"Did Madame Buhlman give you lessons in philanthropy along with drawing and music?"

"Oh no, indeed; but I hope God has. I don't want my heart to be a rock like"—and then I shut my mouth and with moist eyes and flushed face turned abruptly from him.

I swallowed down my tears, but my heart was too sore to play any longer with the baby, so I slipped it back into its mother's arms, who had got her basket filled and was ready to start for home; a neighbor's lad had come to carry it for her, and with quite a cheerful face she bade me good-bye. The rest of my crowd had got their baskets filled, and paused with longing eyes regarding the heaps that still remained. I made their faces grow suddenly much brighter as, with a slight elevation of voice, I said: "Thomas will carry the rest of these vegetables around for you with the horses. You will please stand at your doors, and, as he drives along, come out for it." There was a subdued murmur of thanks, and then they started homewards. Mrs. Blake waited a few moments behind them to look around the old place where she had spent so many days, and shook hands with Thomas who remembered her very distinctly.

"It's odd doings for Oaklands having yon crowd come with their baskets," he said, grimly; "the young miss be like to turn things topsy-turvey."

"It's high time somebody did; what kind of reckonins will folks have bime-by, of all their riches, and overplus, and so many of their own kind of flesh and blood going hungry and naked?"

"Their reckonins be none in my line. I sees to the roots and posies, that they thrive; and there my work ends."

"Yes, posies are fed and sheltered, and little human creeturs like the widow Larkum's there can starve for all the great folks cares. Deary me! it's a terble onjointed sort of world; seems to me I could regilate things better myself. Well, a good afternoon, Mr. Prime."

"Good afternoon," Mr. Prime coldly responded. Plainly he did not enjoy Mrs. Blake's freedom of speech. I felt my trespasses against Mr. Winthrop were already so great I could scarcely increase them by leaving Mrs. Blake abruptly, so I walked with her through the old gardens, where she had many a time, no doubt, dreamed her dreams long before my spirit got started on its long voyage through time and the eternities. I accompanied her all the way to the gate, listening sadly while she told me for the second time the sorrowful story of the widow Larkum, whose baby I had just been fondling. "Ever since her man fell on the circular saw and got killed, she's been crying more or less. Her eyes look as if they'd been bound in turkey red; and I tell her she'll be blind soon as well as her father; but, laws! when the tears is there, they might as well come. It's their natur, I s'pose, to be a droppin'."

"What is to support them?" I asked.

"I guess the parish, but my! they dread it. I believe Mr. Bowen would be the happiest man in town if the Lord would send his angels for him; he's about the best Christian I ever sot eyes on."

"I think I can help them. Does it cost very much to keep a family."

"It depends on how they're kept. A trifle would do them. She's that savin', the hull of 'em don't cost much more'n a hearty man."

"I will tell, Thomas, to leave plenty of his vegetables with her; and, in the meantime, will you please tell her that I will help to keep the wolf from her door?"

"Indeed, I will, and be glad to. I can do a little myself; so you won't have all to do; and then she is right handy with her needle. My! I feel a burden lifted already. I couldn't help frettin' as well as her, though, she's no more to me than any other body."

"God has given you the heart that feels another's woes. Every one don't have that blessed gift."

"I expect not; or if they do, it's not minded. Seems to me the master looked none too well pleased along wi' us bein' there to-day." She looked at me keenly; but I was not going to make my moan even to this true-hearted friend.

"I hope this act of kindness may leave him so happy that he will give me leave to give away all the unused stuff I see going to waste about the place," I said, a trifle hypocritically.

"He's never knew what want is; and any way his heart's not over tender naterally; but there, young women can do most anything with men folks when they're good-lookin' and have nice ways wi' 'em. There's a sight of difference wi' girls. Some of 'em without any trouble get right into a man's heart, and they'll go through fire and water to please 'em; and others may be just as good-lookin' and they have hard work to get any man to marry 'em. I've wondered more'n a little about it, but it's a mystery." She turned her kindly wrinkled face on me and said, "You're one of them kind that can just wind a man round your finger, and I'm looking for better days at Oaklands. My! but you could do lots of good, if you got him on your side."

"Oh, Mrs. Blake, you don't know anything about it, but you are to be disappointed I am sure. But I can do something without any one's help. Good-bye."

She took my hand, holding it for some time in silence; then she said softly: "Dear; you can get into other folk's hearts beside the men's."



CHAPTER IX.

AN EVENING WALK.

Thomas got his garden stuff distributed satisfactorily. "It would done your heart good to see how pleased the Larkums was over their share: I give 'em good measure, I tell you," he informed me that evening, as I made an errand to the stables in order to interview him.

"That Mr. Bowen, her blind father, he come out too, and I've not got better pay for anything for years than what he give me," Thomas continued solemnly.

"What did he give, you?" I asked.

"Well I can't just go over his words, but it minded me of the blessing the preacher says over us before we go out of church, only this was all just for you and me."

"You have found to-day that it is more blessed to give than to receive."

"That Mrs. Blake wan't far astray; but there, I wouldn't let on to the likes of her that Mr. Winthrop might do more for them. Anyway there's no one gives more for the poor in the parish, nor anything nigh as much; only its taxes, and one don't get credit for them."

"It is only for want of thought, Thomas. He has never been among the poor, to see their wants and sufferings."

"But what makes you think, and the rest all forget?"

"I expect it is because my memory is better. I could always remember my lessons at school better than the most of the pupils."

"Ah, Miss, there's more than the memory. I wish there was more rich folks like you; it would be a better world for the poor."

His words startled me, the thought had never before occurred to me that I might be rich. I went to my room, and, with more than my usual care, dressed for dinner. Compared with Esmerelda's, my gowns were getting shabby, and old-fashioned; and I concluded if I had means of my own, it was time to treat myself charitably as well as my poor acquaintances. The dinner bell rang at last, and I went down with some trepidation to meet my guardian. My conscience confronted me with my repeated words of insubordination during the day, commanding me to apologize for my rudeness; but instinct with a stronger voice counselled silence. As we took our seats at dinner, Mrs. Flaxman, I thought, with a worried expression was furtively regarding us; but she kept silent. With a good-humored smile Mr. Winthrop turned to me, saying: "Your crowd did not fall to quarrelling over the spoil, I hope."

"I wish you could have seen how good-humored they were on leaving. I think they would have talked above their breath only they were afraid."

"You did not strike me as looking particularly formidable. Indeed, I quite pitied you; for you seemed the most frightened, nervous one in the lot."

"They were not afraid of me. Even the widow Larkum's baby cooed softly until you were out of sight."

"It must be a child of amazing intelligence."

Mrs. Flaxman, looking more anxious than ever interjected a remark, not very relevantly, about the prospect of our early winter; but Mr. Winthrop allowed her remark to fall unheeded.

"You seem particularly interested in that tender-eyed widow and her infant. Is it long since you made their acquaintance?"

"I cannot say that I am even now acquainted with her." I answered politely.

"I should judge you had a weakness for widows. Mrs. Blake seems on very cordial terms with you."

"I would take just as much interest in your widow, Mr. Winthrop, if she was poor and sorrowful. The wheel of fortune may make a revolution some day, and give me the opportunity."

He really seemed to enjoy the retort which fell uncontrollably from my lips.

"Allow me to thank you beforehand for your kind offices to that afflicted individual; though the prospect for their being required is not very good at present."

"Mrs. Fleming has sent invitations for a garden-party," Mrs. Flaxman interposed desperately. "I think Mr. Winthrop had better permit you to go to New York for some additions to your toilet."

"I will accompany her myself; she might get entangled with widowers on her next trip."

"Not if they are as provoking as the unmarried," I murmured below my breath; but he seemed to catch my meaning.

"They understand the art of pleasing your sex amazingly. I believe you would find them more fascinating than Mrs. Blake, or your new friend, the widow Larkum."

I felt too sorrowful to reply, and my temper had quite expended itself. I waited until he arose from the table and then followed him into the library. He looked surprised, but very politely handed me a chair. I bowed my thanks, but did not sit down; I stood opposite him with only the study table between us. I was nervous, and half afraid to ask my question, but summoning all my courage I broke the silence by saying:—"Mr. Winthrop, will you please tell me if I am rich or poor?"'

"That is a comparative question," he answered with provoking coolness. "Compared with Jay Gould or Vanderbilt, I should say your means were limited; but, on the other hand, to measure your riches with your widowed friends, most persons would allow your circumstances to be affluent."

"But have I any money left after my board and other expenses are paid?"

He smiled sarcastically. "I do not take boarders; it has never been our custom at Oaklands."

I was getting angry and retorted:—"I shall not eat any man's bread without paying for it, if he were a hundred times my guardian."

"But if you had no money wherewith to pay him; what then?"

"I have an education; with that surely I can earn my living as well as Esmerelda. My knowledge of French and German will help me to a situation, if nothing else."

"If I say you must not leave here; that I will not permit my ward to work for her living?" he questioned.

"If I resolve to be independent, and earn something beside, to help the poor, can you compel me to a life of ease and uselessness?"

"Ah, I see what is troubling you—the widows are on your mind. A gracious desire to help them has caused this mercenary fit. I am glad to inform you that there is a snug sum lying at your bankers in your name. When you come of age you will know the exact amount."

"You will pay for my board and expenses out of it," I said, rather incoherently; "and then, if there is any left, may I have it to lay out as I choose?"

"I do not care to assume the role of a hotel-keeper, so we will compromise matters. You can name whatever sum you choose for your board, and I will give it to you in quarterly instalments for your pensioners."

I was silent for a few moments, perplexed to know what answer to give. If he were to take from my own income the sum I might mention if I accepted his terms, would I not still be a debtor to his hospitality? I spoke at last, knowing that his eyes were reading my face. "Could I not first pay you all that I really cost you, and then if there was any money left, have that to expend just as I choose?"

