In the morning the terrible cyclone had moved to the north, smoother seas were reached by lunch time, and most of the tables were again filled. Many of those who were making a first voyage also put in their appearance, and they were subjected to much chaffing from the veterans of ocean travel. Captain Morgan and Doctor Argyle were the recipients of many complimentary words for their skill.

At dinner Leo and Alfonso mustered full forces, and each side scored every point, for both Mrs. Harris and Lucille entered the dining room, and everybody enjoyed the menu after a three days' fast. Captain Morgan spoke of the storm as "the late unpleasantness," and hoped his friends would not desert him again. Mrs. Harris was silent, but Alfonso and Lucille promised loyalty for the future, and Leo said, "Captain Morgan, I believe I haven't missed a meal."

"Bravo, Colonna!" the captain replied, "you really seem to have inherited the sailing qualities of your great countryman Columbus, and I sincerely hope that you may render the world equally valuable services."

Lucille added, "I am sure he will, captain; during the gale, he rendered signal services to suffering humanity."

"To-morrow," continued Captain Morgan, "is the 21st of June, when the day and night will be of equal length, the sun rising and setting promptly at six o'clock."

"Why not," said Lucille, "set our watches by the steamer's chronometer, and have the steward call us at 5:30 o'clock and all test the accuracy of the almanac?" Mrs. Harris and several others entered heartily into the plan.

The pure sea-air was so fresh and restful that when three bells or 5:30 o'clock in the morning was heard, the Harris party were easily awakened and they hastily prepared to witness at sea the sunrise on June 21st.

Leo and Alfonso were first on deck. Mrs. Harris, Lucille, and the Judge, an acquaintance made on the ship, soon joined them. Their watches agreed that it was ten minutes to six o 'clock. The decks had been washed and put in order, engines were running at full speed, the eastern sky was flushed with crimson and golden bands that shot out of the horizon, and fan-like in shape faded up in the zenith. With watches in hand, all eyes were fixed on a pathway of intensely lighted sea and sky in the east. Suddenly, as the sailor rung out "four bells," or 6 o'clock, Lucille shouted, "There! See that drop of molten gold floating on the horizon. Captain Morgan was right as to time. See, judge, how the gold glows with heat and light as the globe turns to receive the sun's blessings!"

"Yes," said the judge who now for the first time since the storm became really enthusiastic, "another page of the record book is turned, and the good and bad deeds of humanity will be entered by the recording angel. The mighty sun, around which we revolve at fabulous speed is, in its relations to us mortals, the most important material fact in the universe. If I ever change my religion I shall become a sun-worshiper. The Turk in his prayers, five times a day, faces the sun."

An early brisk walk on the deck sharpened appetites, and our sun-worshipers were among the first at breakfast. Gradually others entered, and again the dining room was cheerful with sunny faces. After breakfast the decks were astir with pretty women, children, and gentlemen lifting their hats. The promenade was as gay as on Fifth Avenue. Doctor Argyle gave his arm to Mrs. Harris, Lucille walked between Alfonso and Leo, and doctors of divinity and men of repute in other professions kept faithful step. Actors and actresses moved as gracefully as before the footlights. A famous actor carried on his shoulders a tiny girl who had bits of sky for eyes, a fair face, and fleecy hair that floated in the sea breeze, making a pretty picture.

Business men with fragrant cigars indulged in the latest story or joke. By degrees the promenade disappeared as passengers selected steamer chairs, library, or smoking room, and congenial souls formed interesting and picturesque groups. At the outset of the voyage you wonder at the lack of fine dress, and hastily judge the modest men and women about you to be somewhat commonplace, but after days at sea and many acquaintances made, you discover your mistake and learn that your companions are thoroughly cosmopolitan. In fair weather the decks are playgrounds where children at games enliven the scene, and sailors' songs are heard.

When the old clipper ship took from four to six weeks to cross the Atlantic, a weekly paper was printed. On some of the swift liners of to-day on the fourth day out a paper is issued, when perhaps the steamer is "rolling in the Roaring Forties." The sheet is a four-page affair, about six inches wide and nine inches long. It gives a description of the ship signed by the Captain; the daily runs of the ship follow, the distance still to go is stated, and the probable time it will take to make port; under "General Information" you learn about seasickness, what you have not already experienced, the necessity of exercise aboard ship, also much about the handling of luggage in Europe; some of the prose and poetry is sure to be good, and is contributed by skilled writers among the passengers. A column of "Queries" and a few brief stories and jokes brighten the sheet. The price is fifteen cents, and every copy of "The Ocean Breeze" is highly prized. On the whole, people at sea enjoy most the enforced rest, for they escape newspapers, telegrams, creditors, and the tax-gatherer.

At 11 o'clock on the deck, every pleasant day, a large, well-dressed man, attended by his valet, generously opened a barrel of fresh oysters for the passengers. This benevolent gentleman proved to be a famous Saratoga gambler. In this way he made many acquaintances and friends, and each day he increased his winnings at cards and in bets on the vessel's run, till finally, not he, but the guileless passengers paid for the oysters.

Gambling was the business of the man who advertised by his oysters; with the actor, who romped with the pretty child, gambling was a passion. So intense was this passion with the actor that he would attempt to match silver dollars or gold sovereigns with everybody he met when ashore; between acts on the stage he would telegraph his bet to distant cities. Crossing parks or walking down Broadway his palm concealed a coin, ready for the first possible chance. He would match his coat or his home or even his bank account. On ship he matched sovereigns only.

Occasionally the "Majestic" passed in sight of some other ship, or "tramp-steamer," and by signal exchanged names and location. Rarely do the great passenger steamers meet on the Atlantic, as the course outward is quite to the north to avoid collisions. Half-awake, half-asleep, the days on shipboard go by as in a dream, and you gladly welcome back restored health. Perhaps a sweet or strong face wins your interest or heart, as the case may be, and life-long friendships are formed. Confidence thus bestowed often begets the same in others, and you are thankful for the ocean voyage.



CHAPTER VII

LIFE AT SEA A KALEIDOSCOPE

In a shady retreat on the ship after lunch sat the Harrises, Leo, the judge, and Dr. Argyle, the latter reading a French novel. Leo had just finished a new novel entitled "A Broken Promise," Alfonso had read three hundred pages in one of Dickens's novels that tells so vividly how the poor of London exist.

Dr. Argyle said, "Judge, what do you think of novels anyway?"

The matter-of-fact judge gruffly replied, "I never read the modern novel because I don't care to waste my time."

Whereupon Alfonso said, "Give me the novel of an idealist that has a purpose. Colonel Ingersol spoke the truth in a recent lecture when he said that a realist can be no more than an imitator or a copyist. His philosophy makes the wax that receives and retains an image of an artist. Realism degrades and impoverishes. The real sustains the same relation to ideal that a stone does to a statue, or that paint does to a painting."

"No," replied Leo, "a novel proper should be a love story spiced with the beauties of nature and exciting adventures. A novel with a purpose, Alfonso, should advertise under another name for it is a cheat. It is often written with a deliberate attempt to beguile a person into reading a story which the writer deliberately planned to be simply the medium of conveying useful or useless information. Possibly a social panacea, or the theme may include any subject from separating gold from the ocean, to proving the validity of the latest theory on electricity."

"Leo, you go too far," said Mrs. Harris, "the modern novel that appears in press and magazine, and later in book form, entering all our homes, should teach high morality and contain only proper scenes and passages."

"But, mother," said Lucille, "you would thus debar many of the world's masterpieces in literature. It seems to me that the morality of character and scene has little to do with the artistic value of the book. The realist must depict life as it is. 'Art, for art's sake,' is what commends a novel to artistic minds."

"The modern novel is too much like modern architecture," said the judge, "a combination of classical and subsequent styles thrown together to satisfy groups of individuals rather than to conform to well accepted rules or ideas of art. Modern novels and modern architecture are sure to give way to nobler thoughts that shall practically harmonize the useful and the beautiful."

Dr. Argyle, having asked for opinions on the modern novel, obtained them. He was an earnest listener as he had wished more knowledge of the Harris family, which would enable him the better to lay plans; he hoped to win Lucille's favor.

It was now a quarter to six o'clock and many passengers, including the Harris group, moved to the port side of the ship to observe if the sun, at the expiration of twelve hours, would again touch the water. This twenty-first day of the month had been one of Lowell's rare June days. It had been ushered in by beautiful cloud coloring.

The ocean was now free from mist, the blue clouds overhead darkened the sea to the horizon, and it looked as if the sun would set behind clouds. Unexpectedly, however, the clouds near the water separated, and the sun again appeared in all his glory, sending a weird light out over the water, gilding the "Majestic," flooding the faces of the passengers with an unnatural light, and bringing into strong relief a sailing craft hovering on the starboard horizon.

"Perfectly beautiful," exclaimed several ladies. "There," said the purser, as four bells rang out and the gong for dinner sounded, "the sun is kissing the waves." Before any one could answer, the gorgeous sun was slowly sinking into the blue waters of the Northern Atlantic. Passengers held their watches and in three minutes the sun had said farewell.

