Unlike many people similarly endowed, she did not exercise this wonderful gift for the brutal purpose of putting down feebler intellects, but only to elicit TRUTH, which she often declared to be the sole object of her existence. When, by her alliance with Mr. Slapman, a thrifty speculator in real estate, she was installed as mistress of a fine house and furniture, and a few thousand a year, the lady naturally gathered about her a still larger circle of admirers. Her researches for TRUTH were met halfway by people that were supposed to deal in that article, abstractly considered; such as poets, painters, sculptors, reformers, inventors. Anybody with a new idea was sure to be understood and encouraged by her. Her fondness for new ideas was as keen as an entomologist's for new bugs or butterflies.

Mrs. Slapman had not made the mistake of neglecting her physical and perishable charms in deference to her intellectual and immortal nature. She was twenty-four years old, and had clear, sparkling eyes, a fresh complexion, good teeth, rich, heavy hair, and a substantial figure. The pursuit of TRUTH did not disagree with her health.

Mrs. Slapman bustled out of the little knot of persons about her, and advanced in a frank, hearty way to meet her visitors. To Mr. Quigg she nodded patronizingly, as to one whom she had long known to be guiltless of new ideas; but to the strangers who sought her society, she addressed a cordial smile.

Mr. Quigg, having performed his office, judiciously stepped aside, and left the honors and burdens of conversation with the three friends.

Matthew Maltboy, with the rashness of youth, opened the verbal engagement, by remarking that it was a fine day.

This wretched conventionalism was met by a "Very," so obviously sarcastic, that Marcus Wilkeson decided not to utter a remark which was at that moment on his lips.

At this embarrassing juncture, Fayette Overtop came to the rescue. "As we alighted from our sleigh, Mrs. Slapman, I noticed how firmly the snow at the edge of the street was pressed down by the feet of the hundreds who have called on you; and I could not but think how truly that white surface, upon which the prints of so many boots were beautifully blended, typified the purity of the motives which brought the owners of those boots to your door."

"A most original and charming remark!" said Mrs. Slapman. "I must repeat it to Chickson. The author of 'A Snowflake's Lament' will appreciate that felicitous observation. You have heard of Chickson?"

Mr. Overtop read new books, magazines, literary papers, in considerable quantities, but did not remember to have ever met with the name. Speaking upon impulse, and to avoid explanation, however, he said:

"Oh, yes—certainly, but have not the pleasure of his acquaintance."

"You should know each other," said Mrs. Slapman. "Excuse me a minute." She ran with girlish haste to the other end of the parlors, and brought back an undersized young man. When he had been introduced to Overtop, and shaken hands with him, the enthusiastic hostess quoted, somewhat imperfectly, the beautiful conceit which Overtop had just uttered, and remarked that it would be a capital subject for a poem.

Mr. Chickson turned his eyes upward to the ceiling, and then downward to the floor, as if he were committing what he had heard to memory, and then said it was very curious, but he had thought of the same theme before, and was intending to write a poem on it next week.

"Now, that's just like you, you provoking creature!" said Mrs. Slapman, tapping the poet playfully with her fan. "It's really selfish of you to keep all your poetical thoughts for your poems."

Mr. Chickson smiled pleasantly, but said nothing; and when Mrs. Slapman's attention was momentarily attracted by a passing remark from another person, the poet improved the opportunity to slip away and take another glass of champagne in the corner.

"Ah! gone, is he?" said Mrs. Slapman, remarking his disappearance. "Though one of the most promising of our young poets, he is dull enough in conversation. It may be said of him, as of Goldsmith, 'He writes like an angel, but talks like poor Poll.' You may have read his poem, 'Echoes of the Empyrean,' published in the Weekly Lotus."

Mr. Overtop was wicked enough to say that he had read and admired it.

"It is a curious fact in the history of the poem, that the subtle thoughts which it evolves were the topic of discussion at one of my conversazioni; and on that very night Chickson told me he had forty-five lines written on the subject. The knowledge of that trifling circumstance lends additional interest to the poem."

"That is, if anything could lend additional interest to it," observed Overtop.

"You are right," said Mrs. Slapman. "TRUTH, like that which animates every line of the 'Empyrean,' needs no factitious attractions. You have read the 'Empyrean?'"—turning to Wilkeson and Maltboy, who had stood hard by during this conversation, calm patterns of politeness.

Mr. Wilkeson, not understanding the question (his thoughts wandering back to the pale mechanic and his child), nodded "Yes," and was immediately put down on Mrs. Slapman's mental tablet as a quiet gentleman of good taste. But Matthew Maltboy, distinctly understanding it, was candid enough to say "No," and from that moment was as nothing in the eyes of the lady.

Overtop proceeded to deepen the favorable impression which he had made upon this charming patroness of intellect.

"Did it ever occur to you how many subjects for the highest order of poetry lie unnoticed all about us? Take that chandelier, for example, the prismatic drops of which are dull in the shade, but sparkle with all the colors of the rainbow in the gaslight. Might not those hidden splendors be compared to that genius whose brilliancy is alone evoked by Beauty's radiant smile?"

Marcus Wilkeson squirmed, and Matthew Maltboy felt uneasy, while their friend was delivering this elaborate idea, and felt easier when he reached the end in safety. Mr. Overtop himself shared in the sensation of relief.

"Beautiful! beautiful!" cried Mrs. Slapman, in a species of rapture. "I must repeat that delicious thought to Chickson. But not now." And she looked inquiringly at Overtop, as if in expectation that he would utter another new TRUTH immediately. That gentleman not happening to have one on his tongue's end, Mrs. Slapman was kind enough to give him time for reflection.



CHAPTER X.

INFIRMITIES OF GENIUS.

"Allow me to point out some of my friends, Mr. Overtop. Among them are faces which you may have seen. If not, you will at least recognize several of the names."

"But I must protest that I am monopolizing too much of your time, madam," interposed Overtop, conscious that his neglected friends were looking on awkwardly, and waiting for him.

"And I protest against your protesting," said Mrs. Slapman, with a merry laugh. So saying, she motioned him to one of the front windows, and, under the shade of heavy blue and gold curtains, commenced to point out notable guests.

Mr. Overtop observed, first with regret and then with pride, that their withdrawal into a corner elicited looks of surprise and curiosity, not unmingled with envy, from the little group that hovered about the refreshment table, and drank Mrs. Slapman's fine wines, and laughed and joked together. He was glad to see that his two friends sauntered through the parlors, examining the pictures and articles of taste which caught the eye on every side; and that Mr. Quigg was engrossed in the examination of some books on a centre table, opening them, and smoothing their fair pages with his hand as if they were ledgers.

"You see that stout man with the double chin—the one drinking champagne, to the left of the table? That is Mr. Scrymser, a gentleman who has made several aeronautic excursions, and talked about a balloon voyage to Europe last year. You may remember his portrait, and plans of his air ship, in the illustrated papers."

"I do," said Overtop; "and also that he didn't go." "Precisely. Some trouble about the currents, I believe. You note that small man, with the sharp face—the one sipping a glass, to the right of the table? That is Mr. Boskirk, inventor of the 'Submarine Summer House,' a species of diving bell, which is to be owned and managed by a Joint-Stock Company. I have promised to take a few shares in the concern."

"Excuse the digression, madam," said Overtop, "but ought not these two gentlemen to change places in life? Is not the heavy one peculiarly adapted to the diving bell, and the light one to the balloon?"

Mrs. Slapman smiled, and looked faintly surprised, as if the remark were unworthy of her guest. "Probably you know that gentleman under the picture of a landscape, talking very earnestly to another gentleman, who seems to want to be getting away."

"The man with the long, curly, red hair? I know his face well, and, though I have no further knowledge of him, am morally certain that he is a social reformer."

"Why?" asked Mrs. Slapman.

"Because I never saw a man with long, curly, red hair, who was not a social reformer. Men with red hair—the true carrot tint, I mean—have a natural propensity for reform. Some of them repress it, but others give rein to their inclinations, go into the reform business, and hang out their curls as a sign to all mankind. And all mankind interpret it as readily as they do the striped pole in front of a barber's shop."

"A striking thought, truly, and full of TRUTH," said Mrs. Slapman. "I will mention it to Mr. Gormit. On reflection, however, I won't. I might wound his feelings, for he is an exquisitely sensitive creature. As you have ingeniously discovered, he is a social reformer. At present he is only known to the public as the editor of the 'Humanitarian Harbinger;' but his select circle of friends are well aware that he is devoting his ripened genius to the production of a work called the 'Progressional Principia,' which will be in four volumes, and exhaust the whole subject of social science. This immense undertaking is a favorite subject of his ordinary conversation. He is probably, at this very moment, giving a general outline of the book to that gentleman on his right.

"That slender young man with the Vandyke beard, cutting into a cake, you may not need to be told, is Patching, the painter of those delicious interiors which have been seen every year by those who had eyes to find them, in obscure corners at the rooms of the National Academy of Design. In short, Patching is the subject of a conspiracy in which the Hanging Committee is implicated. But though professional envy may place his works in the worst possible light, and for some time cast a shadow over his prospects, an independent public taste will ultimately appreciate his genius. Mark the melancholy that overspreads his features, as he tastes that glass of sherry. Next to TRUTH, melancholy is the chief characteristic of his style. In a miniature portrait which he painted of me, last year, and which is regarded as a capital likeness, he introduced a shade of sadness, which is, at least, not habitual with me."

Mr. Overtop hastened to say, that of that fact he needed no assurance.

"Without giving a minute account of all my guests, I may say generally, that they include novelists, dramatists, actors, and musicians. Some you may know by sight. The acquaintance of all you may make at a future time."

At this strong hint, Mr. Overtop replied, that he should be only too happy. He had by this time come to the conclusion that there never was a more candid and delightful widow than Mrs. Slapman; and, furthermore, that she was that rarity—a sensible woman—of which he had been so long in search. Mr. Overtop mentally hugged himself.

"By the way, sir—you will pardon the impertinence of the question—but to what profession do you belong?"