"I have hitherto allowed you a certain sum for pocket money. I limited the supply, because, as a school-girl, I believed too much would be an injury. Since, however, you are now a young lady grown and gifted with highly benevolent instincts, I will increase your spending money to any reasonable sum you may name."

"Will it be my own money?"

"Certainly; I shall not exercise the slightest supervision over the way you spend it, so long as your Mill Road friends do not get quarreling over the division of it."

"You do not understand my meaning. Will it be the money my father left me?"

"I cannot promise it will be just the same. No doubt that has passed through scores of hands since then; in fact, it may be lying in the bottom of the sea. I did not expect you would be so exact in money matters, or I might have been more careful."

"Mr. Winthrop, why do you so persistently misconstrue my meaning?" I said, desperately. He looked down more gently from his superior height into my troubled face, and the mocking gleam faded from his eyes.

"Why are you so scrupulously, ridiculously insistent in maintaining such perfect independence? Can you not believe I get well paid for all you cost me, if we descend to the vulgarity of dollars and cents, in having a bright, original young creature about the house with a fiery, independent, nature, ready to fight with her rich friends for the sake of her poor ones?"

"I wish we could be friendly, Mr. Winthrop," I half sobbed, with an impulsive gesture stretching out my hands, but remembering myself, as quickly I drew them back, and without waiting for a reply fled from the room. Once in the hall I took down my hat from the rack and slipped out into the night, my pulses throbbing feverishly, and with difficulty repressing the longing to find relief in a burst of tears. The short twilight had quite faded away into starlight, but the autumn air was still warm enough to permit a stroll after nightfall. When I grew calm enough to notice whither my feet had strayed, I found myself on the Mill Road. Instinctively I felt I should not go so far from home in the darkness unattended; but I was naturally courageous as well as unconventional, and the desire was strong on me to tell Mrs. Blake my good news. I got on safely until Daniel Blake's light was in sight, when, just before me, I heard rough voices talking and laughing. I turned and was about fleeing for home, when a similar crowd seemed to have sprung up, as if by magic, just behind me. In my terror I attempted to climb a fence, but fence-climbing was a new accomplishment, and in my ignorance and fright, I dragged myself to the top rail and then fell over in a nerveless heap on the other side. The crowd were too self-absorbed to notice the crouching figure divided from them by a slight rail fence, and went shouting on their way until stopped by the other crowd. I waited until they had got to a safe distance, when I arose and sped swiftly along over the damp grass until another fence intercepted my progress; when fortunately I remembered that just beyond this fence was a low marshy field, with deep pools of water. By some means I again got over the fence, bruising my fingers in the effort. The voices were growing fainter in the distance, and now with calmer pulses, I proceeded on my way to the Blakes'. But a new alarm awaited me; for I recollected Daniel would be at home now, and Tiger, his constant companion, would be somewhere in his vicinity. The dog was a huge creature, capable of tearing me to pieces in a very short time if he was so inclined. Folding my arms tightly in the skirt of my dress, I presently heard Tiger approaching, giving an occasional savage growl. I called him to me with as much simulated affection in the tones of my voice as I could command, and walked straight for the kitchen door. I put my hand on the latch, not daring to hesitate long enough to knock, when he caught my sleeve in his teeth. Half beside myself with terror, I called to Mrs. Blake, and in a second or two the door opened and Daniel was peering out curiously into my white face. The light from the lamp in his hand shone full on the dog holding my sleeve in his white, long teeth. Daniel's slow brain scarce took in the situation, but his mother, who sat where she could look directly at us, caught up the tongs and gave Tiger a blow he probably remembered to his dying day. He dropped my dress and slunk silently away into the darkness. Instantly I felt sorry for him. "Won't you call him back," I cried. "He thought he was doing his duty, and he took care not to put his teeth in my arm."

"It seems to me your heart is a leetle too tender of the brute; he might have skeered you to death," Daniel said, as he went out after his dog to see how heavy damage the tongs had inflicted.

"I should not have come here so late; it was I and not the dog who was to blame," I gasped, as I sank into Mrs. Blake's rocking-chair.

"I've wanted Daniel to put the critter away; he's been offered fifty dollars for him, but he's kind of lonesome, and refuses the offer."

Mrs. Blake was looking at me closely. I knew she was curious to know what brought me there at that unusual hour, so I hastened to explain, and asking her would she go with me to the Widow Larkum's while I told her of the help I expected to afford, and also of my mishaps on the way there.

"Not to-night, dearie. These roads ain't none too safe after night for women folks. It's a mercy you tumbled over the fence. My! what would Mr. Winthrop say if he knowed?" she questioned solemnly.

"But he will never know, if I can get back safely."

"Dan'el and me'll go with you, and take Tiger and the lantern. They're all afraid of the dog, if I haven't lamed him."

She went to the door and called Daniel. He came in presently, with Tiger limping after him.

"You give him an unmerciful blow; a leetle more and he'd never barked again."

"Bring him in and I'll give him a bone and rub the sore place with liniment."

"Let me feed him," I begged. "I want to make friends with him."

"You'd best not put your hands on him. He don't make free with strangers."

I took the bone; to my regret it was picked nearly bare, and I idly resolved Tiger should have a good solid dinner the next day, if he and I survived the mishaps of the night.

"Poor fellow! I am very, very sorry I have caused you so much pain," I said, giving him the bone and patting his huge head fearlessly.

"Look out!" Daniel said, warningly.

"You needn't be afeard," his mother said. "Tiger knows quality."

Whether he was as knowing in this respect as she asserted, he gnawed his bone and let me stroke his shaggy coat, while Mrs. Blake bathed his bruised back.

"There, he'll be all right now in no time; and Dan'el, you get the lantern and we'll go back to Oaklands with Miss Selwyn."

Daniel got up wearily, and did as his mother bade. After his hard day's work in the mill he would willingly, no doubt, have been excused escorting damsels in distress to their homes.

Mrs. Blake soon came out of her room with her bonnet and shawl on—the former one without a veil, which she excused on the ground that dew took the stiffening out of crape—"Leastways," she added, "the kind I wear." Tiger followed us, and more in mercy to him than the tired Daniel, I insisted on going home alone once we had got beyond the precincts of the Mill Road. I met with no further adventure, and reached my own room in safety, fondly hoping no one in the house was aware of my evening's ramble, and one that I determined should never be repeated. My cheeks burned even after my light was extinguished, and my head throbbed on the pillow at Mr. Winthrop's biting sarcasm if he knew the risk I had just run from bipeds and quadrupeds, with Daniel Blake, his mother and dog as body-guard past the danger of Mill Road ruffianism.



CHAPTER X.

A HELPING HAND.

The following morning I went down to breakfast with some trepidation, and feeling very much like a culprit. Mrs. Flaxman came into the room first, and in her mild, incurious fashion said: "We were hunting for you last evening. Mr. Winthrop wished to see you about something."

I did not reply, neither did she inquire where I had bestowed myself out of reach of their voices. I felt certain Mr. Winthrop's curiosity would be more insistent, and was quite right in my conjectures. He came in as usual, just on the minute, and seating himself, went through with the formality of grace; but before our plates were served, he turned to me and rather sternly said: "Are you in the habit of going out for solitary night rambles?"

"I never did but once," I faltered, too proudly honest to give an evasive answer.

"That once, I presume, occurred last night?"

"Yes."

"Strictly speaking, it wanted just five minutes to nine when you slipped stealthily into the side entrance."

I sat, culprit-like, in silence, while his eyes were watching me closely.

"Don't you think two hours a long time to be loitering about the garden in the dark?"

"You must not be too hard on Medoline," Mrs. Flaxman interposed. "It is an instinct with young folk to stray under the starlight and dream their dreams. No doubt we both have been guilty of doing it in our time." I flashed Mrs. Flaxman a look of gratitude, and wondered at the naive way she counted Mr. Winthrop with herself, as if he too had arrived at staid middle-agehood.

"Dreaming under stars and wandering around in attendance on widows are two very different occupations," he said, quietly, and without a break in his voice asked Mrs. Flaxman what he should help her to. I swallowed my breakfast—what little I could eat—with the feeling that possibly each succeeding mouthful might choke me; but full hearts do not usually prove fatal, even at meal time.

I arose from the table as soon as Mr. Winthrop laid down his napkin, and was hastening from the room when I heard him move back his chair; and, swift as were my movements, he was in the hall before I had reached the topmost step of the staircase.

"Just one more word, please," I heard him say. I turned around, resolved to take the remainder of my lecture from a position where I could look down on him. He held out a parcel, saying: "Will you come and get this, or shall I carry it to you?"

I descended without replying, and held out my hand for the roll. He took hold of my hand instead. The firm, strong grasp comforted me, though I expected a severer lecture than I had ever received before in all my life. I looked up at him through tear-filled eyes when he said, in a strangely gentle voice for the circumstances:

"I saw you coming along the Mill Road last night with the Blakes and their lantern. Why were you there so late?"

"I wanted so much to tell the widow Larkum I was in a position now to help her."

He was silent for awhile; then he said:

"I am glad you did not try to mislead me at the breakfast-table. I could not easily have forgiven such an act. Next to purity, I admire perfect truth in your sex."

"Mr. Winthrop, you will believe me that I never went out of our own grounds after night before alone, and I never will, if I live for a hundred years."

"Pray do not make rash promises. I only claim obedience to my wishes until you are of age. I will accept your word until that date, and shall not go in search of you along the Mill Road, or any other disreputable portion of the town again. Your mother's daughter can be trusted."

I tried to withdraw my hand, in order to escape with my tear-stained face to my own room, quite forgetting the parcel I had come down the stairway for.