The dinner was much enjoyed. After an evening of charming moonlight, midnight found all, save those on duty, asleep in the "Majestic," which was speeding rapidly towards the safe granite docks at Liverpool.

Moonlight at sea is so bewitching, the wonder is that pleasure-seekers ever consent to land except when denied the companionship of the silver goddess of night. Whether she races with the clouds, silver tips the waves, or with her borrowed light floods the world with fairy-like beauty, it is only that her admirers may exchange sorrow for joy and conflict for peace.

The sixth day out, the sun illumined a clear sky, and those that loved the sea were early on deck for exercise and fresh air. These early risers were well repaid, as the steamer was passing through a great school of porpoises that sometimes venture long distances from the British Islands. Alfonso ran to rap at Lucille's door and she hurried on deck to enjoy the sight. Hundreds of acres of the ocean were alive with porpoises or sea hogs as sailors often call them.

Porpoises average five feet in length and are the size of a small boy and quite as playful. These animals are smooth, and black or gray in color, except the under side which is pure white. They are gregarious and very sociable in their habits. Porpoises race and play with each other and dart out of the sea, performing almost as many antics as the circus clown. They feed on mackerel and herring, devouring large quantities. Years ago the porpoise was a common and esteemed article of food in Great Britain and France, but now the skin and blubber only have a commercial value. The skins of a very large species are used for leather or boot-thongs.

The early risers were standing on the prow of the steamer where the cutwater sent constantly into the air a nodding plume of white spray. Suddenly the watch shouted, "Whale ahead, sir!" Officers and sailors were astir. Just ahead, and lying in the pathway of the steamer lay a whale, fifty feet in length, seemingly asleep, for he was motionless. The officer's first thought was that he would slack speed, but presence of mind prompted him to order full speed, planning no doubt, if the whale was obstinate, to cut him in halves.

Lucille and others, fearful of consequences, turned and ran, but the leviathan suddenly dropped down out of sight, his broad tail splashing salt water into the faces of the young people who were bold enough to await events. With a sense of relief, Leo exclaimed, "Narrow escape, that!"

"Narrow escape for whom?" Alfonso inquired.

"For both the steamer and the whale," replied Lucille.

On the way to breakfast, Lucille asked an officer if similar instances frequently happened.

"Rarely," he replied, but added, "very likely we may see other whales in this vicinity." Sure enough, after breakfast, children ran up and down the deck shouting, "Whales! Whales!" and several were seen a mile or two north of the ship's course, where they sported and spouted water.

About four o'clock, the temperature having fallen several degrees, the passengers sighted to the northeast a huge iceberg in the shape of an arch, bearing down on the steamer's course, and had it been night, possibly freighted with all the horrors of a ship-wreck. As it was, Captain Morgan deemed it wise to lessen the speed as the ship approached the iceberg.

"This is wonderful, Leo," said Mrs. Harris; "can you tell us where and when icebergs are formed?"

"Oh yes, Mrs. Harris, icebergs that float down the Atlantic are born on the west coast of Greenland. Up there great valleys are filled with snow and ice from hill-top to hill-top, reaching back up the valleys, in some instances from thirty to forty miles. This valley-ice is called a 'Mer de Glace,' and has a motion down the valley, like any river, but of three feet more or less only per day. If time enough is allowed, vast quantities of this valley-ice move into the gulf or sea. When the sea is disturbed by a storm the ice wall or precipice is broken off, and enormous masses, often a hundred times larger than a big building, fall and float away with the report of the firing of a park of artillery, and these floating mountains of ice are lighted in their lonely pathways by the midnight sun."

Before dinner, came the regular promenade which presented many contrasts. A pretty bride from the Blue Grass Region of Kentucky walked with her young husband whom she had first met at a New England seaside. She was glad to aid in bridging the chasm between north and south. Her traveling dress of blue was appropriately trimmed with gray.

The gorgeously dressed gambler walked on the deck alone. Then came two modest nuns dressed in gray and white. Alfonso and his mother, the judge and Lucille, and a group of little children followed. Dr. Argyle and a Philadelphia heiress kept step. Everybody walked, talked, and laughed, and the passengers had little need of the ship's doctor now. If the weather is fair the decks are always enlivened as a steamer approaches land. The next day, by noon at latest, Ireland and Fastnet Rock would be sighted, if the ship's reckoning had been correct.

After dinner, Dr. Argyle was walking the deck with Lucille in the star-light. He had told her much of his family, of his talented brother in the Church, and of another in the army; he had even ventured to speak of Lucille's grace of manner, and she feared what might follow. The call of Mrs. Harris relieved Lucille of an unpleasant situation.

Secretly, Lucille was pleased to escape from Dr. Argyle. Something in his manner told her that he was not sincere; that he was a schemer, perhaps a fortune-seeker, and she gladly rejoined her mother.

Mrs. Harris and her children often wondered how matters were progressing at home. Alfonso had faith in his father's ability to cope with the strike, but Mrs. Harris and Lucille were much worried. "Don't let us trouble," said Alfonso, "till we reach Queenstown, as there we shall surely get a cablegram from father."

Just then Leo joined the family, and Lucille taking his arm, the two walked the deck, and later they found quiet seats in the moonlight. The moon's welcome rays revealed fleece-like clouds overhead and changed the waters astern into acres of diamonds. Gentle breezes fanned the cheeks of two troubled lovers who thus far had kept well their heart secrets. Lucille's warm and sensitive nature yearned for some confidant in whom she could find consolation. Mrs. Harris never quite understood her daughter. Lucille was noble, generous, and true in her affection. Her ideal of marriage was that the busy shuttle of life must be of Divine guidance, and often she was at a loss to understand some of the deep mysteries that had clouded her own life. Of this world's blessings her life had been full, except she could not reconcile some of her late experiences. Of this, of course, Leo knew nothing. He too had had a cup of bliss dashed suddenly to the ground. A moment of anger had destroyed his plans for life. The moon's soft light changed Leo's purpose never to speak to Lucille of his affection for Rosie Ricci, and he now frankly told her the whole story.

At first Lucille did not wish to believe that Leo had ever been in love, as her own heart had turned to him in the silent hours of the night when the pain in her heart forbade sleep.

Trembling she said, "Leo, you have given Rosie up forever then?"

"Oh no, Miss Harris, it was Rosie who said to me, 'Good-bye, Leo, forever.' She accepted my attentions for a year. Alas! Rosie's love for the rich man's gold I fear was more powerful than her love for me, a poor artist, and so she threw back the ruby ring and my mother's cameo, and crushed my heart and hopes. In accepting the kind invitation of your brother to accompany your family on this trip, I hoped that the journey might heal my suffering soul."

"I am delighted," said Lucille, her voice and hand still trembling a little, "that your own vow was not broken."

Leo's olive complexion was softened in the moon's rays, his face was saddened by the recital of his deep affliction, and his dark eyes were lowered, as he looked out upon the troubled pathway of the steamer. For a moment Lucille earnestly gazed at Leo who seemed to her to be handsome and noble, but he appeared lost as in a dream. Every man is thought to be noble by the woman who loves him. Then she took both his hands in hers in pity and said, "Leo, be brave as your ancestors were brave. You will be a success in the world because you have remaining your intense love for art."

"Yes, Lucille, and I think I shall marry art only."

"Don't be rash, Leo, we frail human beings know little in advance as to heaven's plans."

Few forces work truer in nature than the principle that like begets like. Leo confided in Lucille, and now Lucille confided in Leo; she slowly told in low voice the story of her own great disappointment.

"I too, once had an ideal lover. Our souls were one; the day of wedding even had been fixed; orders for an expensive trousseau had been sent to Paris; the details of the marriage had been arranged, a long journey abroad planned, and the city for our future home was selected. These things had become part of my dreams, and the joy of anticipation was filling my cup to the brim.

"One evening, in the moonlight, such as now smiles upon us, I asked Bernard if he would read a short note which I had just received, and tell me if its contents were true. Bernard removed the letter from the envelope, looked at the signature, and reading turned pale. The note was from a lady who asked if I was aware that he had offered himself to another.

"A second time I pressed the question to know if the contents were true, and he answered, 'Yes', and added that it was not his fault that he did not marry the lady.

"'Then you love her still, Bernard?'

"'Yes, Lucille, but I love you also.'

"In anger and disappointed love I left him. Of course all plans for the marriage were cancelled at once. 'First love or none,' was then written on my heart, where it still remains."

Lucille wept while Leo sat surprised. He knew not what to say, for her heart-story and heart edict, "First love or none," had opened his own wounds afresh, and had shut the door to Lucille's heart perhaps forever.

"Come, Lucille," a call of Mrs. Harris, aroused the courage of Leo, and he said to Lucille, who with a flushed face looked more beautiful than ever, "At least we should be friends." "Yes," she murmured, and Mrs. Harris and her daughter retired.

