niver have a worse. Ye see, when I first corned here, about four months ago, I found that the mine was owned by an Irish gintleman; an', like all the race, he's a trump. He took to me at wance when he hear'd my voice, and then he took more to me when he corned to know me character; and says he to me wan day, 'Barney,' says he, 'I'm gittin' tired o' this kind o' life now, and if ye'll agree to stop here as overseer, and sind me the proceeds o' the mine to Rio Janeiro, a great city on the sea-coast, an' the capital o' Brazil, I'll give ye a good share o' the profits. But,' says he, 'ye'll need to pretind ye're a Roosian, or a Pole, or somethin' o' that kind; for the fellows in thim parts are great rascals, and there's a few Englishmen among them who would soon find out that ye're only a jack-tar before the mast, and would chate ye at no allowance; but if ye could spake no language under the sun but the gibberish pecooliar to the unbeknown provinces o' Siberia, ye could escape detection as far as yer voice is consarned; and by lettin' yer beard grow as long as possible, and dressin' yersilf properly, ye might pass, and be as dignified as the great Mogul.'

"'Musha!' said I, 'but if I don't spake me own tongue I'll have to be dumb altogither.'

"'No fear,' says he; 'I'll tache ye enough Portuguese in a month or two to begin with, an' ye'll pick it up aisy after that.' And sure enough I began, tooth and nail, and, by hard workin', got on faster than I expected; for I can spake as much o' the lingo now as tides me over needcessities, and I understand most o' what's said to me. Anyhow, I ginerally see what they're drivin' at."

"So, then, you're actually in charge of the mine?" said Martin, in surprise.

"Jist so, boy; but I'm tired of it already; it's by no means so pleasant as I expected it would be; so I'm thinkin' o' lavin' it, and takin' to the say again. I'm longin' dreadful to see the salt wather wance more."

"But what will the owner say, Barney: won't he have cause to complain of your breaking your engagement?"

"Niver a bit, boy. He tould me, before we parted, that if I wanted to quit I was to hand over the consarn to the interpreter, who is an honest fellow, I belave; so I'm jist goin' to pocket a di'mond or two, and ask lave to take them home wid me. I'll be off in a week, if all goes well. An' now, Martin, fill yer glass; ye'll find the wine is not bad, after wan or two glasses; an' I'll tell ye about my adventures since I saw ye last."

"But you have not explained about your name," said Martin.

"Och! the fact is, that when I corned here I fortunately fell in with the owner first, and we spoke almost intirely in Irish, so nobody understood where I corned from; and the interpreter hear'd the master call me by my name; so he wint off and said to the people that a great Barono Flanagoni had come, and was up at the house wid the master. But we corrected him afterward, and gave him to understand that I was the Baron Fagoni. I had some trouble with the people at first, after the owner left; but I pounded wan or two o' the biggest o' them, to such a extint that their own friends hardly knew them; an' iver since they've been mighty civil."

Having carefully filled the black pipe, and involved himself in his own favourite atmosphere, the Baron Fagoni then proceeded to relate his adventures, and dilated upon them to such an extent that five or six pipes were filled and finished ere the story came to a close. Martin also related his adventures; to which his companion listened with such breathless attention and earnestness that his pipe was constantly going-out; and the two friends did not retire to rest till near daybreak.

The substance of the Baron's narrative was as follows:—

At the time that he had been so suddenly separated from his friend, Barney had overcome many of his opponents, but at length he was overpowered by numbers, and his arms were firmly bound; after which he was roughly driven before them through the woods for several days, and was at length taken to their village among the mountains. Here he remained a close prisoner for three weeks, shut up in a small hut and bound by a strong rope to a post. Food was taken to him by an old Indian woman, who paid no attention at first to what he said to her, for the good reason that she did not understand a word of English. The persuasive eloquence of her prisoner's tones, however, or perhaps his brogue, seemed in the course of a few days to have made an impression on her; for she condescended to smile at the unintelligible compliments which Barney lavished upon her in the hope of securing her good-will.

During all this time the Irishman's heart was torn with conflicting feelings, and although, from the mere force of habit, he could jest with the old woman when she paid her daily visits, there was no feeling of fun in his bosom, but, on the contrary, a deep and overwhelming sorrow, which showed itself very evidently on his expressive face. He groaned aloud when he thought of Martin, whom he never expected again to see; and he dreaded every hour the approach of his savage captors, who, he fully expected, retained him in order to put him to death.

One day, while he was sitting in a very disconsolate mood, the Indian woman entered with his usual dinner—a plate of thick soup and a coarse cake. Barney smiled upon her as usual, and then letting his eyes fall on the ground, sighed deeply,—for his heart was heavier than usual that day. As the woman was about to go, he looked earnestly and gravely in her face, and putting his large hand gently on her head, patted her grey hairs. This tender action seemed to affect the old woman more than usual. She laid her hand on Barney's arm, and looked as if she wished to speak. Then turning suddenly from him, she drew a small knife from her girdle and dropped it on the ground, as if accidentally, while she left the hut and re-fastened the door. Barney's heart leaped. He seized the knife and concealed it hastily in his bosom, and then ate his dinner with more than ordinary zest; for now he possessed the means of cutting the strong rope that bound him.

He waited with much impatience until night closed over the Indian village, and then cutting his bonds, he tore down the rude and rather feeble fastenings of the door. In another instant he was dashing along at full speed through the forest, without hat or coat, and with the knife clutched in his right hand! Presently he heard cries behind him, and redoubled his speed; for now he knew that the savages had discovered his escape and were in pursuit. But, although a good runner, Barney was no match for the lithe and naked Indians. They rapidly gained on him, and he was about to turn at bay and fight for his life, when he observed water gleaming through the foliage on his left. Dashing down a glade he came to the edge of a broad river with a rapid current. Into this he sprang recklessly, intending to swim with the stream; but ere he lost his footing he heard the low deep thunder of a cataract a short distance below! Drawing back in terror, he regained the bank, and waded up a considerable distance in the shallow water, so as to leave no trace of his footsteps. Then he leaped upon a rock, and, catching hold of the lower branches of a large tree, drew himself up among the dense foliage, just as the yelling savages rushed with wild tumult to the water's edge. Here they paused, as if baffled. They spoke in rapid, vehement tones for a few seconds, and then one party hastened down the banks of the stream towards the fall, while another band searched the banks above.