"We start for New York this afternoon. Mrs. Flaxman accompanies us. She will be congenial society for you, having been a widow for nearly a score of years."

"I do not care particularly for widows. It is the poor and desolate I pity."

"Well, here is the first instalment of widows' money. I give it to you quarterly, purely from benevolent motives."

"Why so?" I asked, curiously.

"If you received it all at once Mill Road would be resplendent with crape and cheap jewelry."

"I suppose I must thank you," I said, hotly; "but the manner of the giving takes away all the grace of the gift."

"You express yourself a trifle obscurely, but I think I comprehend your meaning," he said, without change of voice. If I could have seen his eyes flash, or his imperturbable calm disturbed, my own anger would have been less keen.

"May I go now?" I presently asked, quite subdued; for he had fallen into a brown study, and was still holding my hand.

"Yes, I had forgotten," he said, turning away, and a moment after entered the library and shut the door. I went in search of Mrs. Flaxman, whom I found still in the breakfast-room, and in a rather nervous condition, busy about the china, which she rarely permitted the servant to wash.

"Shall we stay long in New York?" I asked, very cheerfully, the fifty dollars I held in my hand, and the easy way I had got off with Mr. Winthrop, making me quite elated.

"One can never tell. Mr. Winthrop is very uncertain; we may return in a day or two, or we may stay a fortnight."

"You are not anxious to go?" I questioned, seeing her troubled face.

"Not just now, in the height of the pickling and preserving season. Reynolds has excellent judgment, but I prefer looking after such things myself."

She looked wistfully at me while she dried her china. "May I help you, Mrs. Flaxman? It never occurred to me before that I might share your burdens. I should learn to have cares, as well as others."

"I always like to have you with me, dear. Sometimes I try to make myself believe God has given you to me, instead of my own little Medoline."

"Had you a daughter once?"

"Yes; and, like yourself, named after your own dear mother."

"Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, and you never told me. Was she grown up like me?"

"She was only six years old when she died, just a month after her father; but the greater grief benumbed me so I scarce realized my second loss until months afterward."

"Is it so terrible, then, to lose one's husband?"

"It depends greatly on the husband."

"The widow Larkum cries constantly after hers, but he was bread-winner, too. A hungry grief must be a double one."

"Did Mr. Winthrop say anything further to you about being out last night?"

"A little," I replied, with scarlet cheeks; "but he will never do so again. I shall not give him cause to reprove me."

"That is the most lady-like course. You are no longer a little girl, or a school-girl either."

I wiped my plates in silence, but my mortification was none the less intense. I realized then, more keenly than ever, that I must preserve the proprieties, and confine myself to the restrictions of polite society. The breezy, unconventional freedom Mrs. Flaxman had for those few months permitted me had been so keenly enjoyed. I fretted uneasily at the forms, and ceremonies of artificial life, while the aboriginal instincts, which every free heart hides away somewhere in its depths, had been permitted too full development.

The china cleansed, and put away, I stood surveying the shining pieces that comprised our breakfast equipage, and like the tired clock in the fable, thought wearily of the many hundred times Mrs. Flaxman had washed those dishes; of the many thousand times they, or others, would go through the same operation, until Mrs. Winthrop's sands of time had all run out, and Oaklands gone to decay, or passed into other hands.

"Isn't it tiresome work washing dishes—the same yesterday, to-day and fifty years hence? I wish I had been created a man; they don't have such sameness in their work."

"Are you sure, dear? Fancy a bookkeeper's lot, or a clerk's reckoning up columns of figures so like there is not a particle of variety; not a new or thrilling idea in all their round of work from January to December, unless we except a column that won't come right. That may have a thrill in it now and then, but certainly not a joyous one. After we return from New York, if you pay attention to a clerk's work in the stores we visit, you will acknowledge a lady's household tasks delightful in comparison. The farmer's life has the most variety, and comes nearest to elementary things and nature's great throbbing vitals; but as a rule they are a dissatisfied lot, and unreasonably so, I think."

"Come to look at things generally, it's a very unsatisfactory sort of world, anyway. I think it's affairs might just as well get wound up as not. There have been plenty of one variety of beings created, I should think, to fill up lots of room in the starry spaces, and there are so many to suffer forever."

"It is hardly reverent, dear, for us to criticise God's plans. It is His world, and we are His creatures; and we may all be happy in Him here, and there be happy with Him forever. Besides, life does not seem monotonous when we are doing His will."

"But I know so few who are doing His will save you, and that poor blind Mr. Bowen. I read my Bible every day, and sometimes I get thinking over its words, and I reckon there will only be one here and there fit to enter Heaven. All our friends nearly would be terribly out of place to be suddenly transplanted to the Heavenly gardens. What could they talk about to the shining ones? The fashions, and social gossips, and fancy work and amusements would all be tabooed subjects there, I expect."

"You do not know many people yet. I thank God there are thousands longing to serve Him. I think, dear, you must have a touch of dyspepsia this morning; your thoughts are so morbid."

"Oh no, indeed; I am quite well. But shall we see any of those people you describe in New York?"

"If we stay long enough, doubtless we shall. I have a few rare friends there whose friendship often gives me the feeling of possessing unlimited riches."

"I wish I had such friends," I exclaimed, with sudden longing. "You and the Mill Road folk are the only ones I have on this side the ocean, and the most I care much for on the other already think in another language from mine."

"Yours will not be a friendless life, I feel certain. I see elements in your impulsive nature that must attract those who love the true and unselfish."

"Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, what a delicious compliment to give me, just when I was most discouraged about myself! Mr. Winthrop finds me such a nuisance, and all your pretty and elegant lady friends I know care so little for me that I can't but believe that I am a poor specimen, although you speak so kindly."

"You will be wise to learn the art of not thinking much about your merits. I find these the happiest lives who live most outside of self; and they are the most helpful to others."

"But we have mainly to do with ourselves. How can we help wondering if our particular barque on the voyage of life is to be a success or not?"

"It lies with ourselves whether it is or no."

"But persons like Mrs. Larkum and the Blakes, how can they have a successful voyage, when they are so poor and lowly?"

"You must get the thought out of your mind that being poor and humble makes any difference in God's sight. When Christ visited our planet his position was as lowly as the Blakes; his purse as empty as the widow Larkum's. We are such slow creatures to learn that character itself is the only greatness in God's sight. Our ancestry and rent roll are the small dust of the balance with Him."

"But Mr. Winthrop thinks most of those things—the ancestry and wealth."

"We must not sit in judgment on any one's thoughts, and we must not take any man's gauge of character in the abstract as the correct one; only take the word of God."

I went out into the sunshine to think over Mrs. Flaxman's little lecture; a good deal comforted with the reflection that Mrs. Blake might have more weight in the balances of Heaven than I had thought. The garden was looking very shabby—its splendid midsummer glory had only a few flowers left to show what had been there, and these only the thick-petaled, substantial blossoms as free from perfume as the products of the vegetable garden. I grew melancholy. A premonition of my own sure coming autumn season, towards the end of life, was forecasting its cold shadow over the intervening years which made the November sunshine grow dim; and I gladly re-entered the house. I went very meekly to the library-door and tapped. Quite a long pause, and then I heard my guardian's study door which opened into the library, shut; and a second after he stood before me. I thought he gave me a surprised glance, since it was only the second time I had come into his presence there unsummoned.

"May I take some of the money you gave me this morning to Mrs. Larkum, before I leave for New York?"

"If you have time. Usually it takes ladies some hours to prepare for a journey such as you have before you to-day."

"I am sorry to say I am not a regulation lady. I can get ready in half an hour."

"That is a quality in your sex that will cover a multitude of sins."

"I am glad you have at last found something good in me," I said, sorrowfully.

"You must not personally apply every generalization your friends may make in their conversation."

"Then you give me permission to go?"

"It strikes me you are rushing to the other extreme. I have never interfered with your rambles, except at unseemly hours. Mill Road at mid-day is quite safe for the most unconventional young lady in Cavendish."

I bowed my thanks, and turning away heard the library door shut. I could fancy the expression on my guardian's face as he returned to his books. But, as I put on my wraps, my heart grew lighter although Mr. Winthrop's last observation made me wince. I took a crisp ten dollar bill. Surely, I reflected, that could not be a dangerous sum to entrust the widow with, considering that she had a helpless father, and half-clad children to look after. I took the kitchen on my way and begged a generous slice of meat from the cook to carry to Tiger.

"Most like they'll have their own dinner off it first; they'll think it a sin to give such meat to a dog," I heard her mutter as I left the kitchen. On my way I met Emily Fleming and Belle Wallace. They laughingly inquired where I was going with my bundles; but I assured them it was an errand of mercy, and could not therefore be explained. Miss Emily's plump features and bright black eyes took a slightly contemptuous expression as she assured us I was rapidly developing into a Sister of Charity.

"Better be that than an idler altogether like the rest of us," the more gentle natured Belle responded.

"If you are getting into a controversy I will continue my journey," I said, nodding them a pleasant good morning and going cheerfully on my way, thinking of Tiger's prospective gratification, coupled with that of the widow Larkums.

Going first to the Blakes, I found Tiger stretched out on the doorstep. He wagged his tail appreciatively, but did not growl as I stroked his shaggy coat.

Examining him by daylight, I saw that he was a fine specimen of his species. Daniel explained to me afterward that he was a cross between a St. Bernard and Newfoundland—a royal ancestry, truly, for any canine, and unlike human off-shoots from the best genealogical trees, quite sure of inheriting the finest qualities of his ancestors. I went into the house, the dog limping after me. Mrs. Blake heard my voice and came in in some alarm. She looked surprised to see me sitting by the table with Tiger's massive head in my lap, while I unrolled the meat. She also stood watching, and when the juicy steak was revealed, her own eyes brightened as well as Tiger's. "I haven't seen such a piece of meat in many a day. It minds me so of Oaklands."