The night before, the second officer had told Lucille that land would probably be seen early next day on the port-side. All the morning, Mrs. Harris was awaiting anxiously more news about the great strike at Harrisville.

"Land, on the port-side, sir!" shouted the forward lookout, just as four bells struck the hour of ten o'clock. The officer on duty, pacing the bridge, raised his glass and in a moment he answered, "Ay! Ay! The Skelligs."

"What do they mean?" inquired Mrs. Harris of a sailor passing. "The officer has sighted land, madam. Don't you see the specks of blue low down on the horizon to the northeast? That's the Skelligs, three rocky islets off the southwest coast of Ireland, near where I was born, and where my wife Katy, and the babies live. That's where my dear old mother also keeps watch for her Patsie."

"Is your name Patsie?" Alfonso asked.

"Yes, sir, Patsie Fitzgerald, and I'm proud of my name, my family, the Emerald Isle, and the fine steamer that's taking us safely home, and may God bless all you fine people, and keep my wife and babies and my dear old mother!"

"Thank you!" said Alfonso, "here, Patsie, is a little money for the babies," and the sailor tipped his hat and bowed his thanks.

The signal officer on Brea Head, Valentia Island, was soon exchanging signals with the "Majestic," and five minutes later the sighting of the "Majestic" was cabled to the Lloyds of Liverpool and London and back to New York, via Valentia Bay, and it was known that evening in Harrisville that the Harris family were safely nearing Queenstown.

Travelers experience delightful feelings as the old world is approached for the first time. All that has been read or told, and half believed, is now felt to be true, and you are delighted that you are so soon to see for yourself the "Mother Islands," and Europe which have peopled the western world with sons and daughters.

With the precision of the New York and Jersey City ferries the ocean steamers enter the harbors of the old and new world. On the southwestern coast of Ireland is Bantry Bay, memorable in history as having been twice entered by the French navy for the purpose of invading Ireland. In sight is Valentia, the British terminus of the first Atlantic cable to North America, also the terminus of the cables laid in 1858, 1865, and 1866, and of others since laid. The distance is 1635 miles from Valentia Bay to St. John, Newfoundland.

From the deck of the steamer, Ireland seems old and worn. Her rocky capes and mountainous headlands reach far into the ever encroaching Atlantic like the bony fingers of a giant. Fastnet Rock lighthouse on the right, telling the mariner of half-sunken rocks, and Cape Clear on the left, soon drop behind.

Approaching Queenstown, the green forests and fields and little white homes of fishermen and farmers are visible along the receding shore. Roach's Point, four miles from Queenstown is reached, where the mails are landed and received, if the weather is bad, but Captain Morgan decided to steam into Queenstown Harbor, one of the finest bays in the world, being a sheltered basin of ten square miles, and the entrance strongly fortified. Within the harbor are several islands occupied by barracks, ordnance and convict depots, and powder magazines. This deep and capacious harbor can float the navies of the world. In beauty it compares favorably with the Bay of Naples.

Cove, or Queenstown, as Cove is called, since the visit of Queen Victoria in 1849, has a population of less than ten thousand. It is situated on the terraced and sheltered south side of Great Island. Here for his health came Rev. Charles Wolfe, author of "Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note."

In the amphitheatre-shaped town on parallel streets rise tiers of white stone houses, relieved by spire and tower. On neighboring highest hills are old castles, forts, and a tall white lighthouse.

One or more of Her Majesty's armored warships may always be seen within the bay. The "Majestic" dropped anchor in the quiet harbor, and the company's lighter came along side with passengers for Liverpool, and to take ashore the Queenstown passengers, and the mails which, checked out, numbered over 1600 sacks. The transatlantic mail is put aboard the express and hurried to Dublin, thence from Kingston to Holyhead, via a swift packet across St. George's Channel, and to its destination, thus saving valuable hours in its delivery throughout Europe.

Several small boats appeared bringing natives who offered for sale fruit, Irish laces, and canes made of black bog oak, with the shamrock carved on the handles. Mrs. Harris was much pleased to renew her acquaintance with the scenes of her girlhood, having sailed from Queenstown for Boston when she was only ten years old.

The baggage was left on the steamer to go forward to Liverpool, and Alfonso led the way aboard the lighter, and from the dock to the Queen's Hotel. Each carried a small satchel, with change of clothing, till the trunks should be overtaken.

At the hotel Alfonso found the longed-for cablegram from his father which read as follows:—

Harrisville,—

Mrs. Reuben Harris, Queen's Hotel, Queenstown, Ireland.

Employees still out. Mills guarded. Will hire new men. Searles visits Australia. All well. Enjoy yourselves. Love.

Reuben Harris.

"It's too bad that father and Gertrude couldn't be with us," said Mrs. Harris.

The lunch ashore of Irish chops, new vegetables, and fruit was a decided improvement on the food of the last few days. The Harrises after a stormy sea voyage were delighted again to put foot on mother earth, to enjoy the green terraces, ivy-clad walls, cottages, and churches, and also to see the shamrock, a tiny clover, which St. Patrick held up before the Irish people to prove the Holy Trinity. Lucille found the pretty yellow furz, the flower which Linnaeus, the famous Swedish botanist, kissed.

Alfonso suggested that they take the part rail and part river route of a dozen miles to Cork, the third city of Ireland. En route are seen beautiful villas, green park-like fields, rich woods, and a terrace that adorns the steep banks of the River Lee. A ruined castle at Monkstown is pointed out, which a thrifty woman built, paying the workman in goods, on which she cleared enough to pay for the castle, except an odd groat, hence the saying, "The castle cost only a groat."

A delightful day was spent at Cork, an ancient city, which pagans and Danes once occupied, and which both Cromwell and Marlborough captured. Here Rev. Thomas Lee, by his preaching, inclined William Penn, "Father of Pennsylvania," to become a Quaker. Here was born Sheridan Knowles, the dramatist, and other famous writers.

After visiting the lakes of Killarney and Dublin, the Harris family took a hasty trip through England.



CHAPTER VIII

COLONEL HARRIS RETURNS TO HARRISVILLE

The strong will of Reuben Harris was to meet its match, in fact its defeat. His plans for a well rounded life were nearing a climax when the telegram from his manager Wilson changed all his plans, and standing on the pier, as his family steamed away, he experienced the horrors of a terrible nightmare.

Mechanically he shook his white handkerchief, saw his family carried far out to sea as if to another world, and he longed for some yawning earthquake to engulf him. He stood transfixed to the dock; the perspiration of excitement, now checked, was chilling him when Gertrude caught his arm and said, "Father, what is the matter?"

Colonel Harris's strong frame trembled like a ship that had struck a hidden rock, and then he rallied as if from a stupor, and taking Mr. Searles's arm was helped to a carriage.

He said, "You must pardon me, Mr. Searles, if for a moment I seemed unmanned. It is a terrible ordeal to be thus suddenly separated from my family."

"Yes, Colonel Harris, I had a similar experience recently on the docks in Liverpool when my family bade me adieu, and I came alone to America. Separation for a time even from those we love is trying."

The heroic in Colonel Harris soon enabled him to plan well for the afternoon. He telegraphed Mr. Wilson of his decision to return, and then said, "We will leave New York at 6 o'clock this evening for Harrisville. Mr. Searles, we will try to use the afternoon for your pleasure. Driver, please take us to the Windsor Hotel, via the Produce Exchange." The colonel having left the Waldorf did not wish, under the circumstances, again to enter his name on its register.

The ride down West Street, New York, at midday, is anything but enjoyable, as few thoroughfares are more crowded with every kind of vehicle conveying merchandise from ship to warehouse, and from warehouse to ship and cars. However, the ride impressed Searles with the immensity of the trade of the metropolis. West Street leads to Battery Park, the Produce, and Stock Exchanges, which Colonel Harris desired Mr. Searles and his daughter Gertrude to see in the busy part of the day.

Colonel Harris explained that here in Battery Park terminated the Metropolitan Elevated Railway. A railway in the air with steam-engines and coaches crowded with people interested Mr. Searles greatly.

"In London," he said, "we are hurried about under ground, in foul air, and darkness often."

"Here at Battery Park, Mr. Searles, November 25, 1783, Sir Guy Carleton's British army embarked. Our New Yorkers still celebrate the date as Evacuation Day. Near by at an earlier date Hendrick Christianson, agent of a Dutch fur trading company, built four small houses and a redoubt, the foundation of America's metropolis. In 1626 Peter Minuit, first governor of the New Netherlands, bought for twenty-six dollars all Manhattan Island."

Mr. Searles visited the tall Washington Building which occupies the ground where formerly stood the headquarters of Lords Cornwallis and Howe. He told Gertrude that he had read that, in July, 1776, the people came in vast crowds to Battery Park to celebrate the Declaration of Independence, and that they knocked over the equestrian statue of George III., which was melted into bullets to be used against the British.

"Yes," replied Colonel Harris, "in early days, Americans doubtless lacked appreciation of art, but we always gave our cousins across-sea a warm reception."

