"Meet the 10.20 Express with aclosecarriage."Theodore Mallery."
"Theodore Mallery."
So, when the train steamed into the depot, the first person whom Theodore saw was thefaithful Jim. A few hurried words between them explained matters, and Pliny was quietly helped by Jim and Mr. Stephens into the close carriage and whirled away before Theodore had possessed himself of all of Mrs. Hastings' extra shawls and wraps.
T
HEREhad been a grand and solemn funeral. A long line of splendid coaches had followed the millionaire to his last resting-place. Rosewood and silver and velvet and crape had united to do him honor. Many stores in the city were closed because Mr. Hastings had extensive business connections with them. The hotels were closed because Mr. Hastings owned three of the largest; the Euclid House was shuttered and bolted, and long lines of heavy crape floated from the numerous doors. Many hats had been uplifted, many gray heads bared, while the closing words of the solemn burial service were once more repeated, and then the mourners had returned to their places, and the long line of carriages had swept back, and the city had taken down its shutters and opened its doors again, and theworld had rushed onward as before. Only in that one home—there the desolation tarried. Through all the trouble and the pain Theodore had been with them constantly. That first day he had accompanied them home of necessity, their rightful protector being still in his drunken sleep. Arrived there, they needed help and comfort even more than they had before. There were friends by the hundreds, but Theodore could not fail to see that while Mrs. Hastings appeared incapable of directing, and indeed very indifferent as to what was done, Dora turned steadily and constantly to him for advice and assistance. Pliny was prevailed upon to go at once to his room, and was very soon asleep. When the wretched stupor of sleep had worn itself out upon him, and left the fearful headache to throb in his temples, Theodore was at his side, grave and sad and silent, but patient still, and gentle as a woman. Only a few words passed between them, Pliny speaking first in a cold, hard tone.
"Go away, Mallery, and let me alone—everything is over. All I ask of you is to send me a bottle of brandy, and never let me see your face again."
Theodore's only answer was to dip his hand again into cool water, and pass it gently over the burning temples; then he said:
"I think it would be well to lie still, Pliny. They do not need you below at present, and your head is very hot."
Pliny pushed feebly with his hand.
"Go away, Mallery, I can not endure the sight of you. It is all over, I say. I will never try again."
Very quietly and steadily went the firm, cool hand across his forehead, and the voice that answered him was quiet and firm.
"No, I shallnotleave you, dear friend, and all isnotover. You are going to try harder than ever before, and I amnevergoing to give you up—never!"
Silence for a little, then Pliny said:
"Then don't leave me, Theodore, not for aninstant,day or night—promise."
And Theodore, ignoring all the strangeness of his position, promised, and remained in the house, the watcher-guard and helper of more than Pliny.
Not for an instant did he lose sight of his friend; through all the trying ordeal of the following days he was constantly present. Even in Pliny's private interviews with his mother, Theodore hovered near, and his was the first face that Pliny met when he came to the door to issue any orders. It was Theodore's hand that held open the carriage door when the soncame to follow his father to his final resting-place, and it was Theodore's arm that was linked in his when he walked down the hall on his return.
These were sad things to Theodore in another way. Despite all Mr. Hastings' coldness to him, he had never been able to lose sight of the memory of those days, now long gone by, in which the rich man had in a sense been his protector and friend. He could not forget that it was throughhimthat his first step upward had been taken. Aside from his mother, Mr. Hastings was perhaps the first person for whom he felt a touch of love. He could not forget him—could not cease to mourn for him.
There was, only a week after this, another funeral. There was no long line of coaches, and no display of magnificence this time—only a quiet, slow-moving procession following the unplumed hearse. Only one store in the city was closed, and not a hundred people knew for whom the bell tolled that day; but did ever truer mourners or more bleeding hearts follow a coffin to its final resting-place than were those who gathered around that open grave, and saw the body of Grandma McPherson laid to rest for awhile, awaiting the call of the great Maker, when he should bid it come up to meet its glorified spirit, and dwell in that wonderfulForever!