"I am a lawyer, madam," said he, fearful that the announcement would not be well received. "Fayette Overtop, firm of Overtop & Maltboy."

Mrs. Slapman mused a moment, and said:

"It is a little singular, that, among my large collection—I mean circle—of friends, there shouldn't be a single lawyer."

"As I am a single lawyer, Mrs. Slapman, it is within my power to supply that deficiency among those who are honored with your friendship." Mr. Overtop thought, with some reason, as he finished this remark, that he had never said a better thing in his life.

Mrs. Slapman's severe taste rejected Overtop's pun, but not himself, and she was about to say that she should put him on the list for her next conversazione, when another awkward interruption occurred, in this wise:

Signor Mancussi was a gentleman with an Italian name and a perfect knowledge of English, who sang bass parts in a church up town, and enjoyed the reputation of having personated the chief Druid in Norma, at an early period of the New York opera. M. Bartin played one of numerous violins at the Academy of Music, and was believed to be kept down only by a powerful combination. Three months before this New Year's day, both of these gentlemen had volunteered their services, in company with many other musical people, to give a grand concert in aid of a benevolent enterprise. To M. Bartin, as a man supposed to know something of sharp management, from his connection with the opera, was intrusted the supreme control of the whole affair. It is due to M. Bartin to say, that he tried to perform his laborious duties faithfully and with perfect justice to his associates.

When, therefore, in ordering the printing of the gigantic posters which heralded the concert, he directed his own name to be placed at the head of the "eminent artists who had offered their services for the occasion," and in type half as large again as any of the rest, he only expressed a conscientious opinion of his superiority over all of them. In this opinion his associates happened to disagree with him, each one claiming that himself, and nobody else, was entitled to typographical precedence.

Most keenly was the alleged injustice felt by Signer Mancussi, who stood at the foot of the sloping list in letters less than an inch long; and he had made a solemn vow to revenge himself on M. Bartin the first time that they met after the concert. Their simultaneous appearance at Mrs. Slapman's was that time. M. Bartin had been privately informed of the Signer's intentions, and regretted that that gentleman's ridiculous vanity should get the better of his judgment. Seeing him at Mrs. Slapman's, M. Bartin avoided the Signer's presence, fearing they might come into a collision disgraceful to the time and the place. The Signer, for the same considerate reasons, kept shy of M. Bartin. After dodging each other for a long time, they were at last brought, by accident, face to face. M. Bartin was calm. Signor Mancussi tried to be tranquil, but those small, lean black letters at the foot of the list rose vividly to his mind; and, before he could check himself, he had whispered, or hissed, between his set teeth, the word,

"SCOUNDREL!"

M. Bartin was taken unawares, but had sufficient presence of mind to reply, "You're another," in a whisper, low, but freighted with meaning.

Whereupon the Signor responded, also under his breath, "You're no gentleman." To this assertion, M. Bartin answered, with masterly irony, "And you are a gentleman, now, a'n't you?"

Up to this point the controversy had been pleasantly conducted in whispers, and was unnoticed by the bystanders; but M. Bartin's last insinuation had the strange effect of maddening the Signor still more. He lost his self-control, and said, in an audible voice:

"You're only a scraper of catgut, anyhow."

M. Bartin, also oblivious of the proprieties, retorted, louder still:

"And what are you but an infernal screech owl?"

Cries of "Hallo!" "What's the row?" "Hush!" and "For shame!" rose from all parts of the room, and the two musical gentlemen, conscious that they had grossly misconducted themselves, stepped back a yard from each other, and were immediately surrounded by several friends, and kindly told that they were a pair of fools.

Mrs. Slapman and Overtop rushed to the spot. The latter measured the two combatants with his eye, to see if he could safely undertake to pitch both, or either of them, out of the room, if requested so to do by the widow, and concluded that he could not.

Mrs. Slapman was much embarrassed by this painful outbreak. It was only three weeks ago that M. Bartin had dedicated a new quadrille to her; and but a fortnight since Signor Mancussi had sung four operatic airs gratuitously at one of her musical and dramatic soirees. But respect for herself and for her guests—especially for Mr. Overtop, of whose talents she had formed an exalted opinion—pointed out her path of duty, and she followed it. She stepped between the two disputants, and cast a look of surprise and regret at each.

"I was hasty," said Signor Mancussi.

"And I was too impulsive," said M. Bartin.

"Then, gentlemen, if you would merit my continued friendship, please make up your little difference, by shaking hands."

They recoiled from the proposition a moment, but, being pushed together by their respective friends from behind, took each other's right hand, shook it once feebly, and said distinctly, with their eyes, "We shall meet again!"

"Very well done," said Mrs. Slapman, with the air of an empress, tempered by a charming smile. "And let us hope that is the end of it. Now, Mr. Overtop, allow me to offer you some refreshment."

Mrs. Slapman was in the act of handing a glass of champagne to the favored Overtop, when an unearthly shriek was heard, which startled the steadiest nerves. This shriek was repeated three times in quick succession, and seemed to come from the sidewalk in front of the house. There was a general rush to the window; but Wilkeson, Overtop, Maltboy, and Quigg ran for the street at once, surmising the source of the cry.

There stood Captain Tonkins, in the sleigh, leaning against the dashboard, holding in one hand an empty jug, and in the other his whip. Around the sleigh were a dozen men and boys, who had been convoked by the cry of "FELL' CITIZENS!" More men and more boys were seen coming in the distance.

As the four lessees of the sleigh approached him, the Captain again yelled, "FELL' CITIZENS!"

"For heaven's sake, stop, Captain!" cried Quigg.

A smile of contempt played upon the Captain's large lips, as, shaking his whip defiantly at the agitated group, he shouted:

"I—I know ye. Don' think I doknowye. You're Mulcahy men, ev' moth's sonofye; and you've come to this 'ere meet'n' to put down free-ee-dom of speech. But yer carndoit. 'Peat it, yer ca-arn-doit. I d'fy ye. I d'fy ye."

The Captain was a powerful man; and Quigg, as well as his companions, singly and collectively, shrank from trying physical persuasion on him. Besides, a crowd of people had gathered, who were greatly enjoying the scene, and desiring its continuance for an indefinite period.

"FELL' CITIZENS!" continued the Captain, "now these vile tools o' Mulca-a-hy silenced, warntellye I'm can'date School 'Spector in this ward. Fuss place, I'm only reg'l can'date. Secun' place, I feel great int'st mor'l wants of all your chi-i-ld'n, Masay they are my own child'n, Go'bless'em. Third place, my dear FELL' CIT'Z'NS, if yer'll jess step in ter Phil Rooney's 'fore ye vote, yer'll find some whi-i-sky there; and that—that's bess arg'ment, after all."

Having reached the logical end of the first and last speech ever made in public by Captain Tonkins, the Captain tumbled out of his sleigh, and sprawled upon the snow; whereat the bystanders shouted for joy, and the widow Slapman and two large windows full of guests shook with laughter.

"'S pla-at-form fall'n'?" asked the Captain.

"Yes," replied one of the citizens, humoring the idea; "the platform gave way, and you tumbled to the ground."

"I—I'no' who di't," resumed the Captain. "Them Mulca'men. They saw-awed posts." Here the Captain descried two widow Slapmans smiling on him from a window, and gallantly kissed his hand at them.

His heavy body was tumbled into the rear of the sleigh, a buffalo robe thrown over it, and Captain Tonkins was then unconsciously borne toward the bosom of his family, in Minetta lane (a friend officiating as driver), amid the cheers of his late audience.

The three bachelors were satiated with their day's experiences. They raised their hats to Mrs. Slapman, still laughing at the window, and walked smartly home. Mr. Quigg, deriving much comfort from the thought that Captain Tonkins had not been paid for his sleigh, and would not be, hastened to a neighboring stable, hired the only remaining team, and continued his round of calls, giving one minute to each.



BOOK SECOND.

POLISHING.



CHAPTER I.

THE ENIGMA.

Marcus Wilkeson's new acquaintance throve rapidly. Mr. Minford's dealings with the world had made him shy and suspicious, and he was at first disposed to keep his benevolent visitor at a safe business distance. But the heart of the thoughtful mechanic could not long resist the kind and earnest sympathy of the man who sought to be his friend.

With a caution born of experience, however, Mr. Minford, before admitting the new guest to his full confidence, called upon a number of Wall street brokers and South street merchants, to whom Marcus had referred him, and learned from them that that gentleman bore a reputation of the rarest honor and purity of character. While giving this united testimony, however, they all agreed in condemning Mr. Wilkeson's eccentricity—insanity, one broker called it—in retiring from business at the very moment when he was most successful, and had a great fortune within easy reach. The fact that he had retired with one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, instead of mitigating his offence in the eyes of those critics, increased it. "Why," said a noted bear, "with that amount of capital, and Wilkeson's first-rate talents—when he chose to use them—he might have become the king of Wall street. It's a pity so smart a fellow should make a wreck of himself." And the bear heaved a sigh of commiseration; which was by no means echoed by Mr. Minford, who gathered, from all this evidence, an increased esteem for his benefactor.

From the time when he first crossed the threshold of the house on his mission of mercy, Pet had looked upon him with the deepest reverence. She had read, in story books, of mysterious gentlemen who went about doing good merely for the pleasure of it, and who always reached the scene of distress with fairy-like certainty, when everybody and everything would have gone to ruin without them. Such a strange, supernatural embodiment of goodness seemed Marcus Wilkeson to her childish fancy. When he entered the room—and he was an every-day caller now—she looked around with great anxiety to see that all the chairs were in their proper places; that there was no dirt or dust visible anywhere; that everything was in a state of order and cleanliness worthy so exalted a guest.

She would run to take his overcoat and hat and cane, and place them as carefully in the clothes press as if they had been the robe, crown, and sceptre of a king. Then she would sit in her little chair, and take her sewing, or knitting, or embroidery, and pretend to be all absorbed in it, while she was listening eagerly to every word that Marcus addressed to her father, and occasionally looked up at the face of their guest, and thought how noble it was, and how proud she should be to call him uncle.