"Colonel Harris," said Mr. Searles, "it has always puzzled me to understand why you should have built near Boston the Bunker Hill Monument."

"Mr. Searles, because we Americans whipped the British."

"Oh no, Colonel, that fight was a British victory."

"Father," said Gertrude, "Mr. Searles is right; the British troops, under General Gage, drove the American forces off both Breed's Hill and Bunker Hill. The obelisk of Quincy granite was erected at Charlestown, I think, to commemorate the stout resistance which the raw provincial militia made against regular British soldiers, confirming the Americans in the belief that their liberty could be won."

Mr. Searles thanked Miss Harris for her timely aid and added that a patriot is a rebel who succeeds, and a rebel is a patriot who fails. He observed also the witty sign over the entrance of a dealer in American flags, "Colors warranted not to run."

The party drove to the Produce Exchange, one of the most impressive buildings in New York. It is of rich Italian Renaissance architecture. Beneath the projecting galley-prows in the main hall, the fierce bargaining of excited members reminded Mr. Searles of a pitched battle without cavalry or artillery.

Gertrude was anxious to climb the richly decorated campanile that rises two hundred and twenty-five feet, which commands an unrivalled bird's-eye view of lower New York, the bay, Brooklyn, Long Island, and the mountains of New Jersey. All hoped to catch a glimpse of the "Majestic," but she was down the Narrows and out of sight.

Mr. Searles desired to see Trinity Church, so he was driven up Broadway to the head of Wall Street. Its spire is graceful and two hundred and eighty-four feet high. The land on which it stands was granted in 1697 by the English government. There were also other magnificent endowments. Trinity Parish, or Corporation, is the richest single church organization in the United States, enjoying revenues of over five hundred thousand dollars a year. In Revolutionary times the royalist clergy persisted in reading prayers for the king of England till their voices were drowned by the drum and fife of patriots marching up the center aisle.

It was now past two o'clock and the Harris party was driven to the Hotel Windsor for lunch. Promptly at six o'clock the conductor of the fast Western Express shouted, "All aboard," and Colonel Harris, Gertrude, and Mr. Searles in their own private car, left busy New York for Harrisville.

The Express creeps slowly along the steel way, under cross-streets, through arched tunnels, and over the Harlem River till the Hudson is reached, and then this world-famed river is followed 142 miles to Albany, the capital of the Empire State. This tide-water ride on the American Rhine is unsurpassed. The Express is whirled through tunnels, over bridges, past the magnificent summer houses of the magnates of the metropolis that adorn the high bluffs, past wooded hill and winding dale, grand mountains, and sparkling rivulets. Every object teems with historic memories. This ride, in June, is surpassed only when the forests are in a blaze of autumnal splendor.

For twenty miles in sight are the battlemented cliffs of the Palisades. Mr. Searles was familiar with the facile pen of Washington Irving, and from the car caught sight of "Sunny Side" covered with nourishing vines, grown from slips, which Irving secured from Sir Walter Scott at Abbottsford.

Passing Tarrytown Colonel Harris said, "Here Major Andre was captured, and the treachery of Benedict Arnold exposed, otherwise, we might to-day have been paying tribute to the crown of Great Britain."

"Yes," replied Mr. Searles, "George Washington, patriot, hung Major Andre, the spy. You made Washington president, and we gave Andre a monument in Westminster Abbey."

Sing Sing and Peekskill were left behind, and the Express was approaching the picturesque Highlands, a source of never failing delight to tourists. West Point, the site of the famous United States Military Academy, is on the left bank of the Hudson in the very bosom of the Highlands.

The sun set in royal splendor behind the Catskills;

"And lo! the Catskills print the distant sky, And o'er their airy tops the faint clouds driven So softly blending that the cheated eye Forgets or which is earth, or which is heaven."

"Mr. Searles," said Colonel Harris, "before leaving America you must climb the Catskills. Thousands every summer, escaping from the heat and worry of life, visit those wind-swept 'hills of the sky.' There they find rest and happiness in great forests, shady nooks, lovely walks, and fine drives.

"There are several hotels in the vicinity. From one hotel on an overhanging cliff you behold stretched out before you a hundred miles of the matchless panorama of the Hudson. The Highlands lie to the south, the Berkshire Hills and Green Mountains to the east, and the Adirondacks to the north. The latter is a paradise for disciples of Nimrod and of Izaak Walton, and a blessed sanitarium for Americans, most of whom under skies less gray than yours do their daily work with little if any reserve vitality."

Gertrude, who had excused herself some minutes before, now returned. She had been visiting in an adjoining Pullman a friend of hers, whom she had met for a moment in the Grand Central Station before the train started. Calling Colonel Harris aside, she said, "Father, Mrs. Nellie Eastlake, my classmate at Smith College, is going with friends to the Pacific Coast; shall I ask her to dine with us?"

"Certainly, child, invite her, and I am sure, Mr. Searles, that you concur in my daughter's plan to increase our party at dinner, do you not?"

"Most assuredly, Colonel."

A little later charming Mrs. Eastlake followed Gertrude into the "Alfonso," and soon dinner was announced. The steward, thoughtlessly, had forgotten in New York to purchase flowers for the table, but they were not missed.

There are women in this world whose presence is so enjoyable that they rival the charm of both art and flowers. Their voices, their grace of manner, their interest in you and your welfare, laden the air with an indescribable something that exhilarates. Their presence is like the sunshine that warms and perfumes a conservatory; you inhale the odors of roses, pinks, and climbing jessamines. Such a woman was Nellie Eastlake. She was tall and winning. The marble heart of the Venus of Milo would have warmed in her presence. Shakespeare would have said of her eyes, "They do mislead the morn."

Mrs. Eastlake was in sympathy with the Harrises in their keen disappointments. She possessed the tact to put Mr. Searles in the happiest frame of mind, so that he half forgot his mission to America. The Colonel also forgot, for the hour, that his family were absent, and that his workmen in Harrisville were on a strike.

Mrs. Eastlake in her girlhood had converted all who knew her into ardent friends. While at school on the Hudson, she met the rich father of a schoolmate. Later she was invited to travel with this friend and her father, Mr. Eastlake, a widower, among the Thousand Islands and down the St. Lawrence River. She so charmed the millionaire that after graduation at Smith College she accepted and married him. She was now journeying to her palatial home on the Pacific Coast. She skilfully helped to guide the table-talk, avoiding unwelcome topics. The dinner over, a half-hour was spent with music and magazines, and the party retired for the night.

Breakfast was served as the Express approached Lake Erie. It was agreed that Mr. Searles should accompany Mrs. Eastlake and Gertrude in the car "Alfonso," and spend a day or two at Niagara Falls.

Colonel Harris kissed Gertrude, said good-bye to all, and taking a seat in a Pullman, continued alone on his journey to Harrisville. Returning home he hoped, if possible, to set matters right at the steel mills before Mr. Searles arrived.

Left to himself, he now had opportunity for reflection. The time was, when he was as proud of his ability to do an honest day's work at the forge as he was to-day proud of his great wealth and growing power in the manufacturing world. Then he was poor, but he was conscious of forces hidden within which if used on the right things and at the right time and place he believed would make him a man of influence.

He was able then with his own hands to fashion a bolt, a nail, or horseshoe, unsurpassed in the county. He was handy in shaping and tempering tools of every kind. When he ate his cold dinner, reheating his coffee over the forge coals, he often thought of the dormant fires within him, and he wondered if they would ever be fanned to a white heat. For years he had toiled hard to pay the rent of his forge and home and his monthly bills. His wife was saving and helpful in a thousand ways, but life was a hard struggle from sun to sun.

One summer's day when work was slack, there came to his shop a tall Englishman to get a small job done. So well was the work performed by Harris that the Englishman, whose name was James Ingram, said to Harris, "I believe you are the mechanic I have long been looking for. In early life I was apprenticed in England to a famous iron-master, and when the Bessemer patents for converting iron into steel were issued, it was my good fortune to be a foreman where the first experiments were made by Henry Bessemer himself, and so I came to have a practical knowledge of Bessemer's valuable invention; but my health failed, and for six months I have been in your country in search of it, and now being well again, I plan to start if possible a Bessemer steel plant in America. Can you help me?"

Reuben Harris was quick to see that great profits might be realized from Bessemer's patents and Ingram's ideas, and promptly said, "Yes, but I must first know more about these patents and their workings." Before a week had passed, he had learned much from Ingram concerning the practical working of the Bessemer process of converting iron into steel. Bessemer claimed that his steel rails would last much longer than the common iron rail then in use.

Reuben Harris easily comprehended that the profits would be large. It was verbally agreed between Harris and Ingram that they would share equally any and all profits realized. Ingram had contributed reliable knowledge, Harris was to enlist capital, and both were to make use of all their talents, for they were both skilled mechanics.

It was not an easy matter for Harris to secure capital, for capital is often lynx-eyed, and usually it is very conservative. It was especially cautious of investment in Harris's schemes, as the practical workings of the Bessemer process were not yet fully understood in America.