"I got it from cook for Tiger," I explained. "It is clean—perhaps you would like a few slices off it."

"I would, indeed. Its a shame to give a brute such victuals."

"Poor Tiger, he deserves something good, after the way he was punished on my account." She brought a knife and plate saying: "We can share wi' each other; I don't want to rob even a dog of his rights." I turned the meat over and found a bone which I cut off and gave him, and then, giving the remainder to her to put out of Tiger's way, I stipulated that he was to have all the scraps that were left. Then I informed her of my gift from Mr. Winthrop, or rather loan, and of the sum I purposed giving Mrs. Larkum.

"Did Mr. Winthrop give you all that money for poor folks?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"Well, I've heard he never give anything except through the town council. I've heard he was uncommon free in that way. But, laws! I reckoned the first time I seen you that you'd be able afore long to wind him around your finger. Fine manners and a handsome face, with a good heart, soon thaws out a bachelor heart."

"You were never more mistaken in your life, Mrs. Blake."

"May be so," she said, as if quite unconvinced.

I turned the conversation rather abruptly:—

"Will ten dollars be too much to entrust Mrs. Larkum with at once?"

"Dear heart, you might give her fifty, if you had it. She'd be jest as saving of it as—well as I'd be myself, and I call myself next door to stingy."

"I am so glad; one likes to know the most will be made of what they give."

"If you don't mind, I'll put on my shawl and go with you."

"I was going to ask you to do so."

"I'll jest set on the pot for Dan'el's dinner first. Twelve o'clock soon comes these short days." Mrs. Blake threw a faded woolen shawl over her head, and taking a short path across the field we started for Mrs. Larkum's, Tiger limping after us.

I thought Mrs. Blake's snug kitchen quite a nest of comfort after I had taken a survey of the Larkum's abode.

One roughly plastered room with two little closets at one side for bedrooms had to serve for home for five souls.

I felt a curious, smothered sensation at first, as I looked on the desolate surroundings—the pale, sad-faced mother, the blind grandfather, and ragged children. A dull fire was smouldering in the cooking stove, and beside it sat the grandfather, the baby on his knee, vainly trying to extract consolation from its own puny fist. As I looked at him closely I saw that Mr. Bowen had an unusually fine face—not old looking, but strangely subdued, and chastened. I fancied from his countenance, at once serene and noble, that he had beautiful thoughts there in the darkness and poverty of his surroundings. Mrs. Larkum was mending a child's torn frock, her eyes as red and swollen as ever. Her face brightened, however, when we went in. Mrs. Blake assured me afterward it would be better than medicine to them having one of the quality sit down in their house, I took the baby from its grandfather, and soon the little one was cooing contentedly in my arms, getting its fingers and face nicely smeared with the candies I had brought it. I divided the supply with the two other little ones—the eldest going direct to his grandfather, and dividing his share with him. I noticed that the gift was thankfully received, but placed securely in his pocket; no doubt to be brought out a little later, and divided with the others. I glanced at the blind man's clothing. Clean it certainly was; in this respect corresponding with everything I saw in the house; but oh, so sadly darned, and threadbare. Still, he seemed like a gentleman, and I fancied he shrank painfully within himself as if one's presence made him ill at ease. I resolved to say very little to him on this first visit, but later on try to find the key to his heart. I contented myself with the use of my eyes, and playing with the baby, leaving the two widows to indulge in a few sighs and tears together. My own tears do not come very readily, and it makes me feel cold hearted to sit dry-eyed while other eyes are wet. As I sat quietly absorbing the spirit of the place, my eyes rested on a shelf containing the few cheap dishes that served their daily food. Instantly the desolate fancies I had a few hours before indulged came forcibly to mind. I thought what would it be to cleanse the remains of meagre repasts from these coarse cups, and plates, through days and years, with no glad hopes or joyous fancies to lighten the toil! I was growing desolate hearted myself, and concluded my widowed friend had sighed and wept long enough; so returning the little charge to its grandfather, I went to Mrs. Larkum's side, and slipped the note into her hand, at the same time saying good-bye, and motioned to Mrs. Blake to come home. She arose very reluctantly, being unwilling to miss her friend's surprise and satisfaction. I too was constrained to look at her as she unfolded the note. A flush swept over her face as she saw the number, and handing it back to me, she said:—

"You have made a mistake, and given me the wrong bill."

"Oh no, indeed. I got it on purpose for you."

"But it is ten dollars. Surely you did not mean that."

"Mrs. Blake said you would know how to lay out fifty very wisely," I said, with, a smile.

Her tears, always so convenient, began to flow afresh. Turning to her father she said with a sob, "Father, your prayers are getting answered. The Lord, I believe, will provide."

I saw him gather the baby close to his heart, and then with a gesture of self command he seemed with difficulty to restrain his own emotion. "The Lord reward the giver," he murmured in a low voice; but some way it gave me the feeling that I had suddenly received some precious gift.

"When that is gone I shall have some more for you," I promised.

"Oh, before all this is used up, I must try to get earning myself. But this, with all those vegetables you gave me yesterday, will give me such a start. I will buy a whole barrel of flour, it spends so much better—and get some coals laid in for winter. They are the heaviest expense."

"Yes," I said, impulsively, "and flannels for the children. It will be so much better than crape."

"Crape!" she ejaculated. "I don't need crape for my husband. I have too much mourning in my heart to put any on outside."

I meant some day, when I felt pretty courageous, to repeat her words to Mr. Winthrop. Once outside, I found the glorious expansion of sky and horizon very grateful after the narrow limits of the little cottage. At luncheon Mr. Winthrop asked if I had paid my visit yet to Mill Road. I acknowledged, with a slight crimsoning of cheek, that I had conveyed to Mrs. Larkum a small sum of money.

"No doubt she will have a crape weeper as long as the widow Blake's."

"I did not think you noticed the trivialities of women's attire so minutely."

"I do not as a rule; but in the case of your intimate friends, it is natural I should endeavor to discover their especial charms."

"Mrs. Larkum said she was going to lay out the money I gave her chiefly in flour and coals. I suggested flannel would be much better also to buy than crape. She said she had no need to put on mourning; she already wore it in her heart."

"She is a very sensible woman," my guardian replied.

Then I described, as minutely as I could and with all the pathos I could command, the grim surroundings of this poor family—the grandfather, with his serene, sightless face and strangely deep trust in Providence; the clean, but faded, worn garments they all had on—not one of them, apparently, possessed of a decent suit of clothes; and then their horror of help from the town. Mrs. Flaxman wiped her eyes sympathetically when I repeated the grateful words my gift had evoked, and said with trembling voice: "It just seems as if the Lord sent you there, Medoline."

"Do you think the Ruler of this vast universe has leisure or inclination to turn his gaze on such trivialities? No doubt suns and systems are still being sent out completed on their limitless circles. To conceive their Creator turning from such high efforts to send Medoline with a ten dollar bill to the Larkums, to my mind borders on profanity," Mr. Winthrop said, with evident disgust.

"The infinitely great and infinitely small alike receive His care. Perhaps it required stronger power from God to make you give me the money and then to make me willing to carry it to them, than it does to create a whole cluster of suns and planets. I think our wills limit God's power more than anything he ever created, except Satan and his angels."

"You are quite a full-fledged theologian, little one. I am surprised you do not engage more heartily in home mission work."

"I must first learn to show more patience at home."

He did not make any reply; but as we were speeding on our way that afternoon in the cars, he came to my side and handed me a small roll of bills.

"Would you like to buy that widower friend of yours a warm suit of clothes for the winter? Mrs. Flaxman will show you a suitable furnishing establishment. Philanthropists must do all sorts of things, as you will find."

"You are very kind after all, Mr. Winthrop. I wish I could tell you how grateful I am. Please forgive all my rude speeches—I hope I will never get provoked with you again."

"I most certainly hope you will. A little spice adds greatly to the flavor of one's daily food."

He walked away; and first counting my gift, I found, to my surprise, that it amounted to fifty dollars. I opened my little velvet satchel—my traveling companion for many a weary mile—and laid it safely in one of the pockets. I had plenty of leisure that afternoon for fancy to paint all sorts of pictures. Mr. Winthrop was at the farther end of the car, with a group of friends he had met; and Mrs. Flaxman, a nervous traveler at the best, was trying to forget the discomforts of travel as she sat with her easy-chair wheeled into a sheltered corner, sleeping as much as possible. I watched the rapidly disappearing views from my windows, some of them causing pleasant thoughts, and sometimes re-touching memories so remote they seemed like experiences of another existence, which my soul had known before it came under its present limitations. There were cottages that we flew past, reminding me of the Larkum abode; these I kept wearily peopling with white, sightless faces, and hungry, sad-faced women and children.

When at last my own thoughts were beginning to consume me, Mr. Winthrop came and sat near me.

"Is a journey in the cars equal to an hour spent with your widows?" he asked.

"I have enjoyed the drive. One sees so much that is new, and is food for thought, only the mind gets wearied with such swift variety."

He was silent for some time, then, with a complete change of topic he said,

"I have been glad to hear you practicing so industriously on the piano. Some day you may have a more appreciative audience than Mrs. Flaxman and myself."

"It has helped to occupy my time. I do not know that much else has been accomplished."

"That is not a very wise reason for so occupying your time."

"One must get through it some way. In pleasant weather, getting acquainted with nature, in field and garden and by the seashore, was my favorite pastime."

"It is an indolent way to seek the acquaintance of so profound a mistress:—merely sunning one's self under the trees, or listening to the monotonous voice of the sea, sitting on the rocks."