The messenger came suddenly to her, in the quiet of a moonlight night, when all the household were asleep; and none who saw her in the morning, with that blessed look upon her face, that told of earth receding and heaven coming in, could doubt but that when in the silent night she heard the Master whisper, "Come up higher," she made answer, "Even so, Lord Jesus."
So they laid her in the silent city on the hill, very near the spot where, by and by, there towered and blazed Mr. Hastings' monument; but when they set upherwhite headstone they marked on it the blessed words: "So he giveth his beloved sleep."
But oh, that home left without a mother—the dear, loving, toiling, patient, self-sacrificing mother!
"Dear old lady," were the words in which Theodore had most often thought of her, and I find on thinking back that I have constantly spoken of her thus, but in reality she was not old at all; her early life of toil and privation and sorrow had whitened her hair and marked heavy lines as of age on her face. Her quaint dress gave added strength to this impression, and Theodore when he first met her was at that age when all women in caps and spectacles are old, so "Grandma" she had always been tohim, but they only wrote "sixty-three" on her coffin.
They were sitting together, Theodore and Pliny, the first evening they had spent alone since the changes had come to them. They were in their pleasant room which must soon be vacated, for the guiding presence that had made of them a family was wanting now. They had not been talking, only the quietest common-places—neither of them seemed to have words that they chose to utter. They were sitting in listless attitudes, each occupying a great arm-chair, which they called "study-chairs." Theodore with his hands clasped at the back of his head, and Pliny with his face half hidden in his hands. The latter was the first to break the silence.
"Mallery, you aresucha wonderment to me! What is there about me that makes you cling so? I thought it was all over during that awful time. I don't know how you can help despising me, but you don't know how it was. Oh, Theodore, I tried, I struggled, Imeantto keep my promise, and even at such a time as that the sight of my enemy conquered me. Now,whatam I to do? There is no hope for me at all. I have no trust, no confidence in myself."
"That at least would be hopeful if it werestrictly true," Theodore answered, earnestly. "But, Pliny, it is notquitetrue. If you utterly distrusted yourself,soutterly that you would stop trying to save yourself alone, and accept the All-powerful Helper's aid, I should be at rest about you forever."
Contrary to his usual custom, Pliny had no answer ready, seemed not in the least inclined to argue, and so Theodore only dropped a little sigh and waited. It was not despair with him during these days—his faith had reached high ground. "Ask, and yeshallreceive," had come home to him with wonderful force just lately, while he waited on his knees; he felt that he should never let go again for a moment. Still there seemed nothing now for him to do, nothing but that constant watching and constant praying; and he had only lately come to realize how much these two things meant. Presently, sitting there in the silence, he bethought himself of Winny in her desolation.
"Pliny," he said, suddenly, "shall not you and I go down and try to help poor Winny endure her loneliness? Do you know she is utterly alone? Rick's wife is in her room with the child, and Rick and Jim just went down the walk together."
Pliny seemed nothing loth, and the two descended to the dear little parlor where so manyhappy hours had been passed. Winny had turned down the gas to its lowest ebb, and was curled into a corner of the sofa, giving up to the form of grief in which she most indulged—utter, white silence. She sat erect as the two young men entered, and Theodore turned on the gas; Pliny took the other corner of the sofa, and Theodore the chair opposite them. He looked from one to the other of the white worn faces. What utter misery was expressed on both! A great longing came over him to comfort them. But what comfort could he offer for such troubles as theirs, save the one thing that both rejected? He gave voice to his thoughts almost without intending it, with no other feeling than that his great pity and desire for them were beyond his control.
"How much,how very much, you two people need the same help! What utter nothingness any other aid is. I have not the heart to offer either of you the mockery of human sympathy," he spoke in gentle, sad tones, and straight way was startled with himself for speaking at all. Winny turned her great gray solemn eyes on her companion in the other corner.
"Doyoufeel the need of help?" she asked, gravely. "Heaven knows Idofeel the need of something I don't possess. I am utterly shipwrecked. I don't know which way to turn. Ido, if I only would turn that way. Mother had help all her life long—help that you and I know nothing about. Do you doubt that?"
"No, Idon't," answered Pliny, solemnly.
