"I have been here before,But when, or how, I cannot tell;I know the grass beyond the door,The sweet, keen smell,The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.You have been mine before,How long ago I may not know;But just when, at that swallow's soar,Your neck turned so,Some veil did fall—I knew it all of yore."—Rossetti.
"I have been here before,But when, or how, I cannot tell;I know the grass beyond the door,The sweet, keen smell,The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.You have been mine before,How long ago I may not know;But just when, at that swallow's soar,Your neck turned so,Some veil did fall—I knew it all of yore."
"I have been here before,But when, or how, I cannot tell;I know the grass beyond the door,The sweet, keen smell,The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,How long ago I may not know;But just when, at that swallow's soar,Your neck turned so,Some veil did fall—I knew it all of yore."
—Rossetti.
{Drawing of woman.} WE must now return to Mr. Armstrong, whom we left in chapter XII. in conference with Dr. Carver over the Doctor's advertisement of the case of lost identity inserted in the daily papers ten years before.
The physician listened gravely to Mr. Armstrong's account of the loss of his wife and infant son, the wildhopes which were now awakened, and to his request for the address of the lady referred to, and gave him a pitying glance as he replied:
"So many bereaved persons have come to me fancying that they recognized a loved one in that notice, only to be cruelly disappointed; and Mrs. Halsey has in the past been subjected to so many trying interviews of this description, that I hesitate to encourage your visiting her, unless you have positive proof of what you hope. A photograph would give this proof."
"And, unfortunately, I have none of Mrs. Armstrong."
"But I had one taken of Mrs. Halsey, which I have kept in the hope that it might be identified some day;" and the Doctor drew from his pocket-book a thumbed and discolored photograph, which he placed in Mr. Armstrong's hand.
The effect was unmistakable. The strong man rose to his feet, staggered, and fainted, for he had recognized his wife. The physician quickly restored him to consciousness, and after waiting until the effect of the shock had partially passed away, he said:
"I see that there is no danger of any mistake, and that I may direct you where to find Mrs. Halsey—I beg pardon, Mrs. Armstrong. Her address, when I last saw her, was No. 1 Rickett's Court."
"Rickett's Court!" exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, in horror.
"Yes, sir; it is not the best quarter of the city, but many of the respectable poor live there; and you must remember, sir, that your wife must necessarily have had a hard struggle to support herself and your little son, alone and friendless, in this great city."
Mr. Armstrong groaned aloud. Rickett's Court had not seemed so bad to him for other men's children and wives, but thathischild,hiswife, should live in such vile surroundings was horrible. He sprang to his feet, seized his hat, and with a hasty "I will see you again, Doctor," hurried in the same direction which Stephen Trimble had taken not a half-hour before. It was only a short distance, but it seemed miles to him. Just as he came in sight of the building every window in its front was illuminated with a sudden flash, and a heavy detonation shook the earth. Then smoke poured from the broken panes, and the air was filled with flying splinters and débris, while shrieksfrom within, and shouts of "Fire! fire!" from without, added to the confusion.
{Drawing of city street and buildings.}
The smoke cleared in a moment, and people were seen at the windows dropping down the fire-escape. Only a few minutes later a fire-engine came tearing around the corner, and the hoarse voice of a fireman was heard dominating the tumult and giving orders, but before this Alexander Armstrong, possessed of but one idea—that his wife and child were somewhere within—had rushed into the burning building. One glance showed him that this was hopeless. The staircase had been torn out by the explosion, and the flames were roaring up the space which it had occupied, as through a chimney. He was dragged back to the court by the fireman, who exclaimed, "Man alive! can't you see that the staircase has gone, and that they are coming down the fire-escape? There wouldn't have been the ghost of a chance for them but for that. Bless the man who had it put there!"
The words gave him a little heart, and he stood at the foot, helping the women and catching the children handed to him, hoping in vain to recognize his wife. They stopped coming. "Are all out?" he shouted."There's some one in the fourth story," said a woman, and before the fireman could lay his hand on the fire-escape Mr. Armstrong was half-way up. The façade still stood, but the entire interior of the building was in flames, and blinding smoke and scorching sparks poured from the windows. At the fourth story a man had staggered to the window and lay with his arm outside, holding on to the sill. Mr. Armstrong uttered a cry when he saw that it was a man, but, none the less, he lifted him tenderly out, and into the arms of the fireman following close behind them. Then drawing his coat over his mouth and nostrils, he entered the room. Another man lay at a little distance, or a body that had been a man, terribly torn and shattered by the explosion. It was the anarchist who had been the principal in the plot; the other had escaped. Mr. Armstrong descended, looking into every apartment as he came down to be sure no living thing was left inside that furnace.