Barney's heart fell as he sat panting in the tree, for he knew that they would soon discover him. But he soon resolved on a bold expedient. Slipping down from the tree, he ran deliberately back towards the village; and, as he drew near, he followed the regular beaten track that led towards it. On the way he encountered one or two savages hastening after the pursuing party; but he leaped lightly into the bushes, and lay still till they were past. Then he ran on, skirted round the village, and pushed into the woods in an entirely opposite direction from the one in which he had first set out. Keeping by one of the numerous tracks that radiated from the village into the forest, he held on at top speed, until his progress was suddenly arrested by a stream about twenty yards broad. It was very deep, and he was about to plunge in, in order to swim across, when he observed a small montaria, or canoe, lying on the bank. This he launched quickly, and observing that the river took a bend a little further down, and appeared to proceed in the direction he wished to pursue,—namely, away from the Indian village,—he paddled down the rapid stream as fast as he could. The current was very strong, so that his little bark flew down it like an arrow, and on more than one occasion narrowly missed being dashed to pieces on the rocks which here and there rose above the stream.

In about two hours Barney came to a place where the stream took another bend to the left, and soon after the canoe swept out upon the broad river into which he had at first so nearly plunged. He was a long way below the fall now, for its sound was inaudible; but it was no time to abate his exertions. The Indians might be still in pursuit; so he continued to paddle all that night, and did not take rest until daybreak. Then he slept for two hours, ate a few wild fruits, and continued his journey.

In the course of the next day, to his great joy, he overtook a trading canoe, which had been up another tributary of this river, and was descending with part of a cargo of India-rubber shoes. None of the men, of whom there were four, could speak English; but they easily saw from the Irishman's condition that he had escaped from enemies and was in distress; so they took him on board, and were glad to avail themselves of his services: for, as we have before mentioned, men are not easily procured for voyaging in those parts of Brazil. Three weeks after this they arrived at a small town, where the natives were busily engaged in the manufacture of shoes, bottles, and other articles of India-rubber; and here Barney found employment for a short time.

The seringa, or India-rubber-tree, grows plentifully in some parts of Brazil, and many hundreds of the inhabitants are employed in the manufacture of shoes. The India-rubber is the juice of the tree, and flows from it when an incision is made. This juice is poured into moulds and left to harden. It is of a yellowish colour naturally, and is blackened in the course of preparation. Barney did not stay long here. Shoe-making, he declared, was not his calling by any means; so he seized the first opportunity he had of joining a party of traders going into the interior, in the direction of the diamond districts. The journey was long and varied. Sometimes by canoe and sometimes on the backs of mules and horses, and many extraordinary adventures did he go through ere he reached the diamond mines. And when at length he did so, great was his disappointment. Instead of the glittering caves which his vivid imagination had pictured, he found that there were no caves at all; that the diamonds were found by washing in the muddy soil; and worst of all, that when found they were dim and unpolished, so that they seemed no better than any other stone. However, he resolved to continue there for a short time, in order to make a little money; but now that Martin had arrived he thought that they could not do better than make their way to the coast as fast as possible, and go to sea.

"The only thing I have to regret," he said, at the conclusion of his narrative, "is that I left Grampus behind me. But arrah! I came off from the savages in such a hurry that I had no time at all to tell him I was goin'!"

Having sat till daybreak, the two friends went to bed to dream of each other and of home.

Next morning Barney took Martin to visit the diamond mines. On the way they passed a band of Negro slaves who encircled a large fire, the weather being very cold. It was at that time about the end of July, which is one of the coldest months in the year. In this part of Brazil summer and winter are reversed,—the coldest months being May, June, and July; the hottest, November, December, January, and February.

Minas Geraes, the diamond district, is one of the richest provinces of Brazil. The inhabitants are almost entirely occupied in mining or in supplying the miners with the necessaries of life. Diggers and shopkeepers are the two principal classes, and of these the latter are best off; for their trade is steady and lucrative, while the success of the miners is very uncertain. Frequently a large sum of money and much time are expended in mining without any adequate result; but the merchants always find a ready sale for their merchandise, and, as they take diamonds and gold-dust in exchange, they generally realize large profits and soon become rich. The poor miner is like the gambler. He digs on in hope; sometimes finding barely enough to supply his wants,—at other times making a fortune suddenly; but never giving up in despair, because he knows that at every handful of earth he turns up he may perhaps find a diamond worth hundreds, or, it may be, thousands of pounds.

Cidade Diamantina,—the City of Diamonds,—is the capital of the province. It is a large city, with many fine churches and buildings; and the whole population, consisting of more than 6000 souls, are engaged, directly or indirectly, in mining. Every one who owns a few slaves employs them in washing the earth for gold and diamonds.

The mine of which Barney had so unexpectedly become overseer, was a small one, in a remote part of the district, situated among the mountains, and far distant from the City of Diamonds. There were only a few huts, rudely built and roofed with palm leaves, besides a larger building, or cottage, in which the Baron Fagoni resided.

"Tis a strange life they lead here," said Barney, as he led Martin down a gorge of the mountains towards a small spot of level ground on which the slaves were at work; "a strange life, and by no means a pleasant wan; for the feedin' is none o' the best and the work very sevare."

"Why, Barney, if I may judge from last night's supper, the feeding seems to be excellent."

"Thrue, boy, the Baron Fagoni feeds well, bekase he's the cock o' the roost; but the poor Naygurs are not overly well fed, and the critters are up to their knees in wather all day, washing di'monds; so they suffer much from rheumatiz and colds. Och, but it's murther entirely; an' I've more than wance felt inclined to fill their pockets with di'monds and set them all free! Jist look, now, there they are, hard at it."