"Then why can't we have it if we both need it, and can get it for the asking? Mother prayed for you as well as for me. The very last night of her life I heard her. I know what she prayed for is so. I'm tired of struggling. I've been at it, Theodore knows, for a great many years. If mother were here to-night I would say to her: 'Mother, I'm not going to struggle any more; I'm going to give myself up,' and that would make her happy—oh, too happy for earth. Well, I'm going to, anyway. I'm sick of myself; I want to get away from myself; I need help. You've struggled, too; I know by myself. Suppose we both give up. Suppose we both kneel down here this minute, and say that we are tired of ourselves, and ashamed of ourselves and we want Christ. Theodore will say it for us. Will you do it, Mr. Hastings?"
She had spoken rapidly and with the same energy that characterized all her words, but with solemn earnestness. Pliny bowed his head on his two hands, while utter silence reigned; and Theodore, wonder-struck over the turn that the conversation had taken, yet had breath enough left to say
"Lord Jesus, help them, help them. Oh, remember Calvary and the 'many mansions,' and help them both. Let the decision be now." This prayer he repeated and re-repeated. Then suddenly Pliny arose.
"If ever any one on earth needed help and strength it is I," he said, hoarsely. "Yes, Iwantto give up if I can," and he dropped upon his knees.
In an instant Winny was kneeling, and Theodore's whole soul was being poured out in prayer for those two. A moment and then Pliny, in low, hoarse voice said:
"Lord, help me; I am sinking in deep waters." And Winny added: "Savior of my mother, I am sick of sin; take me out of myself and into thee."
When they arose Theodore stole quietly from the room and left them alone. He went up to his own closet and prayed such prayer of thanksgiving as was recorded in heaven that night, and the angels around the throne had great joy.
Not yet were the shocks and changes coming to these households over. Not two weeks had the millionaire been sleeping his last sleep, when there burst like a bombshell on the business world the startling news that his millionshad vanished into vapor, or perhaps it would be speaking more properly to say into poison. Strange, wild speculations, that the acute, far-sighted business man would never have touched for a moment had he been himself, had been entered into while his brain was struggling with the fumes of brandy. Notes had been signed, sales had been made and debts contracted upon an enormous scale; in short, the whole business was in a bewildering entanglement.
"There won't be five thousand dollars left out of the whole immense property," said Edgar Ryan, one of the lawyers in charge, at the close of a confidential conversation with Theodore, and Theodore, like the rest of the world, stood for a little stunned and aghast over this new calamity.
"I never saw such a tangle in all my days," continued Ryan, earnestly. "The amount of property shipwrecked is almost incredible. The man was never intoxicated in his life, and yet it may be truthfully said of him that he has let rum swallow all his millions. I tell you, Mallery, you and Habakkuk were undoubtedly correct."
Theodore turned and walked soberly and wearily away. He had not the heart just then to smile over the memory of anything. There followed weary, anxious, harassing days—daysin which Pliny remained doggedly behind the counter, and Theodore almost entirely ignored the store, and gave himself up to following the footsteps of appraisers and auctioneers and policemen, and in trying to shield Mrs. Hastings and Dora, for the red flag floated out from the grand mansion proudly known for years as Hastings' Hall. Oh change! Can anything in all time be compared in swiftness and sharpness and terror to that monster who swoops down upon our hearts and homes, and almost in the twinkling of an eye leaves them desolate? Oh heaven! With all its glories and its joys, can anything in all the bright description equal in peace and rest and comfort that one precious sentence which admits of no thought of change: "And they shall reign forever and ever?"
There were plans innumerable to be made and acted upon. Rick and his wife had gone back ere this to their Western home. Winny had steadily refused their urgent petitions to accompany them, and worked faithfully on in her honored position in one of the great graded schools. She and Jim had taken board together in a quiet house as far removed from the dear old home as possible. Mrs. Hastings had promptly accepted the invitation of her husband's brother in Chicago. The invitation had also been extended to Dora, and she had as promptly declined it. Her strong, independent nature asserted itself here. She would not go to live a dependent in her uncle's home. She would not teach music, for which she pronounced herself unfitted by nature and education; but she would take the boys' room next to Winny's in the aforesaid graded school, and share the quiet little room in the boarding house, whither Winny had carried many of her household treasures.