When he spoke to her, as he often did, and asked her about her work, or her companions, or her studies (upon the latter subject he had grown quite curious, of late), she would feel that she was blushing, and answer, with downcast eyes, and be half glad and half sorry when he ceased to question her, and would then sit and torment herself by recalling what she had said, and thinking how much it might have been improved.

A sharp-eyed observer, had such been present, accustomed to studying the human face and weighing motives, would have been puzzled to guess the exact nature of the feelings which Marcus entertained for the pretty, innocent young creature who sat there, always plying her little fingers at some useful work. The puzzle would have been a still greater one for Mr. Wilkeson himself. He felt a profound interest in Pet; and she it was, and not the pale mechanic or his novel machine, that led him daily up those three flights of rickety stairs to that humble room. He said to himself, and he would have said to anybody who was entitled to call upon him for an explanation, that he had always loved children, and that the beauty and goodness of this child had deeply interested him. If there was any other motive at the bottom of his heart, he studiously concealed it from himself, as he would have concealed it from all the world.

During these visits, Mr. Minford pursued his work without interruption. The screens, which were at first jealously closed, were now thrown open, and the inventor sat there in full sight of his visitor, laboring at his great mechanical problem. Repeatedly he had begged of Marcus the privilege of explaining to him the principles of the machine; but that gentleman had always resolutely declined, for the reasons before stated. And he had always observed that, a few moments after such refusal, the face of the inventor would brighten up, as if with joy that he had not parted with his secret even to one who held a fifth interest in it.

Of the wonderful results which the machine was sure to accomplish, Mr. Minford was never tired of talking, nor Mr. Wilkeson of hearing, although, at these times, his eyes followed the flying motions of Pet's fingers, as if they were a part of the wonder of which the inventor discoursed so glowingly.

Precisely what the machine was to effect, when completed, Marcus Wilkeson would never have known, if he had been the most attentive of listeners. Mr. Minford spoke in vague, general terms, that afforded no clue to the mystery. He talked of old philosophers and mechanicians, who had failed to discover an unnamed secret of Nature, because they had no faith in its existence. Complete faith in the existence of the thing to be discovered, as well as in the ability of the searcher to find it, he regarded as indispensable conditions of an inventor's success.

The fact that the natural law which he was trying to demonstrate had been pronounced an impossibility by professors of science, should weigh as nothing in the mind of any man who remembered how every great invention of the age had in turn been stamped "impossible" by those dogmatizers in their academical chairs, their books, and their reviews. Latterly (Mr. Minford confessed), the scientific theorists had been more tolerant toward other people's inventions (they never invent anything themselves); but with regard to the one upon which he was now engaged, they had, with complete unanimity, decided that the thing could not be done, and charitably called every man an idiot or a lunatic who attempted to do it.

"The world has at last fallen into this belief," Mr. Minford would say, bitterly, "and the few people with whom I am acquainted would all agree in echoing these scientific opinions, if they knew what I am working at. But no one shall know—excepting you, Mr. Wilkeson, to whom I should be most happy to explain everything, if you would only let me. This prejudice is too deep rooted to be readily pulled up. Even when my invention is perfected, and has entered upon its boundless career of usefulness, I know that it will be called a humbug; that people will look at it, and see it in operation, and still say it is a lie. Yet the time will come when the professors of science will feel proud to expound, by formulas, the very invention which they have shown, by formulas, to be an absolute contradiction of all the laws of Nature. As for the rabble who make up the world (the inventor's lips curled as he said this), they will be glad to atone for the mad hue-and-cry with which they will follow me at first, by giving me, at last, limitless wealth and immortal fame."

Mr. Minford's eyes flashed; and Marcus Wilkeson, looking up at them from Pet's volant fingers, saw in their sudden glare what he took to be the evidence of genius; but what, in an ordinary man, he would have called a decided symptom of insanity.



CHAPTER II.

A DELICATE PROPOSITION.

One afternoon—when Mr. Minford was in excellent humor, having made a great discovery in the course of his experiments the previous night—Marcus thought it a good opportunity to propose something that had been on his mind for a week past.

"Mr. Minford," he said, "will you excuse me for meddling a little in your household affairs?"

"Not if you offer me any more kindness," returned the inventor, smiling gratefully at his guest. "I am too much in your debt already."

"But you forget that I hold an interest in your invention, which you would make me take. I consider that more than payment in full."

"So you have confidence in my success?"

"You have begun to inspire me with it, I confess," replied Marcus, indulging in a little unavoidable flattery. "But—but it was not to you that I was about to offer any kindness," he continued, emphasizing the personal pronoun, and looking hard at Pet, who bent patiently over her work, and began to blush in anticipation that her name would be mentioned, Mr. Minford raised his eyes from a ratchet which he was finishing in a vice, and glanced with curiosity at the speaker.

"Do you not think, sir, that your daughter might profitably spare a few hours every day toward the completion of her education? You have told me that her studies were interrupted by a change in your circumstances, some years ago."

"Certainly she might," answered the inventor, "and I thank you for the suggestion. This machine has so completely engaged my thoughts, that I had quite lost sight of the dear girl's education. I should say, however, that I have been expecting at any moment to put the finishing touch on my invention, the very first profits of which I shall spend in employing a dozen teachers, if need be, for my little Pet. She shall be an educated lady, if money can make her so. Sha'n't you, Pet?"

The young girl's fingers twinkled faster at her work. "I hope so, father," said she.

"But, Mr. Minford, it is possible—barely possible, you know—that your invention may not be completed, nor money be realized from it, for many months; perhaps one or two years. Suppose—only suppose, of course—your triumph to be postponed for even one year; your daughter will then be one year older, and less fitted to acquire the accomplishments which you desire her to possess, than she now is. Pardon the suggestion, if it is an obtrusive one. I plead the sincere interest which I take in you and her as my only excuse."

"No apology is needed, my dear sir," replied the inventor "I know and appreciate your thoughtful kindness toward us; and I consider your advice most excellent, especially as I intend to travel in Europe, and take out patents for my invention there. It would be desirable to have my Pet learn French, and also to improve her knowledge of music. You understand the English branches pretty well, I believe, my dear. Let me see—how long is it since you left school?"

"Three years, pa."

"True! true!" said the inventor, sadly. "It was when our troubles first began, and I found it necessary to economize. But I did very wrong to take you from school at that time."

"You forget, pa," replied his daughter, in a sweet, chiding voice. "You wanted me to go on with my studies, but I said that you must save the tuition money, and let me learn to keep house. Don't you remember, pa?"

"Yes, child; I remember. And I was selfish enough to allow you to make the sacrifice. But you shall have schooling to your heart's content now, whether you will or not. I agree with our dear friend, that no time should be lost in resuming your education. I shall insist upon setting apart two hundred dollars for that purpose. Enough money will still be left to perfect my invention; and that, too, within a month, notwithstanding" (he added, playfully) "Mr. Wilkeson's discouraging remarks a moment ago."

"And I shall insist upon not taking the money, pa," said Pet, laughing, but shaking her head, and patting her feet on the floor in the most decisive manner.

"And I shall insist on furnishing the money," said Marcus Wilkeson, folding his arms, and looking very much in earnest. "Let us see who can be obstinate the longest."

"Then I shall insist on your taking another fifth interest in the invention. Upon that point I am immovable." Mr. Minford folded his arms likewise, to imply that nothing could shake his granitic determination.

"Ah, now I see some prospect of a friendly arrangement. I will pay five hundred dollars for another fifth, and esteem it a good bargain, provided your daughter consents to let one half of it be spent on her education. What do you say to that, Pet?"

"That I thank you very much for your kind offer," said the young girl, whose eyes sparkled with gratitude; "but I must not accept it. Pa will need all the money he can get to finish his work. I know it."

Marcus and the father exchanged pleasant looks, and the former said, with an ill-assumed sternness:

"Then I don't advance another cent to him. I have named my conditions, and they must be accepted. You have no idea, Pet, what a tremendously obstinate fellow I am when I'm roused."

Nobody could have gathered the idea from his intensely amiable face at that moment.

"I see, my dear, that we must yield to this determined man," said Mr. Minford, winking at Marcus. "We shall never have any peace with him until we do."

"You know best, pa," returned his daughter, who shrank timidly from any further discussion with their guest.

Marcus Wilkeson was delighted with the perfect confidence which father and child reposed in him. "Now that this little matter is happily settled," said he, "I must tell you that I have already taken the liberty of selecting a school for her."

"How can we ever repay your goodness?" said Mr. Minford.

"It is situated only two blocks away," pursued Marcus.

"Capital!" cried Mr. Minford; "for then she will never be far from home."

"And if you want me at any time, pa, you can send for me, and I can be here in a moment," said Pet. "It will be so delightful!"

"It is a private school, and, if your daughter prefers, she can be taught separately from the other pupils. Miss Pillbody, the teacher, tells me that she can give her an hour and a half in the morning, before ten o'clock, and half an hour in the afternoon, after four o'clock."

"That will suit me exactly, pa," cried Pet, clapping her hands with glee; "because then I can get your breakfast, dinner, and supper, and do all the housework, without any interruption in my studies."

"Miss Pillbody thought the arrangement would suit you. She is a perfectly competent teacher of French, Italian, the English branches, music, drawing, the dead languages, and higher mathematics—quite a prodigy, I assure you, for a lady not yet twenty-two years old." (Marcus was addressing the father.) "I have been particular in my inquiries, and all who know her speak in the highest terms of her remarkable attainments, her ability to teach others, and her goodness of heart. Your daughter will like her, without doubt."

"I know I shall," said Pet, with enthusiasm. "There are so many things that I will learn, pa. First, music—"

"She has a fine piano, and plays splendidly," remarked the guest. "I heard her."

"And French and Italian, to please you, pa—that is, if I can learn them—and everything else that the lady will teach me. I shall be so happy, sir."

The father and the guest smiled at the zeal with which this young beginner proposed to grapple with the difficulties of human knowledge. It was fortunate for her that a long series of hard and injudicious teachers had not already sickened her of learning, and that she brought a fresh and uncorrupted taste to the work.