As he spoke they arrived at the mine. The ground in the vicinity was all cut up and dug out to a considerable depth, and a dozen Negroes were standing under a shed washing the earth, while others were engaged in the holes excavating the material. While Martin watched them his friend explained the process.

The different kinds of soil through which it is necessary to cut before reaching the diamond deposit are, first, about twenty feet of reddish sandy soil; then about eight feet of a tough yellowish clay; beneath this lies a layer of coarse reddish sand, below which is the peculiar soil in which diamonds are found. It is called by the miners the cascalho, and consists of loose gravel, the pebbles of which are rounded and polished, having at some previous era been subject to the action of running water. The bed varies in thickness from one to four feet, and the pebbles are of various kinds; but when there are many of a species called Esmerilopreto, the cascalho is considered to be rich in diamonds.

Taking Martin round to the back of the shed, Barney showed him a row of troughs, about three feet square, close to the edge of a pond of water. These troughs are called bacos. In front of each stood a Negro slave up to his knees in water. Each had a wooden plate, with which he dashed water upon the rough cascalho as it was thrown into the trough by another slave. By this means, and by stirring it with a small hoe, the earth and sand are washed away. Two overseers were closely watching the process; for it is during this part of the operation that the largest diamonds are found. These overseers were seated on elevated seats, each being armed with a long leathern whip, to keep a sharp look out, for the slaves are expert thieves.

After the cascalho had been thus purified it was carefully removed to the shed to be finally washed.

Here seven slaves were seated on the side of a small canal, about four feet broad, with their legs in the water nearly up to their knees. The canal is called the lavadeira. Each man had a small wooden platter, into which another slave, who stood behind him, put a shovelful of purified cascalho. The bateia, or platter, was then filled with water and washed with the utmost care several times, being closely examined after each washing, and the diamonds picked out. Sometimes many platefuls were examined but nothing found; at other times several diamonds were found in one plate. While Martin was looking on with much curiosity and interest, one of the slaves uttered an exclamation and held up a minute stone between his finger and thumb.

"Ah! good luck to ye, lad!" said Barney, advancing and taking the diamond which had been discovered. "See here, Martin; there's the thing, lad, that sparkles on the brow o' beauty, and gives the Naygurs rheumatiz—"

"Not to mention their usefulness in providing the great Baron Fagoni with a livelihood," added Martin, with a smile.

Barney laughed, and going up to the place where the two overseers were seated, dropped the precious gem into a plate of water placed between them for the purpose of receiving the diamonds as they were found.

"They git fifteen or twinty a day sometimes," said Barney, as they retraced their steps to the cottage; "and I've hear'd o' them getting stones worth many thousands o' pounds; but the biggest they iver found since I corned here was not worth more than four hundred."

"And what do you do with them, Barney, when they are found?" inquired Martin.

"Sind them to Rio Janeiro, lad, where my employer sells them. I don't know how much he makes a year by it; but the thing must pay, for he's very liberal with his cash, and niver forgits to pay wages. There's always a lot o' gould-dust found in the bottom o' the bateia after each washing, and that is carefully collected and sold. But, arrah! I wouldn't give wan snifter o' the say-breezes for all the di'monds in Brazil!"

As Barney said this he entered his cottage and flung down his hat with the air of a man who was resolved to stand it no longer.

"But why don't you wash on your own account?" cried Martin. "What say you; shall we begin together? We may make our fortune the first week, perhaps!"

Barney shook his head. "No, no, boy; I've no faith in my luck with the di'monds or gould. Nevertheless I have hear'd o' men makin' an awful heap o' money that way; partiklarly wan man that made his fortin with wan stone."

"Who was that lucky dog?" asked Martin.

"Well, ye see, it happened this way: There's a custom hereaway that slaves are allowed to work on Sundays and holidays on their own account; but when the mines was a government consarn this was not allowed, and the slaves were the most awful thieves livin', and often made off with some o' the largest diamonds. Well, there was a man named Juiz de Paz, who owned a small shop, and used to go down now and then to Rio de Janeiro to buy goods. Wan evenin' he returned from wan o' his long journeys, and, being rather tired, wint to bed. He was jist goin' off into a comfortable doze when there came a terrible bumpin' at the door.

"'Hallo!' cried Juiz, growlin' angrily in the Portugee tongue; 'what d'ye want?'

"There was no answer but another bumpin' at the door. So up he jumps, and, takin' down a big blunderbuss that hung over his bed, opened the door, an' seized a Naygur be the hair o' the head!

"'Oh, massa! oh, massa! let him go! Got di'mond for to sell!'

"On hearin' this, Juiz let go, and found that the slave had come to offer for sale a large di'mond, which weighed about two penny-weights and a third.

"'What d'ye ask for it?' said Juiz, with sparklin' eyes.

"'Six hundred mil-reis,' answered the Naygur.

"This was about equal to 180 Stirling. Without more words about it, he paid down the money; and the slave went away. Juiz lost his sleep that night. He went and tould the neighbours he had forgot a piece of important business in Rio and must go back at wance. So back he went, and stayed some time in the city, tryin' to git his di'mond safely sold; for it was such a big wan that he feared the government fellows might hear o't; in which case he would have got tin years transportation to Angola on the coast of Africa. At last, however, he got rid of it for 20,000 mil-reis, which is about 6000. It was all paid to him in hard dollars; and he nearly went out o' his wits for joy. But he was brought down a peg nixt day, when he found that the same di'mond was sold for nearly twice as much as he had got for it. Howiver, he had made a pretty considerable fortin; an' he's now the richest di'mond and gould merchant in the district."

"A lucky fellow certainly," said Martin. "But I must say I have no taste for such chance work; so I'm quite ready to start for the sea-coast whenever it suits the Baron Fagoni's convenience."

While they were speaking they were attracted by voices outside the cottage, which sounded as if in altercation. In another minute the door burst open, and a man entered hurriedly, followed by the interpreter.