It was all settled at last, and when Mrs. Hastings was ticketed and checked for Chicago under the escort of one of the firm who was going thither, and the young ladies were quietly domiciled in their new and pleasant room, Pliny and Theodore came to the first breathing place they had found for many a day, and felt absolutely forlorn and disconsolate. They were together in the store, the last clerk had departed, and their loneliness only served to add to their sense of gloom.
"Well," said Pliny, closing the ledger with a heavy sigh, "if we had a local habitation we'd go to it now, wouldn't we?"
"Probably," answered Theodore, drumming on the counter with his fingers. "Wherearewe going to live, Pliny, anyway?"
"More than I know," was Pliny's gloomyanswer. "In the street for all I seem to care just at present."
And then the office door clicked behind them, and Mr. Stephens appeared.
"I thought you were gone, sir," said Pliny, rising in surprise.
"No, I was waiting your movements. Come, young gentlemen, I want you both to come home with me. There is no use in remonstrating, my boy," he added, laying his hand on Theodore's shoulder, as the latter would have spoken. "I have had your and Pliny's rooms ready for you this week past, and have only waited until you were at leisure to take possession. I keep bachelor's hall, you know, and if ever a man needed something new and fresh about him I do. So do as I want you to for once, just to see how it will seem."
There was much talk about the matter, argument and counter argument; but in the end Mr. Stephens prevailed, as in reality he generally did, when he set his heart upon a thing, despite his statements that Theodore kept him under complete control. Before another week closed the two young men were cozily settled in their new quarters, and really feeling as much at home as though half their lives had been spent there.
There was one other matter which came to Theodore as a source of great satisfaction.
"Mallery," Mr. Stephens had said to him one morning when they were quite alone in the private office, "have you any special interest in the Hastings' place?"
Theodore hesitated a little, and then answered frankly enough:
"Yes, sir, I certainly have. There are many associations connected with that house that will always endear it to me."
"Then you may be interested to know that I have become the purchaser of it; and if at any time, for any reason, you should wish to make special disposition of it, it shall always be in a state to await your orders. Real estate is valuable property, and as good a way as any in which to dispose of surplus funds."
Theodore came out from behind the screen to try to offer some word of thanks, but Mr. Stephens had pushed open the green baize door and vanished.
M
RS. JENKINS'Tommy stood on the sidewalk in front of the store, in a nicely fitting new suit, white vest and kid gloves. It was not yet the middle of the afternoon, but the great store was closed and shuttered and barred. A gentleman came briskly down the street and halted before the young man, with a surprised look on his face as he questioned:
"How now, Tommy, what's to pay? It isn't possible your firm has failed and foreclosed? What are you all bolted and barred at this time of day for?"
Tommy arched his eyebrows.
"Have you been out of town, sir?" he asked, in a tone which plainly said, "It isn't possible that you've beenintown and not heard the cause of this closed store?"
"Just so," answered the good-natured gentleman. "I've been West, and I want to see Messrs. Stephens and Mallery in a twinkling."
"Can't do it," said Tommy, promptly, and with the air of a policeman. "They are otherwise engaged, both of them—all three of them, I may say. Mr. Hastings is in it, too. There's been a double wedding. Haven't you heard of it, sir?"
"Not a word," answered his listener, with commendable gravity. "They've been as whist as mice. Tell us all about it."
"Well, sir, it was to-day at twelve o'clock, in the First Church—Dr. Birge's, you know. He married 'em. Splendid ceremony, too! and they looked—well, they all looked just grand, I tell you!"
"Don't doubt it in the least, Tommy, but who the mischief were they?"
"Why, Mr. Mallery and Miss Hastings, and Mr. Hastings and Miss Winny McPherson, and they're both of our firm, you know; at least Mr. Hastings he's our confidential clerk now, and we all say that he'll be partner one of these days, as sure as guns. We all went to the wedding, every one of us, cash boys and all; then we all went to Mr. Stephens', and had just the grandest kind of a dinner with the brides and grooms. And Dr. Birge and Mr. Ryan they toasted them."
"Wine or brandy?" interposed the gentleman, slily.