The profits promised by both Harris and Ingram to capitalists were great, and this possibly made capital suspicious. Finally enough ready money was obtained to make a successful experiment, which so convinced a few rich men that more money was immediately advanced, and the steel plant was soon furnishing most satisfactory steel rails at greatly reduced cost for both the manufacturer and consumer.

Harris's ability to manage kept pace with the rapid growth of the new enterprise, while Ingram's knowledge and inventive talents proved that as superintendent of the steel plant he was the right man in the right place.

At first Harris found great difficulty in convincing railway managers that the steel rail would render enough more service to compensate for the additional cost. The most anybody could say in favor of the steel rail was largely theoretical. The Bessemer steel rail had had only a few months of actual service, long enough, however, to demonstrate that at the joints it would not batter and splinter like the iron rail. This was, indeed, a desideratum and many orders came in. Not only was the steel mill kept running day and night, but orders accumulated so rapidly that large additions were made to the mills.

Money for all these improvements and the capital necessary to carry on the increasing business were matters of vital importance to the success of the company. To manage a business with greatest advantage quite as much ready cash is needed as is invested in the plant, otherwise the banker's discount becomes a heavy lien on the profits, and the stockholders grumble at small dividends.

Possibly Reuben Harris overestimated the value of his service in financiering the business; at least he came to believe that he earned, and ought to have a larger interest than James Ingram. Ingram, became so cramped by assessments and money obligations that he was obliged to sell to Harris most of his interest in the steel plant. Harris's interests increased, till practically he was the owner of the Harrisville Iron & Steel Works, and much property besides. He was quoted as a millionaire, while James Ingram was superintendent of only a department of the steel works, and his income was nominal. Often he felt that great injustice had been done him. Several times he had talked the matter over with Colonel Harris, but with little satisfaction.

The great wrong done to James Ingram, to whom Harris was so largely indebted for the initial and practical knowledge of successfully manufacturing steel rails was uppermost in Reuben Harris's mind as the express hurried him back to Harrisville.



CHAPTER IX

CAPITAL AND LABOR IN CONFERENCE

Colonel Harris's awakened conscience was considering seriously the question, "How can I right this wrong done to Ingram?" when the Express stopped at a station thirty miles out of Harrisville, and into his car came the son of James Ingram, George Ingram who was now superintendent of the Harrisville Iron & Steel Co.'s plant. Somebody, perhaps Gertrude, had telegraphed from Buffalo to the superintendent to tell him on which train Colonel Harris expected to return.

George Ingram was visibly affected as he took the proffered hand of Reuben Harris, and inquired about his health and the whereabouts and welfare of his family. Harris implored young Ingram to tell him all about the strike, its latest phases, and what the municipal authorities were doing for the protection of his property. George Ingram gave him a brief history of the troubles up to the time of his leaving Harrisville. He told how the manager aided by the company's general counsel, Mr. Webster, had used every possible argument with the workingmen's committee; that a statement even had been submitted, showing that very small or practically no profits had resulted from recent contracts, which were now being completed by the company. The effort to arrive at a satisfactory adjustment with the employees was thus far absolutely fruitless. Since daylight the four thousand men had been parading the streets with music and clubs, forcing employees of other establishments to quit work, and threatening to destroy the steel plant.

The color in Colonel Harris's face came and went as he listened, showing a white heat of indignation. Ingram sat facing his employer, watching the emotions of a strong man, and not then daring to offer any suggestion, for he felt strongly in behalf of the employees, who always looked upon him as their friend.

Colonel Harris was a man of powerful build, wide forehead, overhanging brows, broad chest and shoulders, short thick neck, and strong arms developed at the anvil. His superintendent from boyhood had studied him, but never before had he seen the lion in his employer so aroused.

Arriving at Harrisville the wealthy iron-master, accompanied by his superintendent, stepped into his own private carriage, and immediately drove to the general offices of the Harrisville Iron & Steel Co. The directors of the company were in special session to devise means of protecting their threatened property and of crushing the strike.

B.C. Wilson, the manager, rose to greet Colonel Harris, who shook hands with him and the directors, and then the meeting was resumed, Harris acting as chairman of the board. Colonel Harris soon grasped the situation, and he approved of all that his directors and manager had done.

Rising to his feet, in a firm tone, he made a vigorous talk to his board: "Gentlemen, my views as to the best method of dealing with the important question before us are known to some of you. Four years ago a similar trouble perplexed our company, and our failure then to act decisively resulted in prolonging the discontent among our employees. Their purposes are as apparent to-day as then, viz., to rule or ruin our gigantic enterprise. Capital and labor should be the best of friends. Unfortunately, trusts and labor organizations are alike avaricious and selfish.

"Centuries ago, in Belgium, weavers dictated terms to capital, and hurled rich men from balconies to death upon spears below. This unnatural revolution lasted for a short time only; brains and wealth again acquired control, and they always will control. To yield to our employees the privilege of fixing their own wages, and a voice in directing the affairs of our company is to cloud or mortgage our capital. This is a most unreasonable demand. Why should they expect us to share with them our property, title to which the United States has guaranteed?

"If our state, or national government cannot or will not defend us in the title to our property, on which they yearly levy taxes, then we will place our interests beneath a flag that can and will give ample protection. This terrible uncertainty as to titles and values in the United States will yet wreck the republic."

It was natural that the directors should heartily approve Colonel Harris's utterances, as he was the owner of five-sixths of the stock of the company. He then asked Mr. Webster their general counsel, to read to the board the position which the company proposed to take before the public.

Mr. Webster was a tall, elderly man, who had served five years on the supreme bench of his state, an attorney of few words, but well versed in the laws of his country, especially in corporation laws. Holding a sheet of paper in his hands he read, "The Harrisville Iron & Steel Company claims the fundamental right to manage its own business in its own way, in accordance with and under the protection of the laws of the land."

The board voted its approval of the attorney's position, and also voted that a petition be drawn and immediately sent to the mayor of the city asking protection for their property. The board then adjourned.

Colonel Harris, his manager, and Mr. Webster entered a carriage, and drove rapidly to the mayor's office, while superintendent George Ingram drove back to the steel works to execute his orders, though he did not believe in harsh measures. Harris presented the petition to the mayor, who hastily examined it. Bands of music were now audible on the street, and a long procession of workingmen, bearing national banners, was seen marching towards the city hall. Citizens on the streets held their breath, and policemen feared the outcome.

Colonel Harris rose to go, but the Mayor seized his arm and said, "No! you and your friends must stay here and meet a committee of your employees who have an appointment with me at three o'clock.

"Already I have said to the same committee, who called at ten o'clock this morning, that I should expect them to influence your employees to keep the peace, to aid in protecting your property, to disperse quietly and remain in their homes. Colonel Harris, please be seated, you and your friends must remain."

"Well, Mr. Mayor, since you insist, we will remain, but our company demands the protection of all our property, and the preservation of peace and lives in our midst. You are the city's executive officer. The payment annually by our corporation of thousands in taxes, calls for an equivalent, therefore we ask that you maintain the dignity of the city and her laws."

The mayor stepped to the telephone and called Major Strong, the chief of police. "Send at once a captain and twenty-five policemen in patrol wagons to the city hall. Hold fifty more men in readiness."

A great throng of people occupied the sidewalks and the windows of adjoining buildings. Thousands of workmen crowded the pavement from curb to curb. The vast crowd below, though impressive was not new to Colonel Harris nor did it alarm him.

Four years before, his employees were out on a strike for several months. Then the issue was, "Will the company recognize the demands of the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers of America?" The reply of the company was, "No!" The struggle then was severe, but the strike failed. The present issue was, "Will the company pay an increase of wages?"

The committee of five of the employees soon entered the mayor's office. They were much surprised to find that Colonel Harris had returned to the city; it was believed that he had actually set sail for Europe. The committee unfortunately was a radical one, and did not represent the average thoughtful and conservative type of workingmen. Evidently the committee had been selected for the purpose of intimidating capital, as their manner did not indicate a conciliatory policy.

Mr. Burns, acting as spokesman, said, "Mr. Mayor, it is 3 o'clock, and we are back again promptly, as you requested, and you see that our committee is increased by several thousand workingmen on the street below who have come to demand bread of a soulless corporation. Mayor Duty, what do you advise us to do?"

The Mayor was nervous as he replied, "Mr. Burns and members of the committee, I confess that so many thousands of honest and upturned faces of workingmen move my heart. If I were able it would give me pleasure first to ask you all to partake of a good meal, for more satisfactory business is usually accomplished after people are well fed. You ask my advice. Here, gentlemen of the committee, is Colonel Harris, your employer, let him speak to you."

Memories of a wife and three babies at home, dependent for bread upon his own earnings at the forge, flashing upon the mind of Colonel Harris, sweetened his spirit and softened his voice, so that he spoke briefly and kindly to the committee, repeating, however, what his manager had told the committee at ten o'clock, viz., "that the present bad condition of the steel market would not permit the company to grant the advance of wages they asked."