"You are a hero, sir! will you give me your name? I represent ——." It was the omnipresent reporter on hand for an item. Mr. Armstrong turned from him, without reply, to the man whom he had rescued, StephenTrimble, who lay with a foot torn from the ankle, and a broken arm. A hospital surgeon knelt at his side bandaging deftly. A policeman had sent the call when Mr. Armstrong started up the fire-escape, and the ambulance, a more conclusive "Evidence of Christianity" than that dear old Dr. Hopkins or any other theologian ever wrote; nobler exponent of civilization than the fire department even, since that is the rich man's provision for saving his own property, while the ambulance is the rich man's provision for saving the poor man's life—the ambulance, with surgeon on the back seat coolly feeling for his instruments, and bare-headed driver clanging the gong, and lashing his already galloping horses, had torn like mad down Broadway. And as it came, aristocratic carriages hurrying with ladies just a little late for a grand dinner, and an expectant bridegroom on his way to Grace Church, halted and waited for it to pass; express and telegraph agents, and rushing men of business, gave it the right of way as it bounded on its errand of mercy.
Alexander Armstrong spoke for a moment with the surgeon, long enough to learn that Stephen Trimble's injuries were probably notmortal, and to urge every attention possible. Then he caught sight of Solomon Meyer bowing and cringing at a little distance, and he sprang upon him like a panther on his prey. Solomon, greatly surprised, could only imagine that the loss of the property had driven him insane, and gasped, "Ze insurance bolicy is all right," whereat the ex-landlord gave his agent such a shaking that his teeth rattled in his head, only pausing to inquire if he knew anything of a tenant by the name of Mrs. Halsey. Solomon Meyer assured him that Mrs. Halsey had long since quitted the building, but this only partially reassured him, for he placed very little reliance on the man's word. His wife, almost found, was lost to him again. He could not believe that she perished in the burning building; still, there was this horrible possibility.
There was no one to tell him that she had just gone to Narragansett Pier at his daughter's bidding, and was occupying the very cottage where so many of her happier years were passed; and he threw himself more unreservedly into his business projects, not, however, forgetting the poor inventor at the hospital, whom he visited frequently, and cared for as tenderly as though he hadbeen his brother. After the excitement of the fire was over, he remembered that the law had an account to settle with Solomon Meyer, but he was not then to be found. His guilty conscience had taken the alarm, and the subtle magnetism which draws bad people together had caused him to form a partnership with the anarchist who had escaped the explosion, and but for Miss Prillwitz's timely recognition they would have fled to Canada. Mr. Armstrong found them, as we know, in the Greenfield jail, and had no difficulty in identifying them, and in having them brought to justice.
As the time approached for the trial of Solomon Meyer and the Russian anarchist, Mr. Armstrong was troubled with the fear that Stephen Trimble might not be able to testify in court. He visited him frequently at the hospital, and whenever he approached the subject of his dealings with the anarchists he became excited and confused.
His little son, Lovey Dimple, was seated beside him during one of Mr. Armstrong's calls. He was allowed to visit his father, and waited upon him day by day, sometimes telling him of the pleasant times he had had at the seashore, and at others watching him quietly. His presence seemed to do his father good; and on this visit Mr. Armstrong was able to obtain much more information from Stephen Trimble than upon any previous occasion.
"You are quite sure," Mr. Armstrong asked, "that you never saw this check, which someone has cashed at the bank, and which is indorsed with your name?"
"Never, never!" replied the wounded man.
"I see it, though," Lovey Dimple spoke up, promptly. "Jim had come down to the court to see me, and I wanted to show him the machine in the Rooshans' room, and we follered him in there. Mr. Meyer dropped a piece of paper which looked like that, and Jim picked it up. He could tell you what was written on it."
"I must have Jim as a link in our chain of testimony," Mr. Armstrong replied. "Is he at the Home of the Elder Brother?"
"No, sir; Jim used to be there, but he had the luck to be adopted. He went away just for to be a tiger for some swells, and they liked him so much they permoted him. He's Jim Roservelt now."
So this was the lad of whom Adelaide hadspoken to him. Mr. Armstrong wrote to his friend Mr. Roseveldt, requesting that Jim should be sent to the city. His testimony at the trial was so clear and concise, and his entire appearance so manly, that Mr. Armstrong was greatly drawn to him.
"If my own boy had lived," he said to Mr. Roseveldt, who had come to the city with Jim, "he would have been about the age of this little fellow. I am about to make a western trip of six or seven weeks, and would like to take him with me. Should the liking which I have taken to him grow upon acquaintance, I beg of you to relinquish him to me; I need him, for I am a stricken man, and you are a fortunate one, or I would not ask it."
Mr. Roseveldt replied that, though he was fond of Jim, he would willingly give him up to Mr. Armstrong for adoption after his return from the West, provided the boy's mother would consent to the transfer. Singularly enough, the name of that mother was not mentioned, and Mr. Armstrong took Jim with him to Colorado, little dreaming that the boy was his own son.