"Neither!" answered indignant Tommy, with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks. "They had pure water, ice water. They don't have any wine or brandy in that house nor in our firm, I can tell you, sir."
"Good for you, Tommy—stand up for your principles. Well, what came next after you were all toasted and ice-watered? Is Mrs. Hastings, senior, in town? Dear me, how long is it since she went away?"
"It's pretty near three years. No, she isn't in town. She's in feeble health, and they're going out there to Chicago to see her, the whole tribe of them. They take the four o'clock Express, and we're all going to the cars with them, about a dozen carriages. It's time they were on hand, too. I had to come down to the store after a package that was left here, and there they are this minute; and so you see, sir, you can't see either Mr. Stephens or Mr. Mallery in a twinkling. I ride in the eighth carriage." And at this point Tommy's shining boots bounded away.
After the visit to Chicago was concluded, interspersed by several pleasant side trips, the bridal party separated one bright June morningat the Cleveland depot, Pliny and his wife preparing to settle down in their new home, while Mr. and Mrs. Mallery went on to New York. Theodore had been there perhaps a dozen times since he took that first surreptitious trip with Mr. Hastings, but in these visits he had always been a hurried business man, with little leisure or taste for retrospect. Now, however, it was different, and traversing the streets with his wife leaning on his arm, he had a fancy for going backward, and painting pictures from the past for her amusement. The hotel to which he had escorted Mr. Hastings on that day had advanced with the advancing tide, and was just now in the very zenith of its prosperity. Thither he found his way, and led Dora up the broad steps and down the splendid halls, and finally booked his name, "Theodore S. Mallery and wife," and tried in vain, while he issued his orders with the air of one long accustomed to the giving of orders, to conceive of himself and that ridiculous little wretch who squeezed in among the gentlemen on that long ago morning to discover, if perchance he could, what his traveling companion's name might be, as one and the same.
"Now, I am going to show you some of the wretchedness that abounds in this elegant city," he said to his wife one morning as he dismissed the carriage after an hour's exciting drive, andproposed a walk. "It is a remarkable city in that respect. I am never struck with the two extremes of humanity as I am when in New York."
"I was thinking only this morning," Dora answered, "how very few wretched people I had met in the streets."
"Wait a bit; see if in ten minutes from this time you are not almost led to conclude that there is nothing left in this world but wretchedness and filth and abomination."
They turned suddenly around the corner of a pleasant street, and as if they were among the shifting scenes of a panorama, the entire foreground had changed. Wretchedness! that word no more described the horrors of their surroundings than could any other that came to Dora's mind. The scene beggared description. "Swarms of horrors!" she called them in speaking of the people afterward. Just now she clung silent and half frightened to her husband's arm. He, too, became silent, and appeared occupied solely in guarding his wife and shielding her from disagreeable collisions. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of delight:
"Look, Dora! this is the building of which I have read but have never seen. I have not had time to come so far down before this. Canyou imagine a more delightful oasis in this desert of filth and pollution?"
There it stood, the great,clean, splendid building! towering above its vile and rickety neighbors. And in bright, clear letters, that seemed to Theodore to be written in diamonds, gleamed the name; far down the street it caught the eye, "Home for Little Wanderers."
Dora looked and smiled and caught her breath, and then the tears dropped one by one on her husband's sleeve. It almost seemed like the voice of an angel speaking to the world from out of that moral darkness.
"Oh, if I had known that day when I was in New York of such a spot as this in all the world, what a different world it would have looked to me. The idea that there could be a homeanywherein all the universe, or beyond it, for such as I had never occurred to me." Theodore spoke in low, earnest tones, full of deep and solemn feeling.
"But, Theodore," said Dora, gently, "if youhadknown of this home, or any like it, and gone thither instead of to Cleveland on that day, where would you have been now, and what would have become of me?"
Theodore smiled down on his fair young bride, and drew the hand that rested on his arm a little closer as he answered:
"I am quite content, my darling. I am not complaining of the guiding Hand that led me home. I have surely reason to be utterly and entirely satisfied with my lot in life; but there are not many boys such as I was who find little blue-eyed maidens to bring precious little Bible cards to them, and so write lessons on their hearts that will tell for all time—yes, and for all eternity."