Pet was thinking which one of her two dresses (equally faded) she should wear to school, and what bit of ribbon or trimming she could introduce in her old bonnet, to improve its general effect. Marcus Wilkeson was marvelling at the confidence which the inventor and his daughter placed in him, and at what there was about him to inspire it. Mr. Minford was congratulating himself on having met with a man so generous and sincere as this Mr. Wilkeson, and so entirely disinterested, too: "For," reasoned the inventor, "he cannot appreciate, as I do, the enormous value of my discovery, and does not dream that his portion of it will compensate him for his outlay more than a hundred times over."

The silence was broken by a sound as of heavy boots trying to move softly on the stairs, and a subsequent modest rap at the door.



CHAPTER III.

AN AUXILIARY OF MODERN CIVILIZATION.

The boy Bog rapped, and entered. He was more neatly dressed than when Marcus saw him on the occasion of his first visit. His patched and threadbare coat was replaced by a neat roundabout jacket; his greasy, visorless cap, by a flat felt hat, of which the brim was symmetrically turned up; his tattered shoes by great cowhide boots. The boy was of that age when the human frame grows with vegetable-like rapidity; and he seemed to hare increased a little all around within three weeks.

The boy looked distressingly awkward in his new articles of attire. Had he stolen them, he could not have appeared more guilty in presence of the rightful owner.

"Why, Bog!" said Mr. Minford, reproachfully; "where have you been these three weeks? Not called to see us once!"

The boy's confusion increased at this unexpected salutation, and he hung down his head at the threshold of the door. Mr. Minford partly reassured his bashful visitor, by springing forward, shaking him heartily by the hand, and saying, with earnestness, "My good lad, I am always glad to see you." Pet was also by his side in an instant, and warmly shaking the other hand. "You look real nice, Bog," said she. Mr. Wilkeson also came forward, and said, "Don't you remember me, Bog?" and clasped him by the right hand when the inventor had relinquished It.

Bog bowed and scraped and blushed, and murmured "Thank you, very well," several times, confusedly, and at last settled down into a chair which was pushed under him by Pet. Having crossed his legs, he began to feel a little more at ease.

"You've been very busy of late, haven't you, Bog?" asked Pet, charitably anticipating an excuse for the boy's long absence.

"You'd better believe it," replied Bog, not looking at her, but studying the pattern of his left boot. "The day after I called here last, Mr. Fink he got a job to stick up bills for a new hair dye, all the way from here to Dunkirk, on the Erie Railroad. Well, he couldn't go, cos he had lots o' city posting, ye see; so he hires me to do it for ten dollars a week and expenses. The pay was good, he said, because the work was extry hard. The bills was to be posted on new whitewashed fences, new houses, and places generally where there was signs up telling people not to 'post no bills.'"

"That was a singular direction, Bog," said Mr. Minford.

"So I told Mr. Fink," replied the boy; "but he said as how them were the hair-dye man's orders. He said the idea was to make folks look at bills who wouldn't notice 'em if they was on a place all covered over with adv'tisements. They was to be posted up high and strong, so that the owner of the property couldn't tear 'em down easy. Mr. Fink thought the idea was a good one; but he owned it was a little risky."

"Perhaps that is why he didn't care to do it himself," suggested Marcus Wilkeson.

"Mebbe," said Bog; "but I didn't consider it no objection. I told him I was goin' to be a bill poster, and wanted to study every branch o' the business." At this point Bog hitched his chair nervously, uncrossed and recrossed his legs, as if he were conscious of trespassing on the patience of his auditors, and then went on: "Well, I hurried home, and saw that aunt didn't want for nothin', and then I started on my travels. I should ha' called and seen you, Mr. Minford," he added, casting a side glance at the inventor, "but I hadn't time."

"No excuse necessary, my good Bog," returned Mr. Minford, kindly. "Business before pleasure, you know. But I am anxious to hear how you got along with the job."

"Well, pooty hard," said Bog, emphatically, "though I made out to go all through the State, and stick up six thousand bills, every one on 'em on a new house, shop, or fence. Lemme see—I was chased seven times by big dogs that was set on me, shot at three times"

"Why, poor Bog!" interrupted Pet; "you wern't hurt, I hope?"

"No, Miss Minford; I wasn't hurt," answered Bog, looking her in the face for the first time since he entered the house, "though I got one through my old cap."

"I'm so glad it was no worse, Bog."

These words of sympathy from the young girl flustered the poor boy for a minute. Then he rallied:

"Besides that, I was took up four times by the perlice, and was carried afore justices of the peace. When they asked what I had to say why I shouldn't be fined, I told 'em the whole truth about it, and they all laughed except one, and said it was really funny, and they hadn't no doubt the hair dye was a very good thing to take, but could tell better after they had tried some. I told 'em that the hair-dye man would send 'em a dozen bottles apiece. Mr. Fink had d'rected me to say this, if I was 'rested and brought afore a justice. The justices—that is, all of 'em but one—then said they didn't want to be hard on me; and as that was my first offence, they would let me go without any fine. And they did, after givin' me their names, and tellin' me to be sure to have the bottles sent on jest as soon as could be. Ye see, they were all as bald on the top o' their heads as punkins. But the fourth justice that I was took to, he wasn't bald, but had a crop o' hair like a picter; and when I offered to put down his name for a dozen bottles, he swore, and fined me five dollars for what he said was a insult to the dignity of justice, and five dollars for postin' up bills in places where it was agin the law. Mr. Fink had give me money from the hair-dye man to pay fines, as well as my board; so I didn't care. But—but I am talking too much."

Bog paused, because, on taking a stealthy observation around him, he suddenly become conscious that his three auditors were listening attentively to his story.

"Not at all, my dear Bog," said Mr. Minford. "I, for one, am curious to know how this ingenious plan of advertising, in defiance of the law, succeeded." Mr. Wilkeson expressed himself curious on the same point. Bog, thus encouraged, continued:

"When I come home, after havin' stuck up six thousand bills in the principal towns and villages along the route, I went right to Mr. Fink. He shook hands with me, and ses he, 'Bog, your fortun's made.' 'How's that?' said I. 'Why, ses he, 'you're the greatest bill poster I ever heerd of. Professor Macfuddle" (that was the hair-dye man) "ses the money has begun to pour in to him like sixty, and he is buyin' up all the hair dye in the market, and puttin' his labils on it to supply the demand. He has given me ten dollars to present to you, besides the thirty for your wages.' Mr. Fink then give me forty dollars, and ses he, 'That a'n't all; for I have so much business now, I want a pardner, and I'll take you, and give you one third of the earnin's.' I rather guess I snapped at the offer; and we is goin' into pardnership to-morrer."

"Success to you," said Marcus and the inventor together. They saw, in this illustration of his bill-posting talents, only an evidence of business shrewdness that deserved encouragement. The young girl, however, viewed it in the light of a violation of law, and therefore could not conscientiously approve of it. Bog noticed her silence, and guessed the cause.

"Thank you very much," said he; "but I forgot to say I a'n't goin' to do any more business on the Erie plan. It a'n't right. Come to think it over, I was sorry I done it; and so I told Mr. Fink; and he sed it wasn't exackly reg'lar either, and he shouldn't never ask me to do it agen."

"I am glad of that," said Pet, quietly.

Bog's eyes were instantly turned toward her with an expression of pride and gratitude.

"Oh! of course, it is always best to obey the laws," observed Mr. Minford.

"And I wouldn't for a moment be thought to advise anything else," added Marcus Wilkeson; "though I never could help admiring pluck and sharpness in business affairs."

"I am going to school again, Bog," said the young girl, hastening to change the subject of conversation.

Bog looked up, surprised and pleased.

"Mr. Wilkeson," said Mr. Minford, "has taken another small share in my invention, and pays me in advance for it. With that, Pet will finish her education." The inventor would have made this disclosure of his private affairs to no other human being but Bog; for this simple boy was the only person he had ever known (excepting Marcus Wilkeson) who had not openly ridiculed his mysterious labors.

"I am very glad to hear of it, sir," said Bog, awkwardly, but with an air of profound respect. "How—how is the masheen, sir?" Bog asked the question hurriedly, as if the machine were a sick person, whose health he had until then forgotten to inquire after.

"Getting on finely, Bog. Only two or three springs, a cog here, a ratchet here, a band at this point, and a lever up there (Mr. Minford touched portions of the machine rapidly), and then look out for a noise!"

"A noise!" repeated Bog, with juvenile earnestness.

"Not an explosion, my good fellow, but tremendous public excitement—plenty of fame, mixed with a good deal of abuse at first, and a little money, I hope." The inventor's eyes flashed with the fire that Bog had often seen; and when he emphasized the word "little," Bog knew that he meant to express the boundlessness of the wealth that his labors would bring to him.

"I believe it," said Bog, with sincerity pictured in every lineament of his honest face. "I've always believed it."

"So you have, my dear Bog; and your faith has often cheered me," replied the inventor, patronizingly. "By the way, how's your aunt?"

"Oh, yes; how is your aunt, Bog?" asked Pet. "I had quite forgotten her."

"She's pooty well, ony them rheumatics troubles her some. They're workin' their way from her left arm into her head, aunt says. Week afore last they was in her feet, and they've ben clear round her and goin' back agen since then. Queer things, them rheumatics!"

"They are very painful, Bog, you know," said Pet.

"Yes; so aunt says." Bog did not add, as he might have truly done, "A thousand times a day."

"Give her my kind regards, Bog, and say I will call and see her," continued Pet.

"My respectful regards also," added Mr. Minford.

"Thank you," said the boy; "but I guess you better not call, Miss Minford. Aunt's a good woman, but kind o' cur'us, you know. Them rheumatics has made a great change in her." Bog here referred, but made no verbal allusion, to a certain friendly call which Pet had once made upon his aunt, on which occasion that elderly lady had entertained her visitor with a monologue two hours long, giving her a complete history of the malady, from its birth in the right great toe, three years previous, through all its eccentric phenomena, to that stage of the disease which made it, as the venerable sufferer observed with, some pride, the "very wust case the doctors ever heerd of."