"Your overseer is impertinent!" exclaimed the man, who was a tall swarthy Brazilian. "I wish to buy a horse or a good mule, and he won't let me have one. I am not a beggar; I offer to pay."

The man spoke in Portuguese, and Barney replied in the same language.

"You can have a horse if you pay for it."

The Brazilian replied by throwing a heavy bag of dollars on the table.

"All right," said Barney, turning to his interpreter and conversing with him in an under-tone. "Give him what he requires." So saying he bowed the Brazilian out of the room, and returned to the enjoyment of his black pipe, which had been interrupted by the incident.

"That man seems in a hurry," said Martin.

"So he is. My interpreter tells me that he is quite like one o' the blackguards that sometimes go about the mines doin' mischief, and he's in hot haste to be away. I should not wonder if the spalpeen has been stealin' gould or di'monds and wants to escape. But of course I've nothin' to do with that, unless I was sure of it; and I've a horse or two to sell, and he has money to pay for it; so he's welcome. He says he is makin' straight for the say-coast; and with your lave, Martin, my boy, you and I will be doin' that same in a week after this, and say good-bye to the di'mond mines."



CHAPTER XXV

NEW SCENES AND PLEASANT TRAVELLING

A new and agreeable sensation is a pleasant thing. It was on as bright an evening as ever shone upon Brazil, and in as fair a scene as one could wish to behold, that Martin Rattler and his friend Barney experienced a new sensation. On the wide campos, on the flower-bedecked and grassy plains, they each bestrode a fiery charger; and, in the exultation of health, and strength, and liberty, they swept over the green sward of the undulating campos, as light as the soft wind that fanned their bronzed cheeks, as gay in heart as the buzzing insects that hovered above the brilliant flowers.

"Oh, this is best of all!" shouted Martin, turning his sparkling eyes to Barney, as he reined up his steed after a gallop that caused its nostril to expand and its eye to dilate. "There's nothing like it! A fiery charger that can't and won't tire, and a glorious sweep of plain like that! Huzza! whoop!" And loosening the rein of his willing horse, away he went again in a wild headlong career.

"Och, boy, pull up, or ye'll kill the baste!" cried Barney, who thundered along at Martin's side enjoying to the full the spring of his powerful horse; for Barney had spent the last farthing of his salary on the two best steeds the country could produce, being determined, as he said, to make the last overland voyage on clipper-built animals, which, he wisely concluded, would fetch a good price at the end of the journey. "Pull up! d'ye hear? They can't stand goin' at that pace. Back yer topsails, ye young rascal, or I'll board ye in a jiffy."

"How can I pull up with that before me?" cried Martin, pointing to a wide ditch or gully that lay in front of them. "I must go over that first."

"Go over that!" cried Barney, endeavouring to rein in his horse, and looking with an anxious expression at the chasm. "It's all very well for you to talk o' goin' over, ye feather; but fifteen stun—Ah, then, won't ye stop? Bad luck to him, he's got the bit in his teeth! Oh then, ye ugly baste, go, and my blissin' go with ye!"

The leap was inevitable. Martin went over like a deer. Barney shut his eyes, seized the pommel of the saddle, and went at it like a thunder-bolt In the excitement of the moment he shouted, in a stentorian voice, "Clap on all sail! d'ye hear? Stu'n-sails and sky-scrapers! Kape her steady! Hooray!"

It was well for Barney that he had seized the saddle. Even as it was he received a tremendous blow from the horse's head as it took the leap, and was thrown back on its haunches when it cleared the ditch, which it did nobly.

"Hallo! old boy, not hurt, I hope," said Martin, suppressing his laughter as his comrade scrambled on to the saddle. "You travel about on the back of your horse at full gallop like a circus rider."

"Whist, darlint, I do belave he has damaged my faygurhead. What a nose I've got! Sure I can see it mesilf without squintin'."

"So you have, Barney. It's a little swelled, but never mind. We must all learn by experience, you know. So come along."

"Hould on, ye spalpeen, till I git my wind!"

But Martin was off again at full speed; and Barney's horse, scorning to be left behind, took the bit again in its teeth and went—as he himself expressed it,—"screamin' before the wind."

A new sensation is not always and necessarily an agreeable thing. Martin and Barney found it so on the evening of that same day, as they reclined (they could not sit) by the side of their fire on the campo under the shelter of one of the small trees which grew here and there at wide intervals on the plain. They had left the diamond mine early that morning, and their first day on horseback proved to them that there are shadows as well as lights in equestrian life. Their only baggage was a single change of apparel and a small bag of diamonds,—the latter being the product of the mine during the Baron Fagoni's reign, and which that worthy was conveying faithfully to his employer. During the first part of the day they had ridden through a hilly and woody country, and towards evening they emerged upon one of the smaller campos, which occur here and there in the district.

"Martin," said Barney, as he lay smoking his pipe, "'tis a pity that there's no pleasure in this world without something cross-grained into it. My own feelin's is as if I had been lately passed through a stamping machine."

"Wrong, Barney, as usual," said Martin, who was busily engaged concluding supper with an orange. "If we had pleasures without discomforts we wouldn't half enjoy them. We need lights and shadows in life—what are you grinning at, Barney?"

"Oh! nothin', only ye're a remarkable philosopher, when ye're in the vein."

"Tis always in vain to talk philosophy to you, Barney, so good-night t' ye. Oh, dear me, I wish I could sit down! but there's no alternative,—either bolt upright or quite flat."

In a quarter of an hour they both forgot pleasures and sorrows alike in sleep. Next day the sun rose on the edge of the campo as it does out of the ocean, streaming across its grassy billows, and tipping the ridges as with ruddy gold. At first Martin and Barney did not enjoy the lovely scene, for they felt stiff and sore; but after half an hour's ride they began to recover; and when the sun rose in all its glory on the wide plain, the feelings of joyous bounding freedom that such scenes always engender obtained the mastery, and they coursed along in silent delight.