"There are not many Dr. Birges and Mr. Stephenses," said Dora, emphatically. And Theodore's response was quite as emphatic:
"Very few indeed! If there were onlymore. But, Dora, isn't it a grand enterprise? Let us go in. I have always intended to go through the mission; but, you see, I waited foryou."
They went up the broad, pleasant flight of steps. The children, hundreds of them, were at dinner. Such an array of clean, and, for the most part, pleasant faces! Such a wonderful dinner as it must have been to them! Dora's face glowed and her eyes sparkled as she watched them. Then they all went together to the great, light, pleasant chapel, with its hanging baskets, and its white flower urns, and its creeping vines, and fragrant blossoms; its grand piano on the platform as perfect in finish and as sweet of tone as if it were designed to chime with the voices of more favored childhood.Dora's bright eye took in the scene in all its details with great delight and satisfaction, but she did not feel the solemn undertone of thanksgiving that rang in Theodore's heart. How could she? What did she know in detail of the contrast between the present and the past lives of these children? And who knew better than he the awful scenes from which they had been rescued! How they marched to the sound of the quickstepping music! How their voices rang out in songs such as the angels might have loved to join! It was a sort of jubilee day with them, and there were many visitors and many speeches, and much entertainment. As he looked and listened, Theodore had constantly to brush away the starting tears. Presently Mr. Foote came with brisk step and smiling face toward the spot where Theodore and his wife were sitting.
"You are interested in the children, I know, sir," he said, confidently. "Come forward please, and give us a brief speech. The children will like to hear one who shows his love for them beaming in his face."
Theodore answered promptly:
"No, sir, I will not detain them; they have had speeches enough. Besides, my heart is quite too full for talking." At the same time he arose. "I would like to write my speech,though, if you please, sir. Have you pen and ink convenient?" And he went forward with the leader to the desk. A few quick dashes of the pen over a blank from his check-book, and he stood pledged for five hundred dollars for "Howard Mission."
"How much I have to thank Dr. Birge for preaching that glorious sermon on the 'tenths,' and dear grandma for teaching me with her white buttons the meaning of the same," he said to Dora as they made their way out from that beautiful haven into the reeking street. "How every single impulse for good counts back to some influence touched long ago by an unconscious hand! I wonder if the Christian world has an idea of what it is doing?"
They tarried but a few hours in Albany, long enough to visit that quiet grave with its simple tribute, "Dear Mother." And there again came to Theodore's heart sad memories of his father. Oh, if his bodyonlylay there in quiet rest underneath those grasses; if he could have the privilege of setting uphisheadstone, and marking it with a word of respectful memory; if he could have but thefaint hopeof a meeting place for them all in that city beyond, what more could he ask in life? And yet who could tell? Perhaps it was even so; perhaps there hadcome even to his father an eleventh hour? The "arm of the Lord was not shortened" that it could not save where and when and how he would. And there had been prayers, constant and fervent, sent up for him; and perhaps the eleventh hour was yet to come; he might be still in this world of hope. Theodore's heart swelled at the thought.
"My darling," he said, turning toward the young face looking up to his, and full of tender sympathy, "he may be living yet—my poor father, you know. We will never cease to pray that if he is still on earth God will have mercy. We will pray together, will we not?"
And then both remembered that other father, about whose grave June roses were blossoming to-day, for whom they could pray nevermore; and so though she laid her hand in his in token of sympathy, she made no answer on account of fast falling tears.
"For ourownroom, Dora, in lieu of many pictures let us have some of these exquisite illuminated texts. I like themsomuch; and we can never tell how much good they may do a servant or a chance passer through. There are some in particular that I want to select." This Theodore said to his wife as they stood together in a picture store.
"There! I want that one above all others," and he held it up for her admiration. Itwasa beauty; the letters were exquisitely formed, and the words were: "The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good." Then they chose, "Peace be to this house"—this for the hall. And another favorite, "Hitherto hath the Lord helped us."
"This is yours, Dora," Theodore said, presently, laying before her a delicately shaded sentence on tinted board, "The Lord bless thee and keep thee." And she smilingly answered: "Then this for you," "He shall keep thee in all thy ways."