Upon this fruitful theme, Bog's aunt could and would have discoursed for hours longer, but for the appearance of Bog, when she sought a new relief from her agonies by abusing that poor fellow, charging him with neglect and ingratitude, finding fault with the food which he brought home for her from market, and asking him when he was going to buy that soft armchair he had promised her so long. Bog laughed, and explained this outburst, by saying to Pet, "It's only aunt's rheumatics;" but the old lady rejected the explanation, and went on scolding and faultfinding with such increased fierceness, that Pet hastily put on her bonnet and shawl, and bade the rheumatic grumbler "good-by," saying (which was true) that her father would be anxious about her. Since then, the young girl had kept away from Bog's aunt.

"I've bought her a nice, soft armchair lately," continued Bog; "but it don't do her no good. The rheumatics seem to be getting wusser all the time; and the thing that makes them wussest of all is calls. So I guess it's better for aunt you should keep away, Miss Minford." Bog prided himself on his tact in putting forth the last argument.

Then the conversation turned on Pet's education; Marcus and her father fondly discussing what it ought to be, and Bog listening, and looking stealthily at the young girl, still busy at her work; and they all sat, happy in thoughts of the future, far into the twilight.



CHAPTER IV.

MISS PILLBODY.

Miss Pillbody's school was unknown to the pages of the City Directory. It was never advertised in the newspapers, with a long list of "Hons." and bank presidents as unimpeachable references. The bright little plate on her door exhibited only "Pillbody," in neat script, and no hint of the existence of a school within. The school was select to such an extent, that not more than a dozen pupils were admitted to its privileges; and so private, that, outside of that number, its name was not known except among its graduates; and there were reasons why they should hesitate to spread its reputation abroad. If strictly classified among the institutions of the city, it might be termed, "A school for female adults in good circumstances, whose early education had been neglected."

The idea of this school originated with Miss Pillbody; and, like many other valuable ideas, it was hit upon quite accidentally.

Dorcas Pillbody was the only daughter of a man who had amassed a fortune in the oyster business, and had finally retired to a four-story house in Sixteenth street, near the Sixth Avenue, where he purposed to spend the balance of his days in the dignified enjoyment of his hard-earned money. To this secluded oyster dealer, as solitary and happy in the midst of his new grandeur as a bivalve in its native bed, came a plausible stockbroker, who, after a series of interviews, persuaded Mr. Pillbody to make a small investment in the "Sky Blue Ridge Pure Vein Copper Mining Company."

The small investment unfortunately turned out well. In less than sixty days, the shares that he had bought at ten per cent, sold at seventy-five, and ultimately advanced to par. Delighted with this unexpected result, Mr. Pillbody determined to stake largely (he had been a wholesale oyster dealer, and was a man of comprehensive ideas). Again his venture prospered. Mr. Pillbody, intoxicated with success, invested his entire means in the purchase of two new mines in a Southern State, whose unparalleled richness was certified to by mineralogists of great reputation.

Just as Mr. Pillbody was making arrangements to bring these mines before the public, his stockbroking friend, through whom he had effected the purchase, left for Europe, and it was then discovered that Mr. Pillbody's mines, if they existed at all, were ten feet under a swamp, on property which belonged to somebody else, the title deeds of which had been forged by the adroit operator. Mr. Pillbody could not endure his misfortune. He wrote notes bidding farewell to his wife and child, and commending them to the care of their relatives, to whom he had always been bountifully generous. Then he went to Staten Island by ferry, there took a row boat, proceeded to a celebrated oyster bed which was the scene of his youthful labors, and drowned himself.

The widow and daughter (the latter twenty years of age, healthy, and finely educated) applied to the two brothers of the deceased for assistance, and were at once kindly received into their families, and sat upon sofas and ate from tables purchased with money (never repaid) of the late Mr. Pillbody. The two brothers, upon application to the proper tribunal, were appointed executors of the estate, and were not long in discovering that it was insolvent. Mother and daughter were shifted about with almost monthly regularity from one house to the other; and, though they tried to make themselves useful in every capacity except that of a servant, they could not disguise the conviction that their departure was an event a great deal more welcome than their coming. The widow's talent for dressmaking (she had been a milliner's apprentice before marriage), though of a high order, and exerted to the utmost, failed to please. Miss Pillbody's thorough knowledge of French, and the higher branches of an elegant education, as well as her proficiency on the piano, and her sweet, simple style of ballad singing, were worse than useless acquirements in her uncles' families.

Her uncles were cold, stern, ignorant men, who had an intense hatred for the mere accomplishments of life. Each had two daughters, who, with the natural tastes of the sex, were not averse to the graces of education, in the abstract, but could not bear to see them displayed by their "stuck-up, pauper cousin," as they often termed that hapless young lady in private conversation. A kind offer, which she was imprudent enough, to make, to teach them all she knew, had set them against her from the first.

The widow endured the cold looks and cutting words of her husband's relatives, and even the reproaches which they heaped upon his folly, with a widow's patience, and seemed content to remain a poor, broken-down, dependent creature. Miss Pillbody, on the contrary, was quick to discern and to resent, mentally, the uncivil treatment daily experienced by her mother and herself. Had she been alone in the world, she would have left those inhospitable roofs when the unkind hints first began to be dropped, and trusted to the cold charity of strangers; but she could not bear the thought of being separated from her mother. So she endured her wretched state of dependence as best she could, while she quietly sought for some means of employment that would yield them a living.

Profiting by the lessons she had learned from her uncles, she did not apply to any person who had known her father and received favors from him in their better days. She asked no favor from any one—only work, at a fair price. By diligent hunting, she found several opportunities. She could earn four dollars a week by embroidering (at which she was skilful, and had taken premiums); or two dollars and a half for teaching French, twice a week, in a country seminary; or her board and washing for inducting a family of four little musical prodigies into all the mysteries of the piano. But these tempting offers would still have left her mother with her uncles, and she spurned them all.



CHAPTER V.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

One day, as Miss Pillbody was riding up Broadway, in tending to visit a Teachers' Agency for the sixteenth time, she accidentally made the acquaintance of a middle-aged lady, who talked a great deal upon the slightest provocation, trifled sadly with grammar and pronunciation, and was excessively friendly and amiable. The diamonds in her ears and on her fingers, and her overdone and gaudy style of dressing, were some indication, though not a convincing one, that she was a woman of wealth; and Miss Pillbody made bold to ask her if she knew anybody who wanted a private teacher in her family.

The lady said she did not, "unless," she added, laughing very loud at the humor of the suggestion, "you come into my family, and learn me something."

The remark was unpremeditated, but, the moment it was made, the lady seemed to be greatly struck with its force, and immediately followed it up with the question, "Do you s'pose you could learn grammar and pronunciation, and how to talk French, to a grown-up woman like me?" Miss Pillbody thought the lady with the diamonds was joking, and laughed by way of reply. "But I am ra-ally in earnest," continued the lady, thoughtfully, turning three heavy cluster rings on her little left finger. "Ye see, my early eddication was rather poor, 'cos I was poor then; but my old man made a spec' in tobacco, last year, and now I'm pooty well off, and live in good s'ciety. I kinder feel the want of grammar, French, and a few o' them things. I like your face and your manners, and if you can learn me 'em, I'll give you ten dollars a week to come to my house one hour every day, and be my private schoolmistress. It'll be rather hard, I s'pose, to learn an old dog new tricks; but there is no harm a-tryin'."

Notwithstanding the oddity of the proposition, Miss Pillbody saw by the lady's face that she meant what she said. "I think I understand English grammar, and French, and the other branches usually taught at academies," she replied, "and should be very happy to accept your offer."

"Then consider the bargain closed," returned the lady. "Here is my 'dress" (handing her a card), "and you may come to-morrer mornin', at ten o'clock, if that'll suit you. I have no children, and the old man will be out at that time, and we shall be as snug as two bugs in a rug, ye see."

Miss Pillbody was delighted with the sudden prospect of an honest living thus opened to her, and she only feared that she would not be able to do enough for her money. So, after she had again thanked the lady for her kindness, she said:

"I think I could give you lessons on the piano, madam—unless you understand that instrument better than I do."

"Lor' bless me, child!" responded the lady, holding up her thick, red hands, and making the diamonds flash in the sunlight; "Lor' bless me! them fingers is too stiff to play the pianner now. I've got a splendid pianner, though, with an oleon 'tachment, three pedals, and pearl keys—cost eight hundred dollar; and a nice piece of furniture it is, you may believe. I let it be out of tune all the time. That's an excuse for not playing when anybody asks me to, ye know. I don't mind tellin' you this, because you'll be sure to find it out." And the lady laughed very loudly at the confession of this small deceit, which Miss Pillbody assured her was by no means confined to herself, but had been adopted by her ingenious sex from time immemorial.

When the middle-aged pupil and her young teacher separated, as they did on the arrival of the stage at an up-town jeweller's, where the former got out to make a few purchases, Miss Pillbody felt as if she had known her patroness for years, and that, in that coarse, showy, good-hearted woman, she had found a true friend.

And so it turned out. However dull Mrs. Crull might be as a scholar, she was quick-witted as a friend, and was constantly bestowing unexpected kindnesses upon Miss Pillbody. Scarcely a day passed that the young teacher did not receive from her pupil some little present—at times rising to the value of a bonnet or a shawl. Mrs. Crull's all-embracing kindness would have extended to the widow Pillbody too (in whom she was much interested from the daughter's accounts of her), but for the shrewd objection which she entertained against intrusting any one with the secret of her pupilage. Miss Pillbody was often and particularly enjoined by her not to tell any one—- not even her mother—of it; and she saw the advantages of carefully observing the request. Great pains were taken to keep Mr. Crull, and the housemaid, cook, and coachman, from a knowledge of the mystery.

On Miss Pillbody's arrival daily at ten A.M., she was ushered into the drawing room, where Mrs. Crull was always anxiously awaiting her. The servant was told to say to callers that "Mistress is out" (Mrs. Crull bolted at this trifling deception at first, but soon got used to it), and the lesson began.