"In what better way could I discover her secrets?"

"Following in the steps of those who have made her in her varying forms a life long study, and who have embalmed their discoveries in books."

"But I am young yet, and I need first to discover if I have tastes for such pursuits."

"A youthful Methusaleh might make that objection; but your years are too few to pause while making a selection."

"At first when I came to Oaklands, I was perplexed to know how the long days and years were to be occupied."

"Have you since then found for yourself a career?"

"I am finding an abundance of work, if I only am willing to do it."

"You must not get so absorbed in deeds of charity that you forget the duties belonging to yourself and position. Oaklands may not always be your home, with its pastoral enjoyments. You should endeavor to fit yourself for wider and higher spheres of action."

"In the meantime, however, my life must be got through some way. If I can help others to be happier, surely my time cannot be quite wasted; and I may the easier render my final account."

"Ah, that's a perplexing question—our final settlement for the deeds of this life."

I looked my surprise at his tone of voice.

"You have not learned yet, Medoline, to doubt. Very well, never begin. It's horrible having no sure anchor to hold by when death forces one into unknown oceans, or shipwrecks with annihilation."

"Death never can do that, if we trust in Christ, who turned our last enemy into a blessed angel."

"Your faith is very beautiful, and is, no doubt, sufficient for your utmost intellectual needs; and by all means hold to it as you would to your life."

"I think it is the same that St. Paul, and Martin Luther, and John Milton, and a thousand, yes a million other noblest intellects, held firmly. Surely it will serve for me."

"You are satisfied, then, to think with the crowd?"

"Yes, until something more reasonable is given me than God's word and revealed religion. But, Mr. Winthrop, I am only a heard believer. I am not a Christian, really."

"If I believed the Bible as you do, I would not risk my soul one half hour without complying with every command of the Scriptures. You who so firmly believe, and yet live without the change of heart imperatively demanded by the Bible, are the most foolhardy beings probably in the entire universe."

"Are we any more foolish than those who dare to doubt with the same evidence that we possess?"

"Possibly not; but I think you are."

I was silent; for there came to me a sudden consciousness that Mr. Winthrop was right. I had no doubts about the great truths of our religion; and what excuse then could I offer for not accepting them to the very utmost of my human need?



CHAPTER XI.

CITY LIFE.

In the late evening the lights from the restless, crowded city began to twinkle in the distance, and shortly another living freight was borne safely within its shelter. Mr. Winthrop had met a friend who came into the car, a station or two back, and had grown so absorbed in conversation that he paid no heed to the people hurrying out into the night. Mrs. Flaxman was aroused by the commotion and glanced around uneasily, but did not like to interrupt Mr. Winthrop's eager conversation. Besides, she comforted herself with the belief that our train would probably lay in New York for the night. At last Mr. Winthrop came to escort us out. "I believe we have no time to spare. I did not notice that we had reached our terminus."

"It is no use denying the fact; men are greater talkers than women," I remarked seriously.

"Why so?" he asked, pausing with satchel suspended, awaiting my answer.

"Why, no two women on the continent would get so absorbed in each other as to forget they had reached their journey's end, and had need to be in a hurry."

"Probably not; their topics would be too trivial to claim so much attention."

I found the reply unanswerable, and hastened after Mrs. Flaxman, who was already out of sight. When we reached the door the cars were in motion.—"What shall we do?" I cried, anxiously. "I could never get off while the cars were moving." I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Flaxman's scared face as we went past.

"Leave me and go to Mrs. Flaxman. A man can jump easily, I am sure," I pleaded, finding that we were moving out of the station, and actually on the road again.

"And what will you do?" he asked very calmly.

"I have plenty of money in my pocket, and can pay my way back by the next train," I said, hurriedly.

"You would travel alone at midnight to save Mrs. Flaxman a trifling anxiety?"

"I won't be frightened, and she will be so worried there, all alone among strangers," I pleaded.

"Mrs. Flaxman knows our hotel. She will be safe when she reaches there, which will be in a few minutes now. So you need not be troubled about her. I shall not leave you," he said, decidedly.

We went back into the car, which was nearly empty; but, some way, I felt as content and safe as if we had joined Mrs. Flaxman at the hotel. Mr. Winthrop sat near, but he did not seem in a mood just then for conversation. I think he felt chagrined at his carelessness, but I was wicked enough to enjoy it. I leaned my head back against my easy-chair and furtively watched my guardian, as he sat writing in a large blank book which he took from his pocket after awhile. I had never before had such opportunity to study, in repose, the strong, intellectual face. As I watched the varying moods of his mind, while he thought and wrote, it reminded me of cloud-swept meadows on a summer's day—the sunshine succeeding the shadow. I fancied that the mask which conceals the workings of the spirit life became partly transparent and luminous, and I seemed to see poetic fancy and noble thoughts weaving their wondrous webs back somewhere in the fastnesses of the soul. And then I glanced around at the other occupants of the car; and, fancy being alert, all their faces reminded me of so many masks, with the real individual sheltered behind in its own secure fastness, and all the while industriously weaving the web of life; always vigilant, ever throwing the shuttle; whether wisely or foolishly, only the resultant action could determine. But the faces grew indistinct; the steady movement back and forth of the writer's hand no longer interested me, for I was asleep. I do not know how long I had slept. My hat had slipped to the floor; my heavy coils of hair, usually difficult to keep in proper control, had unloosened by the constant motion of the car and fallen in heavy rings about my shoulders. I opened my eyes suddenly to find that my guardian had put away his writing, and was standing near, regarding me, I fancied, with a look of displeasure.

"I did not mean to fall asleep," I faltered, while I quickly coiled up my hair, and put on my hat.

"It is my fault you slept in this public place. I had forgotten about you."

I looked at him with an admiration almost amounting to awe, thinking how engrossed he must have become in his own thoughts to have forgotten me so perfectly; and then I speculated on the irony of fate in placing one so unconventional as I under the care of a man so exceedingly fastidious.

I was standing beside him. In my excitement, when awakening, I had started to my feet, but with difficulty maintained my position; for my head was dizzy with the sudden start from sound sleep, together with the unaccustomed hour for traveling. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was past midnight. I think Mr. Winthrop noticed my weariness, for he said, rather grimly:

"It is too bad, having you out late two nights in succession."

I remembered his gift for Mr. Bowen, and was silent.

"At the next station we will be able to change cars for New York. The conductor tells me we shall only be compelled to wait a short time."

"I will rest then until we get there," I said, no doubt very wearily, for I felt not only dizzy, but slightly faint, and sank into my chair. He looked down at me, and then said, in more gentle fashion than he had ever before addressed me:

"I am very sorry, Medoline, to have caused you so much needless fatigue."

I quite forgot my weariness then. It was so comforting to know he could acknowledge regret for anything, and that his heart was not made of flint, as, unconfessed to myself, I had partly imagined.

I looked up brightly. "I do not know if I am not rather glad than sorry that we have shown ourselves such forgetful travelers. It will be something unusual to remember."

"That is a very kindly way to look on my forgetfulness—rather, I should say, stupidity." He sat down then, and the short remaining distance we passed in silence.

We were both very prompt in responding to the summons given by the conductor when our station was reached. The waiting-room was well lighted and warmed, and a welcome odor of food pervaded the air. I resolved to make a little foray on my own account, to secure, if possible, a bit of luncheon; but, after seeing me comfortably seated by a hot stove, Mr. Winthrop left, only to return in a few moments with the welcome announcement that refreshments were awaiting us. I expressed my surprise that food should be in readiness at that unseasonable hour.

"Oh, I telegraphed an hour ago to have it prepared," he replied.

"Then I was sleeping a good while," I said, ruefully.

"An hour or two. I only wakened you in time to collect yourself for changing cars."

"And you have not slept at all?"

"Scarcely. I do not permit myself that luxury in public."

I was silenced, but not so far crushed as to lose my appetite. A cup of tea, such as Mrs. Flaxman never brewed for me, effectually banished sleep for the rest of the night. The journey back was tiresome, the car crowded, and the long night seemed interminable. I was wedged in beside a stout old gentleman, whose breath was disagreeably suggestive of stale brandy, while a wheezy cough disturbed him as well as myself. He looked well to do, and was inclined to be friendly; but his eyes had a peculiar expression that repelled me. Mr. Winthrop had got a seat some distance behind me. By twisting my neck uncomfortably, I could get a reassuring glimpse of his broad shoulders and handsome face. At last he came to me. I half rose, for my aged companion was making me nervous with his anxiety for my comfort.

"We will go into the next car; it may not be so crowded," he said, taking my satchel. Fortunately we found a vacant seat; and I began to feel very safe and content with him again at my side.

"I do not think your late traveling companion could have been a widower, or you would not have been so eager to get away. The look of appeal on your face, when I got an occasional glimpse of it, was enough to melt one's heart."

I laughed in spite of myself. "It never occurred to me to ask, but he certainly is not a woman hater," I said, with a flush, as I mentally recalled some of his gracious remarks. I made my replies in brief and stately dignity; or at least as much of the latter as I could command, but he was not easily repulsed. Feeling so secure and sheltered now, my thoughts went out to the unprotected of my sex cast among the evil and heartless, to fight their way purely amid bleakness and sin. I shuddered unconsciously. Mr. Winthrop turned to me.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"Oh, no, I was only thinking," I stammered.

"I would cease thinking if the thoughts were so blood-curdling. May I ask what they were?"

"I was pitying poor girls who have to make their way alone in this wicked world."

He was silent for some time, and then said gravely: "Your instincts are very keen. That gray-haired gentleman happens to be a person I know something about, and his very presence is enough to contaminate."