The campo was hard, composed chiefly of a stiff red clay soil and covered with short grass in most places; but here and there were rank bushes of long hairy grasses, around and amongst which grew a multitude of the most exquisitely beautiful flowerets and plants of elegant forms. Wherever these flowers flourished very luxuriantly there were single trees of stunted growth and thick bark, which seldom rose above fifteen or twenty feet. Besides these there were rich flowering myrtles, and here and there a grotesque cactus or two.

Under one of these trees they reined up after a ride of two hours, and piqueting their horses, prepared breakfast. It was soon despatched, and then remounting, away they went once more over the beautiful plains.

About mid-day, as they were hasting towards the shelter of a grove which appeared opportunely on the horizon, Barney said suddenly,—

"Martin, lad, we're lost! We're out of our course, for sartin."

"I've been thinking that for some time, Barney," replied Martin; "but you have your compass, and we can surely make the coast by dead reckoning—eh?"

"True, lad, we can; but it'll cost us a dale o' tackin' to make up for lee-way. Ah, good luck to ye! here's a friend 'll help us."

As he spoke a herd of wild cattle dashed out of the grove and scampered over the plain, followed by a herdsman on horseback. Seeing that he was in eager pursuit of an animal which he wished to lasso, they followed him quietly and watched his movements. Whirling the noose round his head, he threw it adroitly in such a manner that the bull put one of its legs within the coil. Then he reined up suddenly, and the animal was thrown on its back. At the same moment the lasso broke, and the bull recovered its feet and continued its wild flight.

"Good-day, friend," said Barney, galloping towards the disappointed herdsman and addressing him in Portuguese, "could you show us the road to Rio? We've lost it intirely."

The man pointed sulkily in the direction in which they were going, and, having mended his lasso, he wheeled about and galloped after the herd of cattle.

"Bad luck to yer manners!" said Barney, as he gazed after him. "But what can ye expect from the poor critter? He niver larned better Come along, Martin, we'll rest here a while."

They were soon under the shelter of the trees, and having fastened their horses to one of them, they proceeded to search for water. While thus employed, Barney shouted to his companion, "Come here, lad; look here."

There was something in the tone of the Irishman's voice that startled Martin, and he sprang hastily towards him. Barney was standing with his arms crossed upon his chest and his head bowed forward, as he gazed with a solemn expression on the figure of a man at his feet.

"Is he ill?" inquired Martin, stooping and lifting his hand. Starting back as he dropped it, he exclaimed, "Dead!"

"Ah, boy, he has gone to his last account. Look at him again, Martin. It was he who came to the mine a week ago to buy a horse, and now—" Barney sighed as he stooped and turned the body over in order to ascertain whether he had been murdered; but there were no marks of violence to be seen. There was bread too in his wallet; so they could come to no other conclusion than that the unhappy man had been seized with fatal illness in the lonesome wood and died there.

As they searched his clothes they found a small leathern bag, which, to their amazement, was filled with gold-dust; and in the midst of the gold was another smaller bag containing several small diamonds.

"Ha!" exclaimed Martin, "that explains his hurry. No doubt he had made off with these, and was anxious to avoid pursuit."

"No doubt of it," said Barney. "Well, thief or no thief, we must give the poor cratur' dacent burial. There's not a scrap o' paper to tell who he is or where he came from,—a sure sign that he wasn't what he should ha' been. Ah! Martin, what will we not do for the sake o' money! and, after all, we can't keep it long. May the Almighty niver let you or me set our hearts on it."

They dug a shallow grave with their hands in a sandy spot where the soil was loose, in which they deposited the body of the unfortunate man; and then remounting their horses, rode away and left him in his lonely resting-place.

For many days did Martin and Barney travel through the land on horseback, now galloping over open campos, anon threading their way through the forest, and sometimes toiling slowly up the mountain sides. The aspect of the country varied continually as they advanced, and the feelings of excessive hilarity with which they commenced the journey began to subside as they became accustomed to it.

One evening they were toiling slowly up a steep range of hills which had been the prospect in front of them the whole of that day. As they neared the summit of the range Martin halted at a stream to drink, and Barney advanced alone. Suddenly Martin was startled by a loud cry, and looking up he saw Barney on his knees with his hands clasped before him! Rushing up the hill, Martin found his comrade with his face flushed and the tears coursing down his cheeks as he stared before him!

"Look at it, Martin, dear!" he cried, starting up and flinging his cap in the air, and shouting like a madman. "The say! my own native illiment! the beautiful ocean! Och, darlint, my blessing on ye! Little did I think to see you more,—hooray!"

Barney sang and danced till he sank down on the grass exhausted; and, to say truth, Martin felt much difficulty in restraining himself from doing likewise, for before him was spread out the bright ocean, gleaming in the light of the sinking sun, and calm and placid as a mirror. It was indeed a glorious sight to these two sailors, who had not seen the sea for nearly two years. It was like coming suddenly face to face—after a long absence—with an old and much loved friend.

Although visible, the sea, however, was still a long way off from the Serra dos Orgos on which they stood. But their steeds were good, and it was not long ere they were both rolling like dolphins in the beautiful bay of Rio de Janeiro.

Here Barney delivered up the gold and diamonds to his employer, who paid him liberally for his services and entertained them both hospitably while they remained in the city. The bag of gold and diamonds which had been found on the body of the dead man they appropriated, as it was absolutely impossible to discover the rightful owner. Barney's friend bought it of them at full price; and when they embarked, soon after, on board a homeward bound ship, each had four hundred pounds in his pocket!

As they sailed out of the noble harbour Martin sat on the poop gazing at the receding shore while thick-coming memories crowded on his brain.