And so their homes were filled with lessons from the great guide-book, speaking silently on every hand.
It might have been something like three years after this date that the Buffalo Express was behind time one day. Pliny Hastings was at the depot in a state of impatient waiting. I do not know that it occurred to him that he had been in precisely that spot and condition one evening years ago. The whistle of the train rang out at last, and Pliny stepped back near the restive horses, ready for emergencies. He swung open the carriage door as Theodore Mallery advanced from the train.
"You're a pretty man to be lateto-dayof all days in the world," was Pliny's greeting, in a sort of good-humoredly impatient tone.
"Scold the engineer, not me," responded Theodore, in the same manner. "I fretted inwardly all the way from C——. All well at home?"
And then the two gentlemen entered the carriage, Theodore waiting to give the order, "Home, Jacob." And he had not a thought of the ill-favored urchin who had once tumbled up on the driver's seat of a carriage similar to this one, and peered down curiously at the boy Pliny inside. He even did not remember that he made a resolution to become the driver some day of a pair of horses like those behind which he was luxuriously riding, so utterly do we grow away from our intentions and ambitions.
The carriage swept around the fine old curve and stopped at the side door of Hastings' Hall that was. The place had a familiar look, but the present inmates disliked the old aristocratic sounding name, and in view of the wide green lawn and the noble shade trees had named it simply "Elm Lawn." Dinner was waiting for the master of the house, and it was a birthday dinner, too, in honor of the first anniversary of that great day to another heir of the grand old house. He was sleeping now, tucked into a great easy chair, while his lace-curtained cribwas given up to a younger, tinier baby, who sucked his thumb and didnotsleep. Both babies frowned and choked and sneezed over their respective father's kisses or whiskers, or both. Both appeared in all their glory at the dinner table; and all the bright happy company were in blissful ignorance of a scene so nearly similar that had occurred when the supposed young heir of Hastings' Hall reached the close of his first year. Yet thiswasdifferent, for Mr. Stephens asked a blessing on this bright glad scene, and Dr. Birge returned thanks for the joy and beauty of the day, and the health and hopes of these two babies were remembered in glasses of sparkling water.
And the supposed heir of other days was the fond proud father of the precious crowing bundle now pulling at his beard. What cared he for Hastings' Hall? It was a fine old place enough, and he had enjoyed coming there every day of his life; but his own bright home was just around the corner, and contained more life and joy and beauty than did all Cleveland. So he thought.
"What have you named your babies?" questioned a chance caller.
"This is Master Pliny Hastings Mallery at your service," responded Theodore, tossing his boy aloft until he tried to reach the ceiling andyelled with glee. While Winny, after glancing at her husband's face and noting his moved look, answered simply: "We call ours Baby Ben."
After Dr. and Mrs. Birge, and he who called himself Grandfather Stephens, had departed, they went, these two fathers, to the room above, where the babies cuddled and slept, and the loving mothers watched and talked. They all went over and stood by the crib and the easy chair.
"Let us have a special celebration of this day," said Theodore. "Let us consecrate these two boys anew to the beloved Giver of all our blessedness."
Then they all knelt down, each husband encircling with one arm the form of his honored wife, and resting the other hand on the forehead of his darling, and Theodore first, then Pliny, laid their hearts' dearest treasures at the feet of their common Lord.
"We are very happy," Dora said, when they had risen, still clinging to her husband's hand.
"Very happy," answered Theodore, clasping tenderly the dear true hand. "And it is a happiness that will continue whatever comes, so we remain always at the feet of the Master and keep our treasures there."
Pliny was looking at the babies, with a face full of humble tenderness.
"We have quite given them up toHim," he said, in an earnest, solemn tone. "Now let us pray that he will consecrate thempeculiarlyto the sacred cause of temperance."
And Theodore and the two mothers said: "Amen."