I was amazed that he so easily understood my meaning. The sun was reddening the sky, which seemed so pure and still compared with the sinful, noisy city that, for an instant, a homesick longing seized me to escape to its clear, beautiful depths. When we reached the hotel I was cold, and feeling very cheerless; but a comfortable looking maid, not half so overwhelming as our Esmerelda, conducted me to a pleasant room, and soon had a bright fire burning, and a cozy breakfast spread on a little table just in front of the grate. I was not hungry, but I took the cup of hot chocolate Mr. Winthrop had ordered, and nibbled a bit of toast; and then, drawing an easy-chair in front of the fire, soon fell into a luxurious sleep, from which I did not waken for several hours. The maid came in occasionally to replenish the fire, but her light movements did not disturb me. Afterward I found the hotel was not a public one, but a private affair, patronized mainly by a number of old families whose parents and children had come and gone for nearly half a century. The room I occupied, Mrs. Flaxman told me, was the very one my own dear mother had occupied as a bride; and hence Mr. Winthrop had secured it for me. It was the best in the house, I found later on. That evening, after I had wakened refreshed, and eager to see and hear all that was possible in this new wonderland, Mrs. Flaxman, still a little nervous after her journey and anxiety on my account, came and sat with me; and to atone for keeping me in the house, told me stories of that beautiful, far-away time when she had seen my mother in that same room in the first joy of wifehood, and described my father as the proud, happy bridegroom, gazing with more than a lover's fondness on the beautiful girl who had left all for him, and yet in the renunciation had found no sacrifice. She described the rich silken gown with its rare, old lace, and the diamonds she wore at her first party in New York. "Mr. Winthrop has them, your mother's diamonds and all her jewelry. In being an only child like yourself, she inherited all her own mother's. They are all safely stored at his bankers, and I think he means to give them to you soon, or at least a part of them."

"I did not know I had any except what I brought with me from school," I said, with a shade of regret to be so long in ignorance of such a pleasant fact. Mrs. Flaxman smiled as she asked:

"Did you never hear your schoolmates talk of the family plate and jewelry?"

"Oh, yes; there were a few stupid ones who had very little brains to be proud of; so they used to try and make up for the lack by telling us about such things; but we reckoned a good essay writer worth a good deal more than these plate owners."

"There must have been great changes since I was at school. I believe the rising generation is developing a nobler ambition than their predecessors possessed."

"I should hope so," I said, with girlish scorn; "as if such mere accidents as birth and the ownership of plate and jewelry could give one higher rank than intellect. Why, I believe that is the scarcest thing in all the universe."

"It does seem ridiculous," Mrs. Flaxman said reflectively, "but it is hard escaping from the spirit of the age in which we live. It would be easy to hold such things lightly in those heroic days in Greece when Lycurgus cheapened the gold and things the masses held most precious."

"One can have a little republic in their own soul as well as Lycurgus, and indulge unforced in high thinking. I think that would be really more creditable than if every one agreed to do so by act of senate."

"It would be a grand thing for every one to get the dross all burned away from their nature and only have the pure gold left."

"Don't you think, Mrs. Flaxman, with a good many people, after the burning process, there would be so little left it would take a whole flock of them to make a decent sized individual?"

She laughed softly. "I never thought of it in that way. I am afraid now I will get to undressing my acquaintances, to try and find out how much that will be fit to take into higher existences they have in their composition."

"Mr. Winthrop is a very uncomfortable sort of person to live with, but I think he will have more noble qualities to carry somewhere after death than the average of my acquaintances. What a pity it is for such splendid powers of mind to be lost! He has the materials in him to make a grand angel."

Mrs. Flaxman looked up quickly.

"You cannot think it is his ultimate destiny to be lost?" she questioned.

"He doesn't believe in the Bible. What hope can he have that we will ever get to heaven?"

"A multitude of prayers are piled between him and perdition. His mother was a saintly character, whose dying breath was a prayer for him; and there are others who have taken his case daily to the mercy seat for years."

"I wish I had some one to pray for me," I said rather fretfully.

"My dear, I do not know any one who has more leisure to pray for themselves than you have."

I was surprised to hear her speak so lightly on such a solemn subject; but as I thought the matter over afterward, I could but acknowledge that she had answered me just as I deserved.



CHAPTER XII.

NEW ACQUAINTANCES.

Mrs. Flaxman's fears were realized. She was detained from her pickles and preserves for over a fortnight; but the days spent then in the city were an entirely new revelation of life to me. Mr. Winthrop had a circle of literary friends, who seemed determined to make his stay so pleasant that he would not be in a hurry to return to the solitude of Oaklands. When I saw his keen enjoyment of their society, and the many varied privileges he had in that brief period—musical, artistic, and literary, I was filled with surprise that he should make his home at Oaklands at all, and expressed my wonder to Mrs. Flaxman.

"Oh, he often goes away—sometimes to Europe, and sometimes to the great American centres of thought and life; then he comes home apparently glad of its quiet and freedom from interruption. I think he uses up all the raw experiences and ideas he gets when away."

I thought her reply over, and wondered if it was the usual habit of literary people to go out on those foraging expeditions and bring back material to be used up in weeks of solitude. We were either out among friends, at concerts, lectures, evening gatherings, or else receiving Mr. Winthrop's particular friends at our hotel, every evening. I enjoyed those evenings at home, I think, the very best of all. We sat late, supper being served about midnight—a plain, sensible repast that, with a man of Mr. Winthrop's means, might certainly betoken high thinking. However, the intellectual repast served to us reminded me of the feasts of the gods, or even better, in old Homeric times. There were condensed thoughts that often kept me puzzling over their meanings long after their words had died on the air. Mrs. Flaxman sat, a mostly silent listener, but in no wise showing weariness at the lateness of the hour, or mental strain imposed in following such abstract lines of thought. I too listened silently, save in reply to some direct remark, but with pained, growing thoughts, that often left me utterly weary when the little company dispersed. I would often stop listening and fall into vague, hopeless speculations as to the number of centuries that must elapse before I could overtake them. Saddest fancy of all was that my powers might be too limited even to do this. Our daylight hours were, in great measure, passed in making and receiving calls from Mrs. Flaxman's friends, who seemed very quick to find out she was there, and in visiting the huge dressmaking and dry goods establishments which she patronized. I found it quite difficult, at times, to reconcile the fact that those we met by day were, in the main, created in the same mental likeness as those I listened to with such admiration in the evening. I used to close my eyes at times and fancy the old heathen, mythology to be true, and that the gods were actually revisiting the earth, and bringing with them the high conceptions from Olympus, I was able more clearly than ever to recognize how high were Mr. Winthrop's ideals, so far as this world goes, of human excellence and, with deepest humiliation, remembered how far I must have come short of his lowest standards. I went to Mrs. Flaxman with this new and painful discovery, and as usual, she brought her consolation.

"Very few can hope to attain such excellence of culture and intellect as these men possess. You and I ought to be grateful to our Creator if he has given us brain power sufficient to appreciate and comprehend their words. I know it has given Mr. Winthrop deep satisfaction to see you so interested in their conversation."

"How do you know that?" I asked, pleased at her words.

"I look at him sometimes while you get so absorbed listening that you seem to forget everything; and I see the gratified expression of his face while he watches you. I know it would be a disappointment to him if you should develop into a fashionable, feather-headed woman."

"Or a widow-helping philanthropist," I said, laughing.

"Of the two, he would prefer the latter."

"But neither would be his ideal."

"I am not altogether certain of that; but I do know he holds in strong dislike a woman who simply exists to follow the fashions, no matter how attractive she may be."

"I am ashamed to say I like getting new things, especially when they are becoming," I said, a little shamefacedly.

"I am sure you would get tired of a perpetual round of new hats and frocks, and trying them on, I am not apt to be mistaken in a person."

"But it is vastly easier to think of harmonious colors and combinations of dry goods, than it is to puzzle over those knotty subjects we listen to here in the evening, or to translate Chopin or Wagner, or the other great masters."

"But once mastering any of these, the pleasure arising therefrom gives satisfaction to a noble cast of mind that a whole gallery of Worth's choicest costumes could not produce."

"Solomon said: Much study is a weariness of the flesh."

"Solomon was an intellectual dyspeptic. But granting that it is a weariness, it is something that pays well for the weariness."

"If all the world were to come to Mr. Winthrop's way of thinking, it would be a sad thing for the dressmakers."

"Not necessarily. They would still be needed, but they would do the thinking about what would best suit the style of their respective customers; and the latter would be left free of that special task, to devote their minds to their own interior furnishing."

"Ah, you describe a second Utopia, or the golden age. A few in each generation might reach that clear, chill region of sublime thought; but the rank and file of womankind, and perhaps of mankind, would despise them as cranks."

"But if they had something vastly better than the respect of the careless and uncultured, need they mind what these would say?"

"Possibly not; but in most women's hearts there is an innate love of adornment, and the art they will not relegate very willingly to others."

"I did not think you cared so much for dress."

"You and Mr. Winthrop are putting the strongest temptations in my way, and then expect that I shall calmly turn my dazzled eyes inwards upon the unfurnished, empty spaces of my own mind."

"You seemed to care almost too little for elegance of attire, I thought."

"What the eyes do not see the heart never longs for. But glossy velvets, shimmering silks, with colors perfected from the tints of the rainbow; laces that are a marvel of fineness and beauty; and gems that might dazzle older heads than mine, thrown recklessly in my way, could any young creature fond of pretty things turn away from them, with the indifference of a wrinkled philosopher? I should have staid at Oaklands, and saved my money for the Mill Road folk."

"You must have the temptation, if you are to have the credit of overcoming it."

"Is there not a wonderful petition left for us by One who knows all things? 'Lead us not into temptation.'"