His imagination flew back to the day when he first landed on the coast and escaped with his friend Barney from the pirates,—to the hermit's cottage in the lonely valley, where he first made acquaintance with monkeys, iguanas, jaguars, armadillos, and all the wonderful, beautiful, and curious birds, beasts, and reptiles, plants, trees, and flowers, that live and flourish in that romantic country. Once more, in fancy, he was sailing up the mighty Amazon, shooting alligators on its banks, spearing fish in its waters, paddling through its curious gapo, and swinging in his hammock under its luxuriant forests. Once again he was a prisoner among the wild Indians, and he started convulsively as he thought of the terrible leap over the precipice into the stream that flowed into the heart of the earth. Then he wandered in the lonely forest. Suddenly the diamond mines were before him, and Barney's jovial voice rang in his ears; and he replied to it with energy, for now he was bounding on a fiery steed over the grassy campos. With a deep sigh he awoke from his reverie to find himself surrounded by the great wide sea.



CHAPTER XXVI

THE RETURN

Arthur Jollyboy, Esquire, of the Old Hulk, sat on the top of a tall three-legged stool in his own snug little office in the sea-port town of Bilton, with his legs swinging to and fro; his socks displayed a considerable way above the tops of his gaiters; his hands thrust deep into his breeches pockets; his spectacles high on his bald forehead, and his eyes looking through the open letter that lay before him; through the desk underneath it; through the plank floor, cellars and foundations of the edifice; and through the entire world into the distant future beyond.

"Four thousand pair of socks," he murmured, pulling down his spectacles and consulting the open letter for the tenth time; "four thousand pair of socks, with the hitch, same as last bale, but a very little coarser in material."

"Four thousand pair! and who's to make them, I wonder. If poor Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit were here—ah! well, she's gone, so it can't be helped. Four thousand!—dear me who will make them. Do you know?"

This question was addressed to his youngest clerk, who sat on the opposite side of the desk staring at Mr. Jollyboy with that open impudence of expression peculiar to young puppy-dogs whose masters are unusually indulgent.

"No, sir, I don't," said the clerk with a broad grin.

Before the perplexed merchant could come at any conclusion on this knotty subject the door opened and Martin Rattler entered the room, followed by his friend Barney O'Flannagan.

"You've come to the wrong room, friends," said Mr. Jollyboy with a benignant smile. "My principal clerk engages men and pays wages. His office is just opposite; first door in the passage."

"We don't want to engage," said Martin; "we wish to speak with you, sir."

"Oh, beg pardon!" cried Mr. Jollyboy, leaping off the stool with surprising agility for a man of his years. "Come in this way. Pray be seated—Eh! ah, surely I've seen you before, my good fellow?"

"Yis, sir, that ye have. I've sailed aboard your ships many a time. My name's Barney O'Flannagan, at yer sarvice."

"Ah! I recollect; and a good man you are, I've been told, Barney; but I have lost sight of you for some years. Been on a long voyage, I suppose?"

"Well, not 'xactly; but I've been on a long cruise, an' no mistake, in the woods o' Brazil. I wos wrecked on the coast there, in the Firefly."

"Ah! to be sure. I remember. And your young messmate here, was he with you?"

"Yes, sir, I was," said Martin, answering for himself; "and I had once the pleasure of your acquaintance. Perhaps if you look steadily in my face you may—"

"Ah, then! don't try to bamboozle him. He might as well look at a bit o' mahogany as at your faygurhead. Tell him at wance, Martin dear."

"Martin?" exclaimed the puzzled old gentleman, seizing the young sailor by the shoulders and gazing intently into his face. "Martin! Martin! Surely not—yes! eh? Martin Rattler?"

"Ay that am I, dear Mr. Jollyboy, safe and sound, and—"

Martin's speech was cut short in consequence of his being violently throttled by Mr. Jollyboy, who flung his arms round his neck and staggered recklessly about the office with him! This was the great point which Barney had expected; it was the climax to which he had been looking forward all the morning: and it did not come short of his anticipations; for Mr. Jollyboy danced round Martin and embraced him for at least ten minutes, asking him at the same time a shower of questions which he gave him no time to answer. In the excess of his delight Barney smote his thigh with his broad hand so forcibly that it burst upon the startled clerk like a pistol-shot, and caused him to spring off his stool!

"Don't be afeared, young un," said Barney, winking and poking the small clerk jocosely in the ribs with his thumb. "Isn't it beautiful to see them. Arrah, now! isn't it purty?"

"Keep your thumbs to yourself, you sea monster," said the small clerk, angrily, and laying his hand on the ruler. But Barney minded him not, and continued to smite his thigh and rub his hands, while he performed a sort of gigantic war-dance round Mr. Jollyboy and Martin.

In a few minutes the old gentleman subsided sufficiently to understand questions.

"But, my aunt," said Martin, anxiously; "you have said nothing about Aunt Dorothy. How is she? where is she? is she well?"

To these questions Mr. Jollyboy returned no answer, but sitting suddenly down on a chair, he covered his face with his hands.

"She is not ill?" inquired Martin in a husky voice, while his heart beat violently. "Speak, Mr. Jollyboy, is she—is she—"

"No, she's not ill," returned the old gentleman; "but she's—"

"She is dead!" said Martin, in a tone so deep and sorrowful that the old gentleman started up.

"No, no, not dead, my dear boy; I did not mean that. Forgive my stupidity, Martin. Aunt Dorothy is gone,—left the village a year ago; and I have never seen or heard of her since."

Terrible though this news was, Martin felt a slight degree of relief to know that she was not dead;—at least there was reason to hope that she might be still alive.

"But when did she go? and why? and where?"

"She went about twelve months ago," replied Mr. Jollyboy. "You see, Martin, after she lost you she seemed to lose all hope and all spirit; and at last she gave up making socks for me, and did little but moan in her seat in the window and look out towards the sea. So I got a pleasant young girl to take care of her; and she did not want for any of the comforts of life. One day the little girl came to me here, having run all the way from the village, to say that Mrs. Grumbit had packed up a bundle of clothes and gone off to Liverpool by the coach. She took the opportunity of the girl's absence on some errand to escape; and we should never have known it, had not some boys of the village seen her get into the coach and tell the guard that she was going to make inquiries after Martin. I instantly set out for Liverpool; but long before I arrived the coach had discharged its passengers, and the coachman, not suspecting that anything was wrong, had taken no notice of her after arriving. From that day to this I have not ceased to advertise and make all possible inquiries, but without success."