The committee, aware of the large profits of former years, sullenly retired, and after the company's decision had been communicated to the anxious thousands below, the employees of the Harrisville Iron & Steel Co. slowly returned to their homes. The mayor ordered his chief of police to dispatch immediately in patrol wagons fifty men to the steel works, to guard the property and keep the peace.

After the committee retired, the mayor said, "Well, Colonel Harris, what will be the outcome?"

"Mr. Mayor, we cannot foretell anything. You never know what workingmen in their lodges will do. There, as a rule, the 'Walking delegate' and a few agitators rule with despotic power. If a workman, whose large family forces him to take conservative views, dares in his lodge to suggest peaceful measures, an agitator rises at once in indignation and demands that traitors to the cause of labor be expelled. This throttles freedom of action in many labor unions, so that often what appears on the surface to be the unanimous action of the members of workingmen's leagues, is but the exercise of despotic power by a few men who have nothing to lose, and whose salary is paid from the slim purses of honest labor.

"Usually those who talk much and loudly think little and unwisely, and the opposite to their advice is safest to follow. The greatest need to-day in most of our labor organizations is wise leadership, and this will result when the best element in the labor lodges asserts itself.

"The despotism of ill-advised labor is to be dreaded by civilization more than the reign of intelligent capital. This is especially true in the United States, where under wise laws, wealth cannot be entailed, and where most large fortunes soon disappear among the heirs.

"A simple pair of shears illustrates perfectly the relationship that capital and labor should sustain each to the other. Capital is one blade of the shears, and labor is the other blade; either blade without the other is useless, and the two blades are useless unless the rivet is in place. Confidence is to capital and labor what the rivet is to the two blades. The desideratum to-day in the business world is full and abiding confidence between capital and labor." Thus speaking Colonel Harris and his friends left the mayor and returned to their homes.

* * * * *

After a visit to Niagara Falls, Mr. Searles and his party went on to Harrisville, where Mrs. Eastlake rejoined some friends and continued her long journey to the Pacific Coast. Colonel Harris met his daughter and Mr. Hugh Searles at the station, the latter, under the circumstances, being the last person he cared to see. The carriage was driven at once to Reuben Harris's beautiful home that overlooked Harrisville and blue Lake Erie.

After dinner Colonel Harris explained to Mr. Searles all about the inopportune strike; also that it was impossible to say when the steel plant would be started again. Mr. Searles decided next morning that after a short ride through Harrisville he would continue his journey through the States to California, and possibly to Australia, where he had another important interest to attend to in behalf of a London client.

It was further arranged that he would return to London via Harrisville in about six months, if so desired by Colonel Harris, otherwise he would complete the journey around the world, returning to England by way of the Suez Canal.



CHAPTER X

KNOWLEDGE IS POWER

The Ingrams lived not far from the steel mills in one of two wooden houses, each two stories in height, which Reuben Harris and James Ingram had built for their families, when they began in a modest way to manufacture steel. As Reuben Harris grew rich he moved his family into a beautiful home in the fashionable part of the city, and good society accepted them as their equals.

The large family and small income of James Ingram forced him to continue his residence in the same brown house near the steel mills. The Ingram family kept much to their English ways and knew little or nothing of society. The English and Germans cling tenaciously to their old habits and customs which they carry across seas and over mountains. Generations must elapse before it will be safe to predict what the national type of an American citizen will be. One discovers on the British Isles the mixture of centuries of European blood which has developed a virility of body and brain that dominates the globe. "More honor to be a British subject to-day than to have been a Roman in Rome's palmiest days," thought James Ingram, who was proud of his race and his family blood.

James Ingram came from a well-bred English household. His environment now hedged him in. In England ill-health, and now, in America, ill-treatment made him miss golden opportunities. Except good qualities are inbred, it is almost as impossible for a person in one stratum of society to be lifted up into another as it is for the geological strata of the earth to change positions.

The grandmother of James Ingram had good blood in her veins; she came from a family that had performed valiant deeds in war and in peace. James Ingram's father had erred in judgment, and a large estate, partially inherited, had been swept away as by a flood. He died, leaving James the eldest son to aid in supporting his mother and several children.

James Ingram was now over fifty years of age. Could he, or his children, retrieve their family prestige was a question he often asked himself. He still had energy, unconquerable determination, and faith in himself. These are some of the essential elements in a successful character; but the fates thus far had decreed adversely. His early education was not of the best, but by carefully devoting not less than two hours a day to good reading, he had not only kept pace with current history, but had also acquired a helpful knowledge of the sciences.

When his oldest son George was born, he planned to give his children the best education possible. Two of his three daughters were teaching in the public schools; May Ingram taught music. Two of his sons worked in the mills, one as chemist and one as an electrician; a third son was conductor on a passenger train, and a fourth was studying to be a physician.

The father and his son, George, after the day's work at the mills was over, spent much time over a problem which, if solved, would revolutionize many things. Twice they thought they were on the eve of a solution of the subject, but unforeseen obstacles were encountered, and still they struggled on.

It is no wonder that the father was proud of George, now chemist of the vast steel works, for he was manly and respected by all the employees. When a boy, George worked nights, Saturdays, and during his vacations in the mills, and the men came to know and love his genial ways and fair methods, and thus he gained a good knowledge of steel-making.

His father was urgent that his son should not miss a single day in his schooling. At length he graduated at the high school with the esteem of his teachers and his class. During the twelve years spent in public schools he had acquired a fine discipline of mind, a love of the sciences, and enough of Latin and Greek to aid him in determining the derivation and exact meaning of words. Co-education too had refined his nature, and enabled him to estimate correctly his own abilities, but best of all he had come to know at the high school the second daughter of Reuben Harris, Gertrude, who graduated in his own class. During the senior year he had frequently walked and talked with her, and came to know somewhat of her plans.

Gertrude's parents, especially Mrs. Harris, were anxious that both their daughters should go to private schools, and Lucille was easily persuaded to attend a young ladies' seminary, where aesthetic accomplishments were emphasized and considered essentials and a passport into good society. But Gertrude decided in favor of a public school education.

Lucille and Gertrude as sisters were fond of each other, but Lucille lived more for self, while Gertrude preferred others to self. Gertrude had learned early how by a smile or bow to retain an old friend or to win a new one. She spent very little time thinking about her own needs, preferring to take flowers or fruit, even when given her, to some sick or aged person. Nothing pleased her more than to visit the Old Ladies' Home with a few gifts and read the Bible or comforting stories to the inmates.

Mrs. Harris when east chanced to spend a June day at Wellesley College near Boston. By early moonlight several hundred Wellesley girls and thousands of spectators had assembled on the banks of Lake Waban to enjoy the "Float." Gaily uniformed crews in their college flotilla formed a star-shaped group near the shore for their annual concert. Chinese lanterns, like giant fire-flies, swung in the trees and on many graceful boats. The silver notes of the bugle and the chant of youthful voices changed the college-world into a fairyland.

Both mother and daughter were charmed and Lucille gladly decided to enter Wellesley. Hard study, however, and the daily forty-five minutes of domestic work then required, did not agree with her nature, and after a few weeks she decided upon a change, and continued her education at one of the private schools on the Back-Bay in Boston.

Gertrude, possessing a more active mind and ambition, resolved to obtain an education as good as her brother Alfonso had had at Harvard. She had read of a prominent benefactor who believed that woman had the same right as man to intellectual culture and development, and who in 1861 had founded on the Hudson, midway between Albany and New York, an institution which he hoped would accomplish for women what colleges were doing for men.

So Gertrude applied for enrollment and was admitted to Vassar College. Rooms were assigned her in Strong Hall. She liked Vassar's sensible way of hazing, a cordial reception being given to freshmen by the sophomores. She was glad to be under both men and women professors, for this in part fulfilled her idea of the education that women should receive.

At Vassar were several girls from Harrisville whom Gertrude knew, but no boys. She wrote her mother that she would be better pleased if Vassar had less Greek and more boys. She could not understand why co-education at the high school in Harrisville, that worked perfectly, should stop at the threshold of Vassar, or other women's and men's colleges.

The two following years on the beautiful Hudson were happy years for Gertrude. She conquered mathematics, stood well in Latin, and was enthusiastic in the study of psychology, the science of mind, which teaches the intimate relation of mental phenomena to the physical organism. German was an elective study with Gertrude, which she had studied at the high school, but at Vassar she learned to write and talk the language with accuracy and freedom, which is not usual, unless one lives in a German family.

Gertrude was already planning to study history and some of the sciences in original German text-books, if occasion offered. She cared little for music, though she was extremely fond of poetry and now and then contributed verses for publication. Her essay on architecture at the close of the second year elicited applause from the students and praise in red ink across the first page of the composition.

Self-government of the Vassar girls develops self-respect and self-control. A Vassar girl is bound on her honor to retire every night at ten o'clock, with three exceptions a month, to exercise in the gymnasium three hours a week, and to take at least one hour of outdoor exercise daily. Regular exercise, regular meals, nine hours of sleep, and plenty of mental work were rapidly preparing Gertrude to fill some noble position in the world.