"I do not think this is a parallel case. God's way with His people, ever since Eve was denied the fruit in Eden, has been to prove them by temptation. His promise that there shall, with the temptation, be a way of escape, is what we need to claim."

"My way of escape will be to go back to Oaklands, where an occasional tea party will be the most dangerous allurement to vanity in my way."

"But you will not always remain there. Mr. Winthrop will not be so remiss in his duty as your guardian as to bury you there. Marriage, and a judicious settlement in life, are among the probabilities of your near future."

My cheeks crimsoned; for marriage was one of the tabooed subjects of conversation at Madame Buhlman's. Only in the solitude of our own rooms did we dare to converse on such a topic. But no doubt we wove our romances as industriously, and dreamed our dreams of the beautiful, impossible future stretching beyond our dim horizons, as eagerly as if we had been commanded to spend a certain portion of each day in its contemplation.

Mrs. Flaxman noticed my embarrassment, and, after a few moments said:—"Perhaps the fairy prince has already claimed his own."

I laughed lightly, but still felt ill at ease as I said: "I have never met him, and begin to doubt if he has an existence."

"He is sure to come, soon or late; probably too soon to please me. I shall miss you sadly when you go away from us."

I knelt beside her chair, a lump gathering in my throat, and my slow coming tears ready to drop.

"I do not know why you should miss me, but it makes me so glad to hear you say so. I have no one to really love me in the wide, wide world, that is, whose love I can claim as a right, and sometimes the thought makes me desolate."

She sat for awhile silently stroking my hair.

"I do not think yours will be a desolate, or lonely life, Medoline. It is only the selfish who are punished in that way. The blessing of those about the perish will overtake you, making the shadowy places in your life bright."

"But there are no perishing ones conveniently near for me to save. I am of little more use in the world than a humming bird."

"Already some of the Mill Road folk have been comforted by you. You remember it is recorded of the Mary of Bethany; 'She hath done what she could.' For that act of gratitude to the Master, her memory will be cherished long after the sun is cold. We do not know if somewhere all our minutest acts of unselfishness are not recorded, to be met with one day with glad surprise on our part."

"I would rather be so remembered," I said with eager longing, "than to be a Cleopatra or Helen of Troy."

"In what way is that?" Mr. Winthrop asked, as he stood looking down at me from behind Mrs. Flaxman's chair. I sprang to my feet in consternation. "We did not hear you enter," I faltered, very much ashamed to be found in such a childish attitude.

"I know that, since I would not have been just now admitted to your confidence."

I wheeled him up an arm chair, and stirred the fire very industriously, hoping thereby to divert his attention. He sat down quietly. His massive head laid back against the rich, dark leather seemed to bring the features out in stronger relief; the fire light falling uncertainly on his face, but enabling me to note distinctly its expectant look. I went to the window and stood for sometime watching the passers by in the street, thinking thus to pass away the time until Mr. Winthrop should forget to further question me; but he suddenly startled me by coming towards the window where I stood, and saying:

"You have not answered my question."

"The remark was only intended for Mrs. Flaxman's ears, and was of no importance, any way."

"Mrs. Flaxman then will enlighten me as to the bent of your ambition," he said, quite too authoritatively for my liking, and turned towards her.

"Our conversation drifted to personal endeavor. We were talking of many things, when Medoline, just as you came in, expressed the wish to be helpful to others rather than to shine in cold and stately splendor."

"Ah, yes. Cleopatra and Helen of Troy were excellent illustrations of the splendor. I am glad she is able to avail herself of her classical studies in conversation."

I looked mutely at Mrs. Flaxman, but she was gazing intently into the burning coals, with a slight flush on her face, caused, I knew, by Mr. Winthrop's words. A few moments after I glanced at my guardian. His eyes were closed, the lines of his face looked hard and stern. I wondered if it never softened even in sleep, or did it always wear that look that some way brought to my mind the old Vikings of the frozen north.

Mrs. Flaxman presently arose saying it was time for us to dress for the concert. Mr. Winthrop looked up to say he had secured us an escort, and would not accompany us.

"I thought you particularly admired Beethoven's Ninth Symphony," I exclaimed, with surprise.

"I do not think that crowd of amateurs will do much; although Bovyer gives them great praise. I would as soon hear that Larkum baby crowing as to hear such a masterpiece mangled."

"Some passages will be well rendered, surely."

"What matter, if one is all the time dreading a discord? I shall expect, however, a full account of the performance from you."

"I have already heard this symphony rendered by the court musicians in Belgium. I had no heart to practice my lessons for weeks after."

"And why not?"

"It seemed useless for me to waste time or money over an art so far beyond my powers to master."

His face softened, while he arose from his chair and came a few steps nearer to me.

"Only one or two human beings, so far as we know, have had musical powers equal to Beethoven. Most men are satisfied if they can perform harmoniously his creations."

"I could never do that. I might by years of hard study get so far as to strike the correct notes, but the soul and expression would elude me, simply because I have not brain power sufficient to comprehend them. A thrush would be foolish to emulate the nightingale."

"Yes but some one might be gladdened by its own simple note," he said, gently.

I was silent, while his words sank comfortably in my heart.

Looking up, at last, I caught his eye.

"I will try to be satisfied with my thrush's note, and make the best of it."

"That is right, but make sure that you are not any better song bird than the thrush, before you rest satisfied with its simple accomplishment."

Very earnestly and sincerely I promised him to do my best, and then followed Mrs. Flaxman from the room. Our escort proved to be Mr. Bovyer, a grave man, not so young as Mr. Winthrop, and who had a genuine passion for classic music. I fancied from his name and partiality for German composers that he must be either directly or remotely of Teutonic origin. Beethoven was his great favorite. He averred that the latter had penetrated further into the mysteries of music than any other human being. He seemed transformed while we sat listening to the great waves of harmony bewildering our senses; for, notwithstanding Mr. Winthrop's prophecy, the concert was a success. He had a stolid face. One might take him almost for a retired, well-to-do butcher; but when the air was pulsating with delicious sounds, his face lighted up and grew positively handsome.

"I wonder how you will endure the music of the immortals, that God listens to, if you get with the saved by and bye?" I said, impulsively.

He shook his head doubtfully, but gave me at the same time a look of surprise.

"I do not ask for anything better than Beethoven," he replied quietly.

Some way I felt saddened. The Creator was so much beyond the highest object of his creative skill, even though that is or might be one so gloriously endowed as Beethoven; it seemed strange that a thinking, intellectual being would grasp the less when he might lay hold on the greater. I glanced around on the gay, richly-dressed throng—pretty women in garments as harmonious in form and color almost as the music that was thrilling at least some of us; some of them fair enough, I fancied, to be walking in a better world than ours; then, by some strange freak of the imagination, I fell to thinking of the poverty and sorrow, and breaking hearts all about us, until the music seemed to change to a minor chord; and away back of all other sounds I seemed to hear the sob and moan of the dying and broken-hearted. Perhaps some new chord had been touched in my own heart that had never before responded to human things; for in spite of myself I sat and wept with a full, aching heart. I tried to shield my face with my fan and at last regained my composure, and tried, in sly fashion, to dry my eyes with the bit of lace I called my handkerchief, and which I found a very poor substitute for the substantial lawn hitherto used. At last I regained my composure sufficiently to look up, when I found Mr. Bovyer regarding me keenly. He glanced away, but after that his manner grew sympathetic, and on our way home he said,

"I am glad to know you can understand great musical conceptions."

"I found it very, very sad. I scarce ever realized how much pain there might be in this world, as for a little while I did to-night."

"The tears were sorrowful then, and not glad?" he said, gently.

"My tears are always that. I cannot conceive a joy so great as to make me weep."

"Your heart is not fully wakened yet, some day you will understand; but be thankful you can understand a part. Not many at your age feel the master's touch so keenly." When we said good-night, he asked permission to call next day. I waited for Mrs. Flaxman to reply, and turned to her, seeing she hesitated. She smiled and I could see answered for me.

"We shall be happy to see you. Mr. Winthrop receives his friends, I believe, to-morrow evening." As we went to our rooms she said:—"Won't it be wonderful if you have captivated Mr. Bovyer's heart?—I am sure Mr. Winthrop considered him a safe escort, so far as love entanglements were concerned."

"That old man thinking of love! He looks as if he thought much more of his dinner than anything else."

"Probably he does bestow some attention on it; but he is not old, at least not more than six and thirty. Beside he is a very clever man—a musical critic and good writer; in fact, one of Mr. Winthrop's most intimate friends."

"That, I presume, speaks volumes in his favor," I said, perhaps with a touch of sarcasm in my voice.

"Yes; Mr. Winthrop is an unerring judge of character; that is, of late years."

"Well, I would nearly as soon think of marrying Daniel Blake as this Mr. Bovyer. I have never been in love, but I have an idea what it is," I said, following Mrs. Flaxman to her room.

"But Mr. Bovyer might teach you. Did you ever read Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream?"

"Oh, yes; and of Titania and Bottom of course, but that was only a dream—Mr. Bovyer is a very solid reality. But I must not stay here gossiping. Mr. Winthrop will be waiting for my description of the music."

I slipped into my own room to lay aside my wraps, still smiling over Mrs. Flaxman's childish ideas respecting Mr. Bovyer in the role of a lover, and also a little troubled about the wording of the report I was expected to give. His smile would be more sarcastic than ever, if I confessed my tears; and, alas, I had but little other impression to convey of the majestic harmonies than one of profound sadness. I glanced into my mirror; the picture reflected back startled me. In the handsome gown, with the same gems that had once enhanced my mother's charms, the transformation wrought was considerable; but my eyes were shining with a deep, unusual brilliancy, and a new expression caused by the influences of the evening had changed my face almost beyond my own recognition. I went down to the parlor where I found Mr. Winthrop absorbed in his book. I stood near waiting for him to look, but he remained unconscious of my presence. I went to the fireside. On the mantle I noticed, for the first time, a bust of the great master whose music had just been echoing so mournfully in my ears. I took it in my hand and went nearer the light, soon as absorbed in studying the indrawn melancholy face as was my guardian over his book. When I looked at him his book was closed, and his eyes regarding me attentively.