Martin heard the narrative in silence, and when it was finished he sat a few minutes gazing vacantly before him, like one in a dream. Then starting up suddenly, he wrung Mr. Jollyboy's hand, "Good-bye, my dear friend; good-bye. I shall go to Liverpool. We shall meet again."

"Stay, Martin, stay—"

But Martin had rushed from the room, followed by his faithful friend, and in less than half an hour they were in the village of Ashford. The coach was to pass in twenty minutes, so, bidding Barney engage two outside seats, he hastened round by the road towards the cottage. There it stood, quaint, time-worn, and old-fashioned, as when he had last seen it,—the little garden in which he had so often played,—the bower in which, on fine weather, Aunt Dorothy used to sit, and the door-step on which the white kitten used to gambol. But the shutters were closed, and the door was locked, and there was an air of desolation and a deep silence brooding over the place, that sank more poignantly into Martin's heart than if he had come and found every vestige of the home of his childhood swept away. It was like the body without the soul. The flowers, and stones, and well-known forms were there; but she who had given animation to the whole was gone. Sitting down on the door-step, Martin buried his face in his hands and wept.

He was quickly aroused by the bugle of the approaching coach. Springing up, he dashed the tears away and hurried towards the high-road. In a few minutes Barney and he were seated on the top of the coach, and dashing, at the rate of ten miles an hour, along the road to Liverpool.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE OLD GARRET

Days, and weeks, and months, passed away, and Martin had searched every nook and corner of the great sea-port without discovering his old aunt, or obtaining the slightest information regarding her. At first he and Barney went about the search together, but after a time he sent his old companion forcibly away to visit his own relatives, who dwelt not far from Bilton, at the same time promising that if he had any good news to tell he would immediately write and let him know.

One morning, as Martin was sitting beside the little fire in his lodging, a tap came to the door, and the servant girl told him that a policeman wished to see him.

"Show him in," said Martin, who was not in the least surprised, for he had had much intercourse with these guardians of the public peace during the course of his unavailing search.

"I think, sir," said the man on entering, "that we've got scent of an old woman w'ich is as like the one that you're arter as hanythink."

Martin rose in haste. "Have you, my man? Are you sure?"

"'Bout as sure as a man can be who never seed her. But it won't take you long to walk. You'd better come and see for yourself."

Without uttering another word, Martin put on his hat and followed the policeman. They passed through several streets and lanes, and at length came to one of the poorest districts of the city, not far distant from the shipping. Turning down a narrow alley, and crossing a low dirty-looking court, Martin's guide stopped before a door, which he pushed open and mounted by a flight of rickety wooden stairs to a garret. He opened the door and entered.

"There she is," said the man in a tone of pity, as he pointed to a corner of the apartment, "an' I'm afeer'd she's goin' fast."

Martin stepped towards a low truckle-bed on which lay the emaciated form of a woman covered with a scanty and ragged quilt. The corner of it was drawn across her face, and so gentle was her breathing that it seemed as if she were already dead. Martin removed the covering, and one glance at that gentle, care-worn countenance sufficed to convince him that his old aunt lay before him! His first impulse was to seize her in his strong arms, but another look at the frail and attenuated form caused him to shrink back in fear.

"Leave me," he said, rising hastily and slipping half a sovereign into the policeman's hand; "this is she. I wish to be alone with her."

The man touched his hat and retired, closing the door behind him; while Martin, sitting down on the bed, took one of his aunt's thin hands in his. The action was tenderly performed, but it awoke her. For the first time it flashed across Martin's mind that the sudden joy at seeing him might be too much for one so feeble as Aunt Dorothy seemed to be. He turned his back hastily to the light, and with a violent effort suppressed his feelings while he asked how she did.

"Well, very well," said Aunt Dorothy, in a faint voice. "Are you the missionary that was here long ago? Oh! I've been longing for you. Why did you not come to read to me oftener about Jesus? But I have had Him here although you did not come. He has been saying 'Come unto me, ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' Yes, I have found rest in Him." She ceased and seemed to fall asleep again; but in a few seconds she opened her eyes and said, "Martin, too, has been to see me; but he does not come so often now. The darling boy used always to come to me in my dreams. But he never brings me food. Why does no one ever bring me food? I am hungry."

"Should you like food now, if I brought it to you?" said Martin in a low voice.

"Yes, yes; bring me food,—I am dying."

Martin released her hand and glided gently out of the room. In a few minutes he returned with a can of warm soup and a roll; of which Aunt Dorothy partook with an avidity that showed she had been in urgent need. Immediately after, she went to sleep; and Martin sat upon the bed holding her hand in both of his till she awoke, which she did in an hour after, and again ate a little food. While she was thus engaged the door opened and a young man entered, who stated that he was a doctor, and had been sent there by a policeman.

"There is no hope," he said in a whisper, after feeling her pulse; "the system is quite exhausted."

"Doctor," whispered Martin, seizing the young man by the arm, "can nothing save her? I have money, and can command anything that may do her good."

The doctor shook his head. "You may give her a little wine. It will strengthen her for a time, but I fear there is no hope. I will send in a bottle if you wish it."

Martin gave him the requisite sum, and in a few minutes the wine was brought up by a boy.

The effect of the wine was wonderful. Aunt Dorothy's eyes sparkled as they used to do in days of old, and she spoke with unwonted energy.

"You are kind to me, young man," she said, looking earnestly into Martin's face, which, however, he kept carefully in shadow. "May our Lord reward you."

"Would you like me to talk to you of your nephew?" said Martin; "I have seen him abroad."

"Seen my boy! Is he not dead?"

"No; he is alive, and in this country, too."

Aunt Dorothy turned pale, but did not reply for a few minutes, during which she grasped his hand convulsively.

"Turn your face to the light," she said faintly.