At Vassar other sources of mental rest and physical strength are, tennis-court tournaments, basket ball, rowing and skating on the lake, bicycling, or five-mile tramps, studying birds, photographing scenery, or gathering wild flowers. The Vassar girl is also enthusiastic over the "Tree and Trig Ceremonies" and amateur dramatic entertainments.

Gertrude closed her second and last year at Vassar with regret. The farewell "fudge" party was for Gertrude, and given in her own room by a score of her warm personal friends. The rule for "fudge-making" is, two cups of sugar, milk, two rolls of butter melted with chocolate in a copper kettle over a gas stove. The fused compound is poured into paper plates and cut into tiny squares. So eager is the Vassar girl for "fudge" that the struggle is earnest for the first taste, and for the cleaning of the big spoon and kettle. The Vassar girl has a sweet tooth, and "fudge" parties always evolve love stories and fun in abundance.

After a pleasant vacation in the Adirondacks with friends, Gertrude resolved to complete her education at Smith College on the lovely Connecticut River, which winds through western Massachusetts. To educate a whole family of boys and girls at the "dear old alma mater" is now an exploded fancy. A better plan is to educate the half dozen brothers and sisters at a half dozen good colleges. What faculty of educators can lay claim to all the best methods of evolving characters?

The industry and economy of James Ingram had enabled him to send his son George for two years to the Polytechnic Institute at Troy. Suddenly financial troubles made it impossible for him longer to assist his son. Mrs. Harris, very likely by Gertrude's suggestion, offered to provide funds for the third and last year at the institute, and George was delighted to complete his course.

By invitation, George had spent the last days of his vacation with Gertrude in the Adirondacks, and he had accompanied Mrs. Harris and her daughters back to Albany, while the mother continued the journey leaving Gertrude at Smith College, Northampton, and Lucille at Boston. Mrs. Harris was justly proud of her girls. Their figure and dress often caused people to stop in their conversation or reading, as mother and daughters entered a car or a hotel.

George Ingram returned to the institute with high hopes. A few of his plans were revealed to Gertrude on the last night of his vacation. He told her some things he never dared mention before to any one. They were on Saranac Lake and the moon seemed to change the water to silver. Their birch canoe drifted along the shore and George, dropping his oars, reversed his seat and faced the girl he loved as he told her much of his plan for life. Gertrude dipped her oars lightly in the water, George guiding the canoe beneath the forest overhanging the pebbly shore.

Thus far his education had been a struggle. Time which his mates employed in recreation he had used in the steel mill. Thus he gained a trade and a knowledge of the value of time. Early he had learned that knowledge is power and that intellect and wealth rule the world. He told Gertrude that she had kindled within him the spark of ambition, and that he proposed to make life a success. "Gertrude, you must be my friend in this struggle," he added.

"Yes, George, always your friend," she replied.

He felt that Gertrude meant all she said. Long ago her sincerity had captured his heart. Her sympathy, her unselfishness, and her words of helpfulness had been the light by which he was shaping his course.

Another school year went by swiftly, and both Lucille and Gertrude were present in June at Troy to see George Ingram graduate. It was a pity that his own father and mother, who had sacrificed so much for him, could not attend. How often his noble mother had prayed for her first-born son, and Gertrude had prayed too, but George did not know this.

At times he was conscious of a strong force within, impelling him forward, whose source he could not divine, neither could he free himself from it. Fortunate person whose sails are filled with breezes from heaven, for craft of this kind go forward guided rightly, almost without the rudder's aid!

George pursued at the institute a three years' course, leading up to the degree of Bachelor of Science. After the first two years he took less higher mathematics and more natural history, chemistry, and geology. The institute is within easy access of engineering works and manufacturing plants of great diversity, which afforded young Ingram opportunities for valuable investigation and observation. His graduating thesis was entitled, "A Design for an Electrical Steel Plant with Working Details, Capacity One Thousand Tons per Diem." It was much complimented, especially the detail drawings for the plant.

His books and clothes had been packed and shipped to Harrisville. Reluctant good-byes were given to all the professors, class-mates, and many townspeople, who were fond of him. Life in Troy had been a constant inspiration, for he was in touch with young men from cultivated families which in itself is an education. George had the usual experience of the student world, for to him all the professors were very learned men.

After George had locked the door of his old study-room to go to the train, he stopped in the hallway in serious thought, then turning back he unlocked the door and again entered the dear old rooms. He reseated himself at the desk, where he had so often studied far into the night. He took another look into the bedroom, into the little store-room, and pleasant memories crowded his mind, as for the last time he gazed from the window towards the Berkshire Hills, beyond which Gertrude was being educated, and then as he finally re-locked the door, he recalled his afternoon engagement to meet Gertrude and Lucille at 4:30 o'clock at the Albany station to take the Boston & Chicago Special for Harrisville.

George had entered the institute with a light heart and much zest, because three years of progressive work were marked out for him. His mental journey had now ended and his heart was heavy. No road opened before him except the one that led back to the dingy old Harrisville mills. In the last three years his sky had lifted a little, but the intelligence gained only made him all the more conscious of the small world in which he and his family lived. How was he ever to earn a living for two, if Gertrude should possibly say "yes?"

Just as he put his foot on the platform of the railway station a letter was placed in his hand by a fellow classmate. The envelope bore the printed address of the Harrisville Iron & Steel Co. George, thinking the letter was from his father, instantly tore it open and began reading. At first his face flushed and then it was lit with joy.

"Good tidings, I hope," said Gertrude, as she with her sister approached.

"Yes, Gertrude, read for yourself. A friend at court is a friend indeed."

The two sisters were delighted and heartily congratulated George. "Of course, you will accept the position?" inquired Gertrude.

"Your father, Gertrude, is very kind to me, and I believe I could fill satisfactorily the position of chemist now offered by the steel company. Later, Gertrude, we can talk this matter over." Three happy young people bought tickets for home and took seats in a Pullman car.

After a week's rest, George Ingram assumed the duties of assistant chemist for the Harrisville Iron & Steel Co. Two weeks' initiation by the old chemist, whose health was failing, sufficed to give young Ingram efficiency and confidence in his desirable position.



CHAPTER XI

IN TOUCH WITH NATURE

The school vacation of the Harris young ladies came and went on wings. The mother was too ill to leave her home; she stood in her door-way, and gave her farewell, "God keep and bless you, children!" The father had gone to Chicago, so George Ingram saw the daughters off touching Gertrude's hand, with a hearty good-bye as she stood in the car door.

As George returned slowly to his task at the steel mills, he resolved to use his evenings in post-graduate work. The more he studied iron ores and steel-making, the more he felt that he must conquer the whole intricate subject, if he would be of greatest service to his employers. The intense competition in the trade demanded it.

The Empire State Express, the fastest train in the world, carried Gertrude and Lucille through New York state with speed and ease to delightful New England. Secretly Gertrude loved George, and she resolved to study chemistry and electricity and keep pace with his studies, and if ever asked to become his wife, to aid him in every possible way. She thought that she discovered in him the material for a noble man, a statue which she hoped to chisel. Too often marriageable young women and their anxious mothers demand the complete statue at the outset, and are not content to accept and chisel granite.

At Smith College the months sped rapidly, as earnest study and bright expectations occupied Gertrude's time and satisfied her heart. Every week brought a letter and a reply was promptly sent. George wanted to write twice a week, but Gertrude checked him, saying that both needed their time, and that too frequent correspondence, like too much intimacy, often brings disfavor.

"More details of the doings at the steel mills," wrote Gertrude. She cared more about the welfare of her father's employees and their families and George Ingram's plans than to know the latest fad in society. George was equally anxious to keep her informed, and to learn of her intellectual advancement, what books she read, and her views on the leading topics of the day.

Her first letter began, "My Coatless Friend," a reference to the loss of a linen coat or duster, when the last ride at Harrisville was taken. The second letter began "Friend George," and the third, "My dear Friend." Gertrude and George never addressed each other twice alike in their whole correspondence. The weekly letters were always torn open by each in haste, and both noticed a gradual increase of warmth in these addresses. The fact that Gertrude was an heiress neither hindered nor helped his devotion. His heart was attracted by her many charms.

At Smith College Gertrude occupied rooms in the Morris Cottage among the apple tree blossoms. Much of her spare time was spent in the scientific library and laboratory of Lilly Hall, or with the professor and his telescope in the observatory.

On clear nights, aided by the telescope, Gertrude gazed into the immensity of space, whispering sometimes to her own soul, "How grand this vast world-making, this frightful velocity of the giant dynamos in their elliptical pathways through space!"

Often unable to sleep, she continued her thoughts and wondered if space were not interlaced with electrical currents that move the earth, the sister planets, and the myriads of suns and their planets. She thought she saw, as never before, the necessity for an eternal existence of the mind, if God is to be studied and known in his infinite variety.