12mo Cloth $1.50 per volume
As in a MirrorMag and MargaretAunt Hannah, Martha, and JohnMaking FateThe Browns at Mt. HermonMan of the HouseBy Way of the WildernessMaraChautauqua Girls at HomeMrs. Solomon Smith Looking OnChrissy's EndeavorA New Graft on the Family TreeChristie's ChristmasOne Commonplace DayDavid Ransom's WatchOverruledDoris Farrand's VocationPaulineEighty-sevenThe Pocket MeasureAn Endless ChainThe Prince of PeaceEster RiedThe RandolphsEster Ried Yet SpeakingRuth Erskine's CrossesEster Ried's NamesakeRuth Erskine's SonFour Girls at ChautauquaA Seven-fold TroubleFour Mothers at ChautauquaSpun from FactThe Hall in the GroveStephen Mitchell's JourneyHer Associate MembersThose BoysHousehold PuzzlesThree PeopleJudge Burnham's DaughtersTip Lewis and His LampJulia RiedTwenty Minutes LateKing's DaughterUnto the EndLinks in Rebecca's LifeWantedLittle Fishers and their NetsWhat They Couldn'tThe Long Way HomeWise and OtherwiseLost on the TrailYesterday Framed in To-day
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receiptofprice by the publishers
THEFAMOUS PEPPER BOOKSByMargaret SidneyI N O R D E R O F P U B L I C A T I O NCloth 12mo Illustrated $1.50 eachFive Little Peppers and How they Grew.This was an instantaneous success; it has become a genuine child classic.Five Little Peppers Midway."A perfect Cheeryble of a book."—Boston Herald.Five Little Peppers Grown Up.This shows the Five Little Peppers as "grown up," with all the struggles and successes of young manhood and womanhood.Phronsie Pepper.It is the story of Phronsie, the youngest and dearest of all the Peppers.The Stories Polly Pepper Told.Wherever there exists a child or a "grown-up," there will be a welcome for these charming and delightful "Stories Polly Pepper told."The Adventures of Joel Pepper.As bright and just as certain to be a child's favorite as the others in the famous series. Harum-scarum "Joey" is lovable.Five Little Peppers Abroad.The "Peppers Abroad" adds another most delightful book to this famous series.Five Little Peppers at School.Of all the fascinating adventures and experiences of the "Peppers", none will surpass those contained in this volume.Five Little Peppers and Their Friends.The friends of the Peppers are legion and the number will be further increased by this book.Ben Pepper.This story centres about Ben, "the quiet, steady-as-a-rock boy," while the rest of the Peppers help to make it as bright and pleasing as its predecessors.Five Little Peppers in the Little Brown House.Here they all are, Ben, Polly, Joel, Phronsie, and David, in the loved "Little Brown House," with such happenings crowding one upon the other as all children delightedly follow, and their elders find no less interesting.LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.,Boston
I N O R D E R O F P U B L I C A T I O NCloth 12mo Illustrated $1.50 each
Five Little Peppers and How they Grew.
This was an instantaneous success; it has become a genuine child classic.
Five Little Peppers Midway.
"A perfect Cheeryble of a book."—Boston Herald.
Five Little Peppers Grown Up.
This shows the Five Little Peppers as "grown up," with all the struggles and successes of young manhood and womanhood.
Phronsie Pepper.
It is the story of Phronsie, the youngest and dearest of all the Peppers.
The Stories Polly Pepper Told.
Wherever there exists a child or a "grown-up," there will be a welcome for these charming and delightful "Stories Polly Pepper told."
The Adventures of Joel Pepper.
As bright and just as certain to be a child's favorite as the others in the famous series. Harum-scarum "Joey" is lovable.
Five Little Peppers Abroad.
The "Peppers Abroad" adds another most delightful book to this famous series.
Five Little Peppers at School.
Of all the fascinating adventures and experiences of the "Peppers", none will surpass those contained in this volume.
Five Little Peppers and Their Friends.
The friends of the Peppers are legion and the number will be further increased by this book.
Ben Pepper.
This story centres about Ben, "the quiet, steady-as-a-rock boy," while the rest of the Peppers help to make it as bright and pleasing as its predecessors.
Five Little Peppers in the Little Brown House.
Here they all are, Ben, Polly, Joel, Phronsie, and David, in the loved "Little Brown House," with such happenings crowding one upon the other as all children delightedly follow, and their elders find no less interesting.