Martin obeyed, and bending over her whispered, "He is here; I am Martin, my dear, dear aunt—"

No expression of surprise escaped from Aunt Dorothy as she folded her arms round his neck and pressed his head upon her bosom. His hot tears fell upon her neck while she held him, but she spoke not. It was evident that as the strength infused by the wine abated her faculties became confused. At length she whispered,—

"It is good of you to come to see me, darling boy. You have often come to me in my dreams. But do not leave me so soon; stay a very little longer,"

"This is no dream, dearest aunt," whispered Martin, while his tears flowed faster; "I am really here."

"Ay, so you always say, my darling child; but you always go away and leave me. This is a dream, no doubt, like all the rest; but oh, it seems very very real! You never wept before, although you often smiled. Surely this is the best and brightest dream I ever had!"

Continuing to murmur his name while she clasped him tightly to her bosom, Aunt Dorothy gently fell asleep.



CHAPTER XXVIII

CONCLUSION

Aunt Dorothy Grumbit did not die! Her gentle spirit had nearly fled; but Martin's return and Martin's tender nursing brought her round, and she gradually regained all her former strength and vigour. Yes, to the unutterable joy of Martin, to the inexpressible delight of Mr. Arthur Jollyboy and Barney, and to the surprise and complete discomfiture of the young doctor who shook his head and said "There is no hope," Aunt Dorothy Grumbit recovered? and was brought back in health and in triumph to her old cottage at Ashford!

Moreover, she was arrayed again in the old bed-curtain chintz with the flowers as big as saucers, and the old high-crowned cap. A white kitten was got, too, so like the one that used to be Martin's playmate, that no one could discover a hair of difference. So remarkable was this, that Martin made inquiry, and found that it was actually the grand-daughter of the old kitten, which was still alive and well; so he brought it back too, and formally installed it in the cottage along with its grandchild.

There was a great house-warming on the night of the day in which Aunt Dorothy Grumbit was brought back. Mr. Arthur Jollyboy was there—of course; and the vicar was there; and the pursy doctor who used to call Martin "a scamp;" and the school-master; and last, though not least, Barney O'Flannagan was there. And they all had tea, during which dear Aunt Dorothy smiled sweetly on everybody and said nothing,—and, indeed, did nothing, except that once or twice she put additional sugar and cream into Martin's cup when he was not looking, and stroked one of his hands continually. After tea Martin related his adventures in Brazil, and Barney helped him; and these two talked more that night than any one could have believed it possible for human beings to do, without the aid of steam lungs! And the doctor listened, and the vicar and school-master questioned, and old Mr. Jollyboy roared and laughed till he became purple in the face—particularly at the sallies of Barney. As for old Aunt Dorothy Grumbit, she listened when Martin spoke. When Martin was silent she became stone deaf!

In the course of time Mr. Jollyboy made Martin his head clerk; and then, becoming impatient, he made him his partner off-hand. Then he made Barney O'Flannagan an overseer in the warehouses; and when the duties of the day were over, the versatile Irishman became his confidential servant, and went to sup and sleep at the Old Hulk; which, he used to remark, was quite a natural and proper and decidedly comfortable place to come to an anchor in.

Martin became the stay and comfort of his aunt in her old age; and the joy which he was the means of giving to her heart was like a deep and placid river which never ceases to flow. Ah! there is a rich blessing in store for those who tenderly nurse and comfort the aged, when called upon to do so; and assuredly there is a sharp thorn prepared for those who neglect this sacred duty. Martin read the Bible to her night and morning; and she did nothing but watch for him at the window while he was out. As Martin afterwards became an active member of the benevolent societies with which his partner was connected, he learned from sweet experience that "it is more blessed to give than to receive," and that "it is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting." Dear young reader, do not imagine that we plead in favour of moroseness or gloom. Laugh if you will, and feast if you will, and remember, too, that "a merry heart is a continual feast;" but we pray you not to forget that God himself has said that a visit to the house of mourning is better than a visit to the house of feasting: and, strange to say, it is productive of greater joy; for to do good is better than to get good, as surely as sympathy is better than selfishness.

Martin visited the poor and read the Bible to them; and in watering others he was himself watered, for he found the "Pearl of Great Price," even Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world.

Business prospered in the hands of Martin Rattler, too, and he became a man of substance. Naturally, too, he became a man of great importance in the town of Bilton. The quantity of work that Martin and Mr. Jollyboy and Barney used to get through was quite marvellous; and the number of engagements they had during the course of a day was quite bewildering.

In the existence of all men, who are not born to unmitigated misery, there are times and seasons of peculiar enjoyment. The happiest hour of all the twenty-four to Martin Rattler was the hour of seven in the evening; for then it was that he found himself seated before the blazing fire in the parlour of the Old Hulk, to which Aunt Dorothy Grumbit had consented to be removed, and in which she was now a fixture. Then it was that old Mr. Jollyboy beamed with benevolence, until the old lady sometimes thought the fire was going to melt him; then it was that the tea-kettle sang on the hob like a canary; and then it was that Barney bustled about the room preparing the evening meal, and talking all the time with the most perfect freedom to any one who chose to listen to him. Yes, seven p.m. was Martin's great hour, and Aunt Dorothy's great hour, and old Mr. Jollyboy's great hour, and Barney's too; for each knew that the labours of the day were done, and that the front door was locked for the night, and that a great talk was brewing. They had a tremendous talk every night, sometimes on one subject, sometimes on another; but the subject of all others that they talked oftenest about was their travels. And many a time and oft, when the winter storms howled round the Old Hulk, Barney was invited to draw in his chair, and Martin and he plunged again vigorously into the great old forests of South America, and spoke so feelingly about them that Aunt Dorothy and Mr. Jollyboy almost fancied themselves transported into the midst of tropical scenes, and felt as if they were surrounded by parrots, and monkeys, and jaguars, and alligators, and anacondas, and all the wonderful birds, beasts, reptiles, and fishes, that inhabit the woods and waters of Brazil.

THE END