Four years in college had developed Gertrude into a beautiful character. Regular work in the gymnasium, much outdoor exercise, and care as to ventilation in her rooms, especially at night, had kept her in perfect physical health. Her intimates shared her glow of vitality, for her presence at "Lawn, or Character Teas," at tennis-courts, or at basket-ball always brought sunshine and enthusiasm.

The Saturday before commencement, her mother and Lucille came to enjoy the charming festivities of Smith College. A representation of Racine's "Athalie," with Mendelssohn's music, was the evening attraction at the Academy of Music, which the class had rented for the occasion.

Groups of ushers, with white satin wands, conducted students in tasteful dresses, and invited guests to their seats. When the curtain rose it was difficult to decide which one most admired, the stage with its artistic setting, its young faces, sweet voices, and graceful movements, or the sympathetic audience of students and their friends. The stage and press of the future guided in part by college-bred men and women will preach, it is hoped, purity, truth, and the beautiful.

Mrs. Harris and Lucille were very happy that Gertrude was to graduate, and Lucille who had just finished her education in Boston, half regretted that she too had not entered a woman's college. Gertrude never looked more beautiful than she did in the white-robed procession, as, on Baccalaureate Sunday, the several classes passed down the aisles of the church.

George Ingram had hurried to Northampton to see Gertrude graduate. She met him at the station, and took his hand warmly in both of hers. George had brought from New York a box of white roses for her room, and a big bunch of the star-flower, the pretty English blue forget-me-not. He also had in his valise a tiny case of which he made no mention to anybody.

Hundreds of young women in white walked across the campus and were massed on the college steps for their Ivy Exercise. Never before was George so proud of Gertrude. She and Nellie Nelson, afterwards Mrs. Eastlake, had been chosen by the class for their beauty and sweet ways to head the procession of the white-gowned graduates. The evening of Class-day is a fitting close of the gay festivities at Smith College.

At the evening reception, George was introduced to many of Gertrude's class-mates, and some of her intimate friends whispered, "Mr. Ingram and Gertrude must be engaged! What a handsome pair they will make." George offered his arm to Gertrude, and they walked about the campus under the classical trees that glowed with hundreds of colored paper lanterns; everywhere a throng of pretty happy girls with their relatives and friends. Music by the glee clubs on the college steps, and refreshments, closed pleasantly Gertrude's last night of college life on the beautiful Connecticut.

She went to bed tired, but very happy. That evening her mother and sister had left for New York, and in the morning she and George were to spend the day at Mt. Holyoke. Twice in the night, Gertrude awoke, looked at her watch, and longed for daylight, and then went back to dream of flowers and music.

While she slept, warm southern breezes spread a coverlet of silver gray mist over the homes of energy and thrift up and down the Connecticut Valley. In the morning when Gertrude opened the blinds, and saw the fog against the window panes and over the valley, she exclaimed, "It is too bad, I so wanted George to drive to Mt. Holyoke to-day, and see nature at her best! I hoped this would be the happiest day of my life."

It was a quarter to 8 o'clock when a pair of spirited black roadsters, hitched to a buckboard, were driven in front of the hotel for George Ingram. As he appeared on the porch he looked every inch a gentleman. He was twenty-five years old, had received a practical education, and was filling acceptably the important position of assistant chemist of the Harrisville Iron & Steel Co., to which, six months before, he had been promoted. He had fine physique, dark hair and eyes, and a military bearing that made him the natural commander of men. His firmness, tempered with great kindness of heart, always won for him the respect of both men and women.

He handled the team with skill for he was a member of the driving club at home. At a college window sat Gertrude who was eagerly watching for him, and now she ran down the gravel walk with a sunny face, greeting her manly lover with such sweet voice and grace, that a college girl in passing whispered to her companion. "Look, Bessie, there are true and handsome lovers such as we read about in novels, but seldom meet."

Gertrude insisted, since the fog was lifting, that George should hitch his horses and for five minutes go with her up on the college tower. As they looked out, Gertrude said, "Here, George, on the west are our half dozen cozy college houses; on the smooth green lawn below you see our tennis-courts, and an abundance of shade.

"Now, George, turn to the east and see how kindly the sun has removed the mist and made for us a glorious day. How bright the colors in our flag that floats over the high school yonder! There stands the Soldiers' Memorial Hall, the Edwards Church with graceful spire, and across the green meadows, with its winding stream of silver, rise the ranges of Mt. Tom and Mt. Holyoke, outlined in curves against the blue sky."

"Beautiful!" responded George, "and yet, Gertrude, nothing in nature is half so lovely as your own dear self." Without warning he kissed her rosy cheek, her whole face changing to crimson as she said, "George, we must be going."

Two happy young souls drove away from Smith College out under the Gothic elms, where the birds were mating and building their nests. The plan for the day was to drive to the mountain, and follow the mother and sister on the evening express to New York. The hotel clerk had pointed out the best road to Mt. Holyoke, and following his directions they drove southeast, leaving behind them shady Northampton, Smith College, and delightful memories of Jonathan Edwards, George Bancroft, and others.

A single white parasol was quite enough to protect two lovers from the sun's rays. Circular shadows, photographs of the sun, frolicked with each other in the roadway as gentle breezes swayed the overhanging boughs.

Milk wagons with noisy cans were returning home, herds of black and white Holstein-Friesian cattle, famous for their yield of milk, were cropping sweet grasses in the pastures. Farmers were guiding their cultivators and mowing machines, while wives and daughters were shelling June peas, hulling strawberries, and preparing for dinner. The large white houses, with roomy barns in the shade of big elms, were the happy homes of freemen. Gertrude wanted the horses to walk more, but George was unwilling to take the dust of wagons returning from the market, so he kept the horses moving at a brisk pace.

At length the Hockanum Ferry with its odd device was reached. George got out and led the horses into the middle of the small river craft. Then the boat was pushed off and a strong man and boy pulled at the wire rope. The ferryman's shanty, the willows, and tangled driftwood on the shore, fast receded, and soon the middle of the Connecticut River was reached, where the current is swiftest. In sight were several canoes with light sails, scudding before the wind. It seemed as if the tiny rope of the ferry would break, but the rope is of steel wire and the boat moved slowly till the opposite bank was reached. Gertrude held the lines, the sun shining full in her face, and talked to the boatman, to George, and the horses, but George said little as he was busy quieting the excited animals and studying the primitive rope-ferry.

To the regular ferrage, Gertrude added a dime for Tim, the helper, who watered the horses. As George was about to start his team, a twelve-year old farm boy ran aboard the boat with a string of fine speckled trout strung on a willow twig. All the spring the boy's anticipations for "a day off" had now been fully realized. Since daylight the little fellow had tramped up and down the brook, his feet were bruised and sore, and his face and hands were bitten by mosquitos. But what of that? He had caught a string of fine fish and was happy. Gertrude, for a silver dollar, bought the trout, and the boy danced with joy.

It was half past eleven before the Half-way Station up the mountain was reached, and the steep ascent to Prospect House on the top of Mt. Holyoke was made by the car on the inclined railway. The morning ride and the thought of a dinner of brook trout on the mountain had sharpened the appetites of the lovers. George and Gertrude needed but a single announcement of dinner from the clerk to make them hasten for seats at so inviting a meal. They sat near an open window, and never did they enjoy a dinner more. College work was now over, and on the threshold of life, apart from the busy world in sight below, two souls could plan and confide in each other. As the two walked the broad porch, a panorama unfolded before them of almost unsurpassed beauty.

Charles Sumner who, in 1847, stood on Mt. Holyoke, said, "I have never seen anything so unsurpassingly lovely as this." He had traveled through the Highlands of Scotland, up and down the Rhine, had ascended Mont Blanc, and stood on the Campagna in Rome. Gertrude with her college mates had often climbed Mt. Holyoke, and she was very familiar with this masterpiece of nature in western Massachusetts. So she described the grand landscape to her lover who sat enchanted with the scene before him.

"This alluvial basin," she said, "is twenty miles in length and fifteen in width, and is enclosed by the Mt. Holyoke and Mt. Tom ranges, and the abrupt cones of Toby and Sugar Loaf, while the Green Mountains lie to the north, whence the rich soils have been brought by thousands of vernal floods. Grove-like masses of elms mark well the townships of Northampton, Easthampton, Southampton and Westhampton, Hatfield, Williamsburg and Whately, Hadley, Amherst, Leverett and Sunderland.

"In twelve miles, the Connecticut River turns four times to the east and three times to the west, forming the famous 'Ox-Bow.'

"This beautiful river receives its life from springs in adjacent forests and mountains, and, forcing a passage between Mt. Holyoke and Mt. Nonotuck, flows far south into Long Island Sound. Its banks are fringed with a tanglewood of willows, shrubs, trees, and clambering vines. Bordering on the Connecticut River and near thrifty towns are thousands of acres of rich meadows and arable lands, without fence, which are interspersed with lofty trees and orchards and covered with exquisite verdure.