Mrs. Crull at first thought she was competent to learn her native tongue and French together, in a series of half-hour lessons; but she soon found out that the latter language had some eccentric peculiarities quite beyond her powers of articulation, and that the spelling of a word did not afford the slightest clue to the method of pronouncing it. After floundering about heroically but hopelessly through the introductory chapter of the first French grammar, she gave up the polite tongue in despair, consoling herself with the reflection, that speaking bad French was worse than speaking no French at all.

Miss Pillbody, who did not venture to advise her pupil on her choice of studies, but left her to consult her own fancies undisturbed, heartily approved of Mrs. Crull's conclusion, though she acknowledged that New York society by no means took that view of the case, but tolerated bad French with a courtesy worthy of France itself.

Mrs. Crull's studies were thereafter confined to English spelling, grammar, and writing. She declared that she knew enough of arithmetic to count change correctly, and wanted to know no more; and that geography was of no earthly use to her. Besides, she never could remember the names of places.

It was in pronunciation that Miss Pillbody's system achieved the greatest good. Anxious to strengthen herself on that weak point, Mrs. Crull set a watch on her language, and gave every word a good look before she sent it forth. The effect of this constant introspection was most happy; but, at times, Mrs. Crull would be thrown off her guard by a rush of ideas, and all the old blunders would come out. Toward other persons, she became, to some extent, a free teacher, and would, in the most obliging manner, rectify their little errors of pronunciation, when she was sure of them, and sometimes when she was not.

Of course, Mr. Crull was taken in training by her. That gentleman, having made the discovery, early in life, that the less a man says, the more he is supposed to know, had acquired a habit of taciturnity which had become a second nature to him. His conversation consisted mainly of grunts and nods; and it was astonishing how much he could express by them. At any rate, they had "made his fortin', and he couldn't ha' done more'n that if he'd talked like a house a-fire"—which explanation, often repeated, was about the longest one ever known to be uttered by Mr. Crull. Therefore Mr. Crull did not offer a large field for the exhibition of his wife's new acquirements; but, by drawing him into conversation, and then lying in wait for him, she found opportunities to exhibit them for his good.

At first, Mr. Crull only stared and grunted. Then he laughed (his laugh and Mrs. Crull's laugh were very similar, and were their strongest bond of union). Once he said, "Wonder what's the matter with the ole woman?" And, on a subsequent occasion, when Mrs. Crull had convicted him of three mistakes in five words, he ventured upon this protracted remark: "Guess the ole gal feels rather big since she got inter wot they call good s'ciety, eh?" This was in allusion to the recent successful speculation in tobacco, which had enabled Mr. Crull to buy the best house in Twenty-third street, and take the second best pew in a fashionable church, thereby placing Mrs. Crull at once within the charmed circle of society.

As for himself, Mr. Crull took very little interest in society, having observed that society had taken very little interest in him until that "lucky turn in terbacker." Mrs. Crull would smile, and confess that society had claims upon people, and that, when one is in Rome, one must do as the Romans do. The moral of which proverb was, that Mr. Crull ought to improve his speech. Mr. Crull replied, by asking "wot difference 'twould make a hunderd years from now?" Which observation, when Mr. Crull condescended to speak at such length, was a favorite argument with him. But he little suspected his wife's secret.



CHAPTER VI.

BRANCHING OUT.

To Miss Pillbody, this quiet little arrangement proved a fortune indeed. In two weeks after she became acquainted with her benefactress, she was rich enough to take lodgings for her mother and herself at a decent boarding house. The old lady entertained singular notions about the rights of relationship, and held that it was the duty of her husband's brothers to give them a home for the balance of their lives, and regarded her daughter's desire to cut loose from her uncles, and be independent, as a romantic and absurd notion, born of novel reading, to which Miss Pillbody was a good deal addicted.

To gratify her daughter's whim, the widow Pillbody finally consented to move into a boarding house, though she did it in the firm belief that the good luck which the young lady had fallen upon would be of brief duration, and they would be glad to come back to their relatives again—their "natteral protectors," as Mrs. P. called them.

In their new residence, Miss Pillbody was happy. The money which she earned weekly, and which was always paid to her in advance, was sufficient for her own and her mother's board. In addition to other presents, Mrs. Crull had forced small sums upon her acceptance, at different times; and Miss Pillbody began to enjoy the odd sensation of laying up money in a savings bank. Of the future she thought but little; first, because she had no head for plans; and second, because Mrs. Crull had promised to set her up in a private school; and Miss Pillbody placed a blind trust in that lady. An accident, in this wise, caused the fulfilment of the promise much sooner than was expected.

Mr. Crull, in getting out of a stage, one day, slipped on the step, and dislocated his left shoulder. At his age, careful treatment was necessary for an injury of that kind; and the family doctor peremptorily forbade him to leave the house for a month. Mr. Crull therefore stayed at home, growling like a bear in a cage, and solacing himself with the determination to bring a suit for damages against the stage company, the carelessness of whose driver (in Mr. Crull's opinion) caused the accident.

Mr. Crull, like a good husband, would have nobody to nurse him, apply his embrocations, and put on his bandages, but his wife; and Mrs. Crull, like a good wife, cheerfully and tenderly performed that duty. But this rendered necessary the abandonment of the daily lessons at her house; for she was liable to be summoned to her husband's bedside at any moment (he sent for her at every new twinge of pain); and, furthermore, it was his custom to crawl out of his couch every half hour, and wander restlessly through the house, until his wife, under the stern instructions of the family doctor, sent him back to bed again.

Mrs. Crull, though not wanting in love for her disabled consort, was loth to abandon her lessons. Having tasted of the Pierian spring, she desired to drink deeply.

As Miss Pillbody could not continue her course of instruction at Mrs. Crull's residence, without being detected in the act by the invalid lord of that mansion; and as it was clearly impracticable for Mrs. Crull to go to Miss Pillbody's boarding house, and turn the widow Pillbody out of the little room which mother and daughter jointly occupied, the generous pupil hit upon the idea of renting the ground floor of a house for her teacher, setting apart one room as a schoolroom, fitting it up for her in comfortable style, and helping her to get wealthy adult pupils enough to pay all the expenses of the establishment, and a handsome income besides.

Miss Pillbody thankfully accepted the noble offer; though she feared that she would never obtain scholars enough to repay the money which Mrs. Crull was willing to advance, and also to defray the current expenses of housekeeping.

Mrs. Crull entertained no such fears. She had great faith in the efficacy of advertising. She had personally known three quacks who made half a million apiece out of patent medicines; and one woman who had turned a common recipe for removing superfluous hair into an eligible establishment in Thirty-second street, and a country cottage, with sixteen acres under good cultivation. She believed that newspaper advertising was the shortest and surest road to fortune; and the only standing cause of quarrel between her and her husband was the latter's incredulous "Pooh! pooh!" at her theory upon this subject.

At her request, Miss Pillbody drew up this advertisement, and caused it to be inserted twice in three daily papers:

"To LADIES IN GOOD SOCIETY WHO DESIRE TO IMPROVE THEIR EDUCATION.—A young lady who has moved in wealthy and fashionable circles, and has received the best education that New York city could afford, having met with reverses in fortune, would be happy to accept, as private pupils, a few ladies whose early cultivation was, for any reason, neglected. French, Italian, Spanish, vocal music, the piano, and all the English rudiments, taught at reasonable prices. Particular attention paid to pronunciation, spelling, and writing. Satisfactory references given and required.

"N.B.—Pupils taught separately, and at different hours.

"For further information, address 'Educatrix, New York Post Office.'"

* * * * *

There were many points in this advertisement to which Miss Pillbody's modesty took exception; but Mrs. Crull insisted upon them in a way that permitted no refusal. The little bit of bragging was the principal thing, she said. She had always observed that people are inclined to believe bragging advertisements, though they openly profess that they can't be taken in by them. As for the satisfactory references, she would undertake to give them, if they were required—which, of course, they would not be, as the mere offering of them invariably sufficed. If called upon, she would say that she knew a wealthy lady, the head of a family, who had derived the greatest possible benefit from the instructions of "Educatrix." If asked who she was, she could answer, that "Educatrix" would on no account allow the name to be made known, as it was a great merit of her system that she kept the names of her pupils a profound secret from each other, and from the rest of the world. The good sense of this regulation would at once be appreciated by all mature ladies who wished to repair the defects of their early education. Her own position as the mistress of an elegant mansion in Twenty-third street, would (Mrs. Crull reasoned) entitle her statement to ready belief.

The plan worked capitally. "Educatrix" received fifty answers to her advertisement, and was busy more than a week calling at the houses of those who desired an interview with her. The ladies were all in good circumstances, and, without an exception, were the wives of men who had made sudden fortunes, after the manner common in the United States. Finding themselves elevated above the necessity of cooking their own dinners and washing their own clothes, they keenly felt the want, hitherto unknown, of an education which would fit them, in a measure, for that society whose portals were now thrown wide open to them. Miss Pillbody's gentle manners and polished ways gained for her the confidence of all; and she could have had fifty pupils daily, at two dollars a lesson (the fixed price), of one hour each, if it had been possible to teach that number.

Acting on the advice of Mrs. Crull, Miss Pillbody decided to accept only twelve pupils, for twenty-four lessons each, and devote six hours daily to them. This arrangement would give her six pupils a day; and the twelve would complete their course in about two months. Then she could take twelve more, and so on. It was plain, from the success of the first experiment, that there would never be a scarcity of pupils.

Mrs. Crull then rented the first floor and basement of a suitable house in a quiet neighborhood, furnished it nicely, hired a grand piano for the front parlor, and turned over the premises and their contents to her young teacher. Miss Pillbody brought her mother to their new home, a fair share of which had been set apart and fitted up expressly for her.

The old lady admitted, with some reluctance, that the house was not badly furnished, and that her daughter's prospects might be worse than they were. But who was this mysterious woman, that took such an interest in her daughter? What was her motive? she would like to know. And why was she so anxious to avoid her (Mrs. Pillbody)? To which questions her daughter responded, as she had done fifty times before, that her teaching was strictly private, and that none of her pupils would visit her, except under a pledge of the profoundest secrecy. Mrs. Pillbody shook her head doubtingly, and said, "We shall see," adding that she only hoped they would be as comfortable there as they were at Uncle John's and Daniel's, that was all.