"Do you recognize the face?"

"Oh, yes. I wonder he looks like other men."

"Why should he look differently?"

"Because he was different. I wonder what his thoughts were when he was writing that symphony?" I held the bust off reflectively.

"Did you enjoy your evening's entertainment?"

"Yes and no,—I wish you had been there, Mr. Winthrop. Please don't ask me to describe it."

"I will get a description of how you received it then from Bovyer—he could tell me better than you. He reads faces so well, I sometimes have a fear he sees too far beneath our mask."

"I don't want to see him any more then," I said impetuously.

"Why not?"

"I do not want my soul to be scrutinized by strange eyes, any more than you do, Mr. Winthrop."

"How do you know that I object?"

"Did you not say just now you had a fear he saw too deeply into us?"

"Possibly. I was speaking in a general way—meant humanity at large, rather than my own individual self."

"Would you care if I could see all the thoughts and secrets of your soul just at this moment, Mr. Winthrop?" I said, taking a step nearer, and looking intently into his eyes, which returned my look with one equally penetrating.

"No, Medoline. You, least of any one I know," he said, quietly. I looked at him with surprise—perhaps a trifle grieved.

"Does that offend you?" he asked after a pause.

"It wounds me; for I am your friend."

"I am glad of that, little one."

"Glad that you have given me pain?" I asked, with an odd feeling as if I wanted to burst into a fit of childish weeping.

He left his chair and came to my side.

"Why do you look so sorrowful, Medoline? I meant that it gave me pleasure that you were my friend. I did not think that you cared for me."

"I am surprised at myself for caring so much for you when you are so hard on me. I suppose it is because you are my guardian, and I have no one else, scarcely, to love." I was beginning to think I must either escape hastily to my room, or apply the bit of cobweb lace once more to my eyes, which, if I could judge from my feelings, would soon be saturated with my tears.

"I did not think I was hard on you," he said, gently. "I have been afraid lest I was humoring your whims too much; but unselfishness, and thought for the poor, have been such rare traits in the characteristics of my friends, I have not had a heart hard enough to interfere with your instincts."

Here was an entirely new revelation to me; I bethought me of Mrs. Flaxman's remark a short time before, and repeated it to him.

"I do not think I shall ever have paternal feelings towards you, Medoline, I am not old enough for that. Tell Mrs. Flaxman, if she speaks that way again, I am not anxious for her to fasten in your heart filial affection for me."

"But we may be just as much to each other as if you were my own father?" I pleaded.

"Quite as much," he said, with emphasis. I forgot my tears; for some way my heart had got so strangely light and glad, tears seemed an unnecessary incumbrance; and even the thought that had been awaked by the disturbing harmonies of Beethoven's majestic conceptions were folded peacefully away in their still depths again.



CHAPTER XIII.

ALONE WITH HIS DEAD.

At breakfast Mr. Winthrop was more insistent in his curiosity about the concert of the previous evening. Mrs. Flaxman assured him that we were all agreeably disappointed in our evening's entertainment.

"Mr. Bovyer was especially charmed with Medoline's appreciation of his favorite composer. He asked permission to call on her to-day."

He gave me a keen glance, saying: "I hope you did not grow too enthusiastic. One need not hang out a placard to prove we can comprehend the intricate and profound."

Mrs. Flaxman answered hastily for me.

"No, indeed; she was too quiet; and only Mr. Bovyer and myself detected the tears dropping behind her fan. But Mr. Bovyer seemed gratified at the meaning he read from them."

My face was burning; but after a few seconds' silence I stole a glance at Mr. Winthrop. He was apparently absorbed in his breakfast, and Beethoven's Symphonies were not mentioned in his presence until evening, when Mr. Bovyer, true to his appointment, sat chatting for two or three hours with Mr. Winthrop and his other guests. As usual, I sat a silent listener, comprehending readily a good many things that were said; but some of the conversation took me quite beyond my depth. I found Mr. Bovyer could grow eloquent over his favorite topics, which, from his phlegmatic appearance, surprised me. He seemed thoroughly acquainted with other subjects than music, and I noticed that even Mr. Winthrop listened to his remarks with deference. Before the evening closed Mr. Winthrop asked him for some music. He complied so readily that I fell to contrasting his unaffected manner with that of lady musicians who, as a rule, take so much coaxing to gratify their friends' desire for music, and their own vanity at the same time. I noticed Mr. Winthrop settling back into his favorite position in his arm-chair—his head thrown back and eyes closed. Mrs. Flaxman took up her fan and held it as if shielding her eyes from the light. I discovered afterward it was merely a pretext to conceal the emotion Mr. Bovyer usually awakened when she listened to his music.

His first touch on the piano arrested me, and I turned around to watch his face. I recognized the air—the opening passage from Haydn's Creation. I was soon spellbound, as were all the rest. Mrs. Flaxman laid down her fan; there were no melting passages to bring tears in this symphony, descriptive of primeval darkness, and confusion of the elements, the evil spirits hurrying away from the glad, new light into their native regions of eternal night—the thunder and storm and elemental terrors. Presently I turned to Mr. Winthrop. He was sitting erect in his chair, his eyes no longer closed in languorous enjoyment; when suddenly the measure changed to that delicious passage descriptive of the creation of birds. Mr. Bovyer's voice was a trifle too deep and powerful for the air, but it was sympathetic and rarely musical.

He ended as abruptly as he began and glided off into one of those old English glees,—"Hail, Smiling Morn."

Presently turning around he asked: "Are you tired?"

"We have failed to take note of the flight of time; pray go on," Mr. Winthrop urged.

"What do you say, Miss Selwyn?"

"I would like if you could make Mr. Winthrop cry. If you tried very hard, you might touch his fountain of tears."

"Bravo! I will try," he exclaimed amid the general laugh. He touched the keys, and then pausing a moment, left the instrument.

"I am not in the mood to-night for such a difficult task. I may make the attempt some stormy winter's night at Oaklands. I believe I have a standing invitation there," he said, joining us around the fire.

Mr. Winthrop threw me an amazed look, but instantly recovering himself he said heartily:—"The invitation holds good during the term of our natural lives. The sooner it is accepted the more delighted we shall be."

Mr. Bovyer bowed his thanks, and coming to my side asked if I would care to attend another concert the following evening.

"It depends on what the music is to be. I am not so sensitive as Mr. Winthrop to a few false notes now and then. The composer has more power to give me pain than the performers, I believe."

"I should say, then, that your comprehension of music was more subtle than his."

"I do not pretend to compare myself with Mr. Winthrop in any way. It would be like the minnow claiming fellowship with the leviathan."

Mr. Winthrop suggested very politely:—

"Humility is becoming until it grows abject."

"Your guardian is an incorrigible bachelor. Ladies do not get the slightest mercy from him," Mr. Bovyer remarked.

"I have ceased to look for any," I said, with an evenness of voice that surprised me.

"I am glad to find myself in such good company," Mr. Winthrop said, with a graceful bend of the head, which included each of his guests in the list of single blessed ones.

"Are you all going to be old bachelors?" I asked, forgetting myself in the surprise of the moment.

"I am not aware that we are all irrevocably committed to that terrible fate," Mr. Bovyer said, as he united in the general smile at my expense.

"It might be more terrible for some of your wives than if you remained single. I think some persons are fore-ordained to live single." I looked steadily in the fire lest my eyes might betray too much.

"Do you imagine those blighted lives are confined solely to one sex?" Mr. Winthrop blandly inquired.

"Oh, no; nature does not confine her oddities to one sex; but a woman can better conceal the lack of a human heart and sympathies."

"You mean they are better actresses?"

"Yes, I think so."

"I must tell you, gentlemen, this little ward of mine is a natural philanthropist. You would be amazed to see how she sympathizes with widows and the broken-hearted of both sexes. I have been forced to limit her charities to a certain yearly amount lest her husband may one day call me to account for her wasted means."

"It is the most beautiful trait in womankind." Mr. Bovyer responded, heartily, just as a passionate retort had sprung to my lips. The second's interruption gave me time to regain my self-control; but the color flamed over brow and cheek as I rose and walked to the farther end of the room and stood turning over the leaves of a book lying on the table. I could still hear what was said and was surprised that Mr. Winthrop turned the conversation so cleverly into other channels. It was growing late, and before long the guests retired. Mr. Bovyer, as he shook hands with me, said: "You have not answered my question yet. Will you come to the Philharmonic to-morrow evening?"

I looked to Mr. Winthrop for a reply.

"I think you must deny yourself that pleasure, as we shall probably go home to-morrow."

"So soon?" I asked with surprise.

"The time I limited myself to expired yesterday. We can return this winter, and complete any unfinished business or pleasure that you now leave undone."

"My business is finished. It happens to be a pleasure to return to Oaklands."

I murmured my thanks to Mr. Bovyer, and withdrew the hand he was still holding.

When we were at last alone, Mrs. Flaxman drew her chair near the fire and settling back comfortably as if she were in no hurry to retire, said very seriously:—"This is unexpected—our going home to-morrow."

"I am afraid Bovyer is about making an ass of himself. Strange what weaknesses come over strong men sometimes! He was the last I should have expected such a thing from," Mr. Winthrop said.

"Was it fear of this that sends you home so abruptly?" Mrs. Flaxman asked, with a look of amusement.