The school throve. The pupils came with great punctuality at their different hours, and were unknown to each other and to the world. The secret of the school would never have got abroad, but for the incaution of a certain Mrs. Brigback (wife of a man who had been connected with the City Government for two years on a nominal salary, and retired rich). She was so delighted at the progress which she made in the English rudiments, and in the French (being able to ask for bread, or fish, or concerning a person's health, in that language), that she could not refrain from confidentially advising another lady (the wife of a street contractor, suddenly opulent) to take a few lessons from the same accomplished teacher. The street contractor's wife was perfectly indifferent to society, and had no wish to remedy the defects of her early education. She promised secrecy, and the next day told the story, at the expense of her friend, to a mutual female acquaintance, who passed it on with embellishments to a third, who amused a fourth with its narration; and so it went through a succession of confidential people, until, one day, it became the subject of conversation in a stage in which Marcus Wilkeson was riding. He could not avoid hearing it; and, although the two ladies (themselves shockingly astray in their grammar) laughed at the absurdity of the thing, Marcus Wilkeson thought it was a capital idea. A plan which he had been idly revolving in his mind for the education of Miss Minford, began to take shape. The inventor (he reasoned) would not be likely to object to a strictly private school for his daughter, if the teacher were a lady of correct principles, and highly educated.

Upon the last point, Marcus Wilkeson determined to satisfy himself. So he addressed a note, through the General Post Office, to "Miss Pillbody, New York City," requesting the privilege of an interview on business, at the residence of the lady, the exact location of which she was asked to designate.

The letter was advertised (Miss Pillbody's address being unknown to the carrier), and, about two weeks after it was written, an answer came back to Mr. Wilkeson, at his house, giving information as to the whereabouts of the lady, and appointing the time for an interview.

Mr. Wilkeson called, and in five minutes' conversation was satisfied of Miss Pillbody's moral and intellectual qualifications as teacher, and thought himself very fortunate in securing a vacancy among the pupils (caused by sudden illness) for Miss Minford. With what perfect confidence the suspicious inventor, as well as his simple-hearted daughter, accepted the frank offer of their friend and benefactor, we have already seen.



CHAPTER VII.

THE LITTLE PUPIL.

It was a pleasant winter's morning, when Mr. Minford and his daughter, and their singular friend, made a formal call on Miss Pillbody, by appointment. The inventor had overcome a difficulty in his machine, by introducing a cam movement, and was in excellent humor. As he walked along the streets, he said that the snow and the sky and his future all looked bright to him now. Of the two former objects his assertion was obviously true, and Pet enjoyed the shining scene, as youth, health, and innocence always do, without reference to the future.

A few minutes' walk brought them to Miss Pillbody's private schoolhouse. A pull at the bell summoned a stout, red-faced servant girl to the door. To the question, if Miss Pillbody was in, she said, "Yaas, sir, ef yer plaze" (Miss P. had vainly endeavored to correct her English), and ushered her visitors into the reception parlor, or schoolroom.

A pleasant place it was, and nicely warmed with a smouldering coal fire, the coziness and comfort of which, were fitly reflected from the red carpet, and red curtains, and red plush covered furniture. The grand piano, hired for use, gave the room that completely furnished appearance that nothing but a piano can give. A book of instruction, open at a passage which strongly resembled a rail fence through a rolling country, showed that inexperienced hands had recently been pounding the instrument. There was no sign of a school or any side, excepting a small blackboard, which had been hastily thrust into a corner, and which bore, faintly traced in chalk, a sum in simple division.

The visitors sat down in the warm red chairs, and looked around the room but a moment, when Miss Pillbody entered by a door connecting with the rear parlor. She bowed gracefully to Mr. Wilkeson, and was by him introduced to his two companions. To the father she was profoundly respectful, and to the daughter tender and affectionate, grasping her hand closely, and smiling a welcome upon her.

Pet was instantly fascinated with her future teacher. There was something lovable not only in her intelligent face, pale with the protracted labors of her daily life, but in the infirmity of her eyes, for she was shortsighted, and could see objects distinctly only by nearly closing the lids. This peculiarity, not disagreeable in itself, won upon Pet's compassion, and made her feel more at home in the strange lady's presence than if she were conscious that a pair of full-sighted orbs were looking at her, and accurately noting her defects.

Miss Pillbody's occupation, for some weeks past, had given her a new idea of the value of time, and she proceeded at once to business, without wasting a single word upon the weather. In less than five minutes, she had, by artful inquiries and a winning voice, found out the exact range and extent of Miss Minford's acquirements, and agreed with the father that a further education in the English branches was unnecessary at that time (with the exception, perhaps, of an occasional exercise in reading), and that his daughter might devote twenty-four lessons to French and the piano, with hopes of success, provided she could study and practise several hours a day at her own home.

Mr. Minford replied, that she could study French at home to her heart's content, but he had no piano. Whereupon Mr. Wilkeson took the liberty of suggesting that it might be possible to borrow one, at a moderate rate, by the month, and set it up in their front room. Miss Pillbody applauded this idea, and it was instantly agreed to.

"For certain reasons, which I will not now mention," said Mr. Minford, "I am anxious to hurry up her education."

"By the way, what is your first name, my dear?" asked Miss Pillbody. "It is quite awkward to call you Miss Minford, you know."

The inventor answered for his daughter. "Her name is Patty, miss; and we call her Pet, for short, instead of Pat, which would be hardly appropriate."

"A pretty name," said Miss Pillbody; "and she is a pet, if I mistake not." The teacher looked archly at Mr. Minford, and then affectionately at the daughter, through her half-shut eyes. "I promise you she shall be a pet here, provided, always, she learns her lessons like a good girl. We always insist on that first." The teacher waved her hand with magisterial authority as she spoke, but accompanied the act with a laugh, which made Pet laugh also.

During this conversation, Mr. Minford had dwelt upon his machine in an undercurrent of thought; and an idea just then occurred to him, which he was desirous to test immediately. He therefore rose, and said that they would not detain Miss Pillbody any longer, and that his daughter would call and receive the first lesson at any time which that lady would name.

"Her hour will be from nine to ten o'clock every other morning, and from three to four on alternate afternoons," said Miss Pillbody. "It is now half past ten," she added, consulting a watch. "Mrs. Penfeather, my eleven-o'clock pupil, is put of town to-day: so Miss Minford—that is. Pet—can commence now, and I will give her until twelve o'clock. This will save time."

"Good!" remarked the inventor. "The great point is to save time. For certain reasons, as I said before, you have none to lose in educating my daughter. And, that we may not detain her a moment, Mr. Wilkeson, we will leave, if you please."

Marcus Wilkeson was glad to do this, for the conversation had already reached its natural terminus. He therefore followed Mr. Minford's motion, and grasped his hat and cane.

"You are not afraid to stay here, child?" said-the inventor.

"Oh, no," replied Pet, with a happy laugh. "I already feel quite at home."

"And she shall always feel so here, I assure you, sir," added Miss Pillbody.

Mr. Minford's new idea occurred to him again with fresh force, and he hurriedly said: "Good-by, Pet. Be a good girl, now, and see how much you can learn in your first lesson." Then he kissed her, jerked a bow at Miss Pillbody, and made his exit into the hall. Marcus Wilkeson added his best wishes for the progress of the little scholar, bade her and her teacher a pleasant farewell, and followed Mr. Minford.

The child ran after them to the front door, and exchanged good-bys with them until they had turned the corner of the next street, when she entered the schoolroom, and straightway began her first lesson in the accomplishments of life.



BOOK THIRD.

THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.



CHAPTER I.

"ONE—TWO—THBEE—FOUR."

Pet studied hard, and made great progress. Her father and Marcus Wilkeson watched her developing education with equal pride, and constantly applauded and encouraged her.

The inventor did not know one word of French beyond the colloquial phrases with which everybody is familiar; but he would ask his daughter to read the crisp and tinkling tongue to him for hours at a time. He would hammer softly and file gently as she read, so that he might not lose a word of it. He would hear no news but that which she translated from the triweekly French paper published in the city. With correct and careful tuition at Miss Pillbody's, these constant exercises at home, ambition, and an excellent memory for languages, Pet was soon able not only to satisfy her teacher, but to make herself understood, in a small way, by a real French woman, Mdlle. Duchette, the forewoman of a candy store on the nearest business avenue.

Pet followed every lesson on the piano at Miss Pillbody's by three hours of daily practice at home. Marcus had hired for her a small piano, warranted to be just the thing for beginners. In other words, the keys and pedals were nearly worn out, and could not be much further damaged by unpractised hands and feet. This instrument was squeezed in between the bureau and the washstand, filling up the last spare place in the crowded little room. Pet wanted to have it set up in the next apartment, and practise there in the cold, alone; but neither her father nor Marcus would listen to that proposition for a moment.

Mr. Minford's nerves were extremely sensitive to sound. They vibrated to it, like Aeolian harp in the wind. He placed pianos, cats, fish peddlers, and hand organs on precisely the same footing, as nuisances. Nothing but the ruling desire to make a lady of his child, could have steeled him to the endurance, hour after hour, of her monotonous "One—two—three—four," and the discordant banging which accompanied those plaintive utterances.

The permanent discords with which the piano was afflicted, or the striking of a false note, would sometimes set his teeth on edge; but he would only hold his jaws tightly together, beat time with his head, and smile a hypocritical approval. Sometimes he would torture himself playfully, and make Pet laugh, by running a musical opposition with his three-cornered file—a small but effective instrument.

Marcus Wilkeson was equally tolerant of Pet's practice, and there was little false pretence in the patience with which he listened. Happily, he was not all alive to sounds. Screeches and harmonies were pretty much the same to him. Since he was a boy, he had been trying (privately) to sing, or whistle, "Auld Lang Syne," and had not yet mastered the first bar of it. He watched Pet's little fingers moving up and down the piano with mechanical repetition, and was truly interested in the sight—for two reasons: first, the motion was graceful; and second, she was acquiring an accomplishment which he held in the highest esteem, because Nature had put it entirely beyond his reach.

Sometimes, but not often, Bog was a listener at these rudimental concerts. Since Marcus had come to the relief of the family, Bog felt that his mission was ended. He knew that it was a piece of pure hypocrisy to call once or twice a week to see if he could be of any service, when he was aware that Mr. Minford had hired a woman, who lived on the floor below, to do all their household work, marketing, cooking, and general errands. He knew that Pet, on these occasions, asked him to go for a spool of thread, or a paper of needles, or a package of candy, merely to gratify him with the idea that he was making himself useful. When he came into the room tidily dressed, and highly polished as to his boots, he blushed even redder than he used to. It was not the acquisition of a little money by Mr. Minford that had exalted his daughter in the-eyes of Bog, but the French and the music. These two accomplishments seemed to lift her into an upper air of delicacy and refinement, for which Bog felt that his miserable education and clumsy manners quite unfitted him. After Bog had performed some little invented errand for her, she would reward him with a short exercise, and Bog would sit, with open mouth and crossed legs, staring at Pet's face and hands alternately, and beating time with his large red hands on his knees.

Bog knew the negro songs of the period, and admired them. He would have liked to hear Pet play them, but feared she would think his musical taste very bad if he asked her to. Her "exercises," as she called them, he considered something perfectly wonderful, and belonging to a class of scientific music which a poor fellow like him could not be expected to enjoy. But, like many an older and more worldly-wise person, he pretended to be thrown into raptures by it, and, at every pause in the playing, would say, "Beautiful! a'n't it?" "That's prime!" or "Splendid!" or "The best I ever heerd." Sometimes, at his earnest entreaty, Pet would read a page of French to him; and he would listen with awe and reverence, as to a beautiful sibyl prophesying in an unknown tongue.

Bog always paid these visits in the afternoon. Marcus Wilkeson always called in the evening. The two had met in the house rarely since New Year's. When they accidentally met on the sidewalk, within a square or two of the house, as they sometimes did, Bog colored up as if he were guilty of something. Once Marcus Wilkeson saw Bog at a distance, turning suddenly down a side street, as if to avoid him; and Marcus wondered what could be the matter with the boy. By industry and tact, Bog made money in his new partnership, and had already laid up a snug sum in the savings bank.

Between Pet and her teacher a feeling of sisterly affection had sprung up. Miss Pillbody turned with a feeling of relief from her dull elderly pupils, stiff in manners, and firmly set in their habits, to this fresh, impressible young creature. What she did conscientiously to the others for pay, she would have done to Pet for love, had not her bills been settled in advance. Whenever Miss Pillbody had a spare hour or two, afforded by the indisposition of one of her older scholars (from excessive fatigue occasioned by a dinner party or other laborious hospitality the night before), she would send the red-headed servant to Mr. Minford's, and notify Pet, who was only too happy to go to her beloved teacher, and take an extra lesson.

Mrs. Crull could not be called a promising pupil. Her intentions were excellent. Her patience and her good nature were unbounded. She was always punctual at her lessons. Neither cold nor storm could keep her away. While she was in the schoolroom, she would resolutely deny herself the pleasure of indulging in more than a dozen episodes on the fashions and bits of scandal which she picked up in her cruise through society.

With the exception of these little wanderings, she would go through her recitations with as much correctness and docility as a sharp-witted child of twelve years. She felt a childlike pride in gaining the approval of her teacher. When she was under Miss Pillbody's instructions, and knew that every mistake would be courteously but firmly corrected on the spot (the teacher's invariable custom), she kept such a guard upon her tongue that she sometimes read or conversed in long sentences without making a single error. But when she was out of Miss Pillbody's sight, there were certain blunders which she fell into as surely as she opened her mouth.

Sometimes Mrs. Crull and Pet would meet on the doorsteps of Miss Pillbody's house—the one going in and the other coming out—or on the sidewalk in the neighborhood. Mrs. Crull would catch the child by both hands, smack her heartily on the cheek (no matter how public the kiss), and then a conversation something like this would follow:

"How bright and pretty you look this mornin', my darlin!" (Mrs. Crull could not remember to pick up the "g's," except under Miss Pillbody's eye, and then not always.)

"Thank you, Mrs. Crull; I am quite well. How are you, marm?"

"Oh! smart as a trap. Haven't known not a sick day these ten years." (Mrs. Crull was weak on the double negatives.)

"How do you get along?" From motives of delicacy, Pet never added, "in your studies."

"Well, I don't mind tellin' you, as you are my confidential little friend." Here Mrs. Crull would look around cautiously, to be sure no one was listening. "The other studies isn't so hard, but grammar knocks me." (Mrs. Crull's nominatives and verbs were irreconcilable.)

Then Pet would say, telling an innocent fib:

"I don't observe anything very wrong, Mrs. Crull."

"Ha! ha! there you are flattering me, you little chick. I know, or think, I have improved a good deal with our dear Miss Pillbody; but a smart little scholar like you must see lots of mistakes in me."

At this point, Pet would blush, and murmur, "No—no!"

"Humbug!" Mrs. Crull would say. "I know my incurable faults, and I know that you know 'em. But Lor' bless you, child! there is plenty of ladies in good s'ciety" (Mrs. C. always slurred on the first syllable of that word) "who talk as bad as me. Their husbands, just like mine, got rich suddenly, you see. I tell you, I was 'stonished to find how many of 'em there was. They are thicker'n blackberries. I found out something else, too." Here Mrs. Crull would shake her head knowingly, like one who had discovered a great truth.

Pet would know what was coming, but would ask: "Pray, what is it, Mrs. Crull?"

"Why, I found out that, if you give good dinners and big parties, and keep a carriage, and have a conservatory, and rent a pew up near the altar, your little shortcomin's in grammar isn't no objection to you. 'Money makes the mare go.' However, eddication, as Miss Pillbody says, is a good thing of itself, and I shall keep on tryin' to get it."

These conversations always ended by an invitation to Pet to visit Mrs. Crull. "I'll have our carriage call for you," she would say, "at your father's house. We have no children, you know, and the old man would be very good to you; though, of course, it wouldn't do to hint about the school. But I can trust my little friend for that. Come, now, won't you?"

But Pet always modestly declined these kind invitations. She knew her father's pride, and his aversion to the patronage of rich people.



CHAPTER II.

THE FALLING BOARD.

One afternoon, Pet had been taking an extra lesson from Miss Pillbody, and had started homeward with a light heart, humming to herself a musical exercise which she had practised for the first time that day. A few doors from Miss Pillbody's, some workmen were repairing a wooden awning. The framework was covered with loose boards, which the carpenters were about to nail down. A feminine dread of danger would have induced Pet to make a wide detour of this awning; but her mind was so fully occupied by the musical exercise, that she walked, unheeding, right under it.

"Look out! look out!" shrieked a chorus of voices overhead, accompanied by a rattle of falling boards. Pet sprang forward just in time to escape one of them, and to catch another on her shoulder. It touched her gently, not even abrading her skin, for its fall had been stopped midway by a young man.

"Stupid!" "Silly creature!" "The girl's a blockhead!" "Where's her eyes, I wonder?" shouted the carpenters, after the manner of carmen and stage drivers, when you narrowly escape being run over by their carelessness, at the crossings.

"Shut up!" said the young man, savagely. "Why the d—-l don't you keep your boards where they belong, instead of tumbling them down on people's heads?—I hope you are not hurt, miss?" (in a gentle voice).

"Oh, no; not at all. I am sure I thank you, sir, very much." Pet blushed, and hurried away.

The young man and the carpenters then exchanged the customary abusive epithets with each other, which might have resulted in something more serious (though such verbal encounters rarely do), but for the desire of the young man to overtake the young girl whom he had saved from a bruised shoulder, or a worse accident. Shaking his fist at the four jeering carpenters, and muttering a farewell execration between his teeth, he rapidly followed Pet, and soon came up with her.

"You are sure you are not hurt?" said he. "Those scoundrelly workmen! I'll thrash one of them yet."

Pet was confused by the second appearance of the young man at her side, though she knew that he would follow her; even her brief experience having taught her that it is not in the nature of man to do a kindness to a woman, without exacting a full acknowledgment for it.

"No, sir; I am not hurt the least bit," she replied, looking in his face no more than gratitude and civility required. Here she would have stopped, but she feared (charming simplicity of girlhood) that the young man would, some future day, get into trouble with the four carpenters. So she added, timidly: "As for the workmen, sir, they were not to blame. It was all my fault, running into the danger. I—I beg, sir, that you won't say another word to them."

This was a long speech for timid Pet to make to a stranger, and she blushed fearfully at the end of it, and wished that the young man would go away.

"They deserve a thrashing, every one of them," said he; "but, for your sake, I let them go." The young man spoke in a sweet voice, and his manner was respectful. Pet had observed, in several hasty side glances, that he was nicely dressed, and not ill-featured, in all except the eyes. But had his eyes been large and handsome, instead of small and forbidding, she would have desired his absence all the same.

"You say you are not hurt," he continued; "but you may be, without knowing it. I have heard of people receiving serious injuries, and never finding them out till they got home. Have you far to go, miss?"

"Only two blocks farther," said Pet, turning the corner.

"The very route I was going," observed the young man.

Although Pet felt that the young man's company was unnecessary and disagreeable, she did not like to tell him so. She kept silence until she reached her home, when she said, "I stop here, sir." She would have added, "Good-by, sir," or "Thank you, sir," or something equivalent, but instinct checked the expression, and she darted into the entry (the door being accidentally ajar), and shut the door after her, before the young man could say a word. Although the door was shut, he raised his hat respectfully as one often does on Broadway after he has passed a female acquaintance upon whom he suddenly comes—the salute being received and acknowledged with a stare by the next lady, or ladies, following after. The young man then noted the number of the house, nodded satisfactorily to himself, and strolled very leisurely along the street, as if neither business nor pleasure had urgent demands upon him.