He had said that he needed Jim; and he needed him in more ways than he knew. Hehad grown world-soiled, as well as world-weary, and the companionship of a soul white and young was destined to exert upon him a purifying as well as rejuvenating influence. Before the grand mountain scenery Jim's fresh enthusiasm stimulated Mr. Armstrong's sated admiration, and the child's naive ideas of right and wrong were a rebuke to the man's sophistries. They journeyed together through the wild and beautiful cañons of the Rocky Mountains, and the boy was deeply impressed by the stupendous cliffs rising on each side—walls that were sometimes two thousand feet in height, and so close together that the narrow river, which had cut its way down from the surface, sometimes filled the entire space at the bottom of the gorge. But even here the ingenuity of man had surmounted the barriers of nature, and the observation-car on which they rode dashed along upon a shelf cut in the solid rock, with a sheer wall on one hand, and a dizzy precipice on the other. Such a cañon was the Royal Gorge of the Arkansas; in one portion an iron bridge hangs suspended from strong supports fixed in the solid walls, and the train glides along it, swaying as in a hammock, over the brawling river.
The climax of their tour was reached in the Black Cañon. The scenes here are awful, even in broad daylight, for the sombre crags tower to the height of several thousand feet. Our travelers passed through the chasm at night. Far overhead the stars were shining in the little rift of sky, which was all that they could see between the walls; and in the mysterious half-lights of the illumined portions, and the utter blackness of the shadows, the grotesque shapes of the crags took on strange forms and awful suggestions. At times it seemed as if the train was about to dash itself against a wall of solid masonry, which opened, as though thrown back by genii, as they approached. At one point, catching the moonlight, a silvery cascade swept over the rocks like a bow of crystal; and at another, a mighty monument of rosy stone, the Curricanti Needle, towered far above the cliffs, like the sky-piercing spire of some grand cathedral.
"The people who live here must be very good," Jim gasped, as they emerged from the valley of enchantment, "one is so much nearer to God out here!"
"Nobody lives in the cañon now," Mr. Armstrong replied; "Indians lived here notvery long ago. They used to hold their councils on that shelf of rock where the pines grow, the last accessible spot on the Curricanti pinnacle, but the settlers in the neighborhood did not have your idea about their being such very good men, and as the cañon was the best pathway through the mountains for the railroad, they were driven out."
"I am sorry for the Indians," Jim said, simply. "If I had owned that cañon I wouldn't have liked to have given it up, would you?"
Mr.Armstrongevaded the question. "You will not have so much pity for them when you know them better," he replied. "They are a low lot, and if they do not know enough to improve the advantages which they possess, it is only fair that they should be appropriated by those who will make a better use of them."
Jim did not quite understand what Mr. Armstrong meant by appropriating the Indians' advantages, but he was to learn more in relation to that word before the journey was over. Returning to Denver, Mr. Armstrong took the boy with him on a tour through some of the pueblos of NewMexico. The word "pueblo" signifies town, and the Pueblo Indians are those who build houses instead of tents and wigwams, and live from generation to generation in towns and cities, instead of wandering about the plains and mountains like the other tribes. There are twenty-six of these communities in New Mexico, and some of the cities were old when the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth.
When New Mexico was ceded to the United States by Mexico, the right of the Pueblo Indians to their towns and to certain tracts of land surrounding them was confirmed by treaty, so that these Indians are better off in many ways than any others. Mr. Armstrong had a special reason for visiting the Pueblos. He had purchased several large herds of cattle, and wished to rent land of the Indians for pasturage. A man by the name of Sanchez, who traded among the Pueblos, could speak the language, and had gained the confidence of the Indians, happened to be on the train, and recognizing Mr. Armstrong as a wealthy capitalist, who had large interests in cattle, as well as in railroads, at once guessed pretty nearly the nature of his errand in the Indian country.
He introduced himself, and, learning thatMr. Armstrong intended to visit the pueblo of Taos, to witness the celebration of the Festival of San Geronimo, offered his services as interpreter and courier. These Mr. Armstrong was very glad to accept, for he had heard of the man, and knew that he had considerable influence among the Indians. There was something repellent, however, in his insinuating, cringing manner which made one feel that here was a man who was not to be trusted. The party was increased by an army officer and a Catholic priest, who were also going to Taos to witness the festival. The pueblo lies at a distance of twenty miles from the railroad station, but an Indian was found waiting for Mr. Sanchez with a rough wagon, and that gentleman invited the others to ride with him. They crossed the Rio Grande River and drove along beside it in a northeasterly direction, through a not very interesting country. The coloring was all yellowish brown—the sandy earth, the crisp parched grass, the distant hills, even the water when taken from the turbid river, were all of a like monotonous tint. Now and then they met or passed an Indian, wrapped in a striped blanket and mounted on a small shaggy pony. Toward evening they camein sight of the pueblo. The first view was very picturesque. The houses of adobe, or sun-dried brick, were built in ranges one above the other, like a great stairway, the roof of the lower house serving as the dooryard for the one above. Ladders were placed against the walls, and up and down these, nearly naked Indian children scrambled like young monkeys. They parted their long elf-locks with their hands, and stared at the strangers with wild, black eyes. Mr. Sanchez conducted them to an unoccupied house, which he said would be at their service during the festival for quite a good sum. There was no hotel, and this seemed the best thing to be done. It had evidently been suddenly cleared for the unexpected guests, and some of the utensils and furniture remained. The priest pointed out with pleasure a gaudy print of the Virgin. There were strings of red peppers drying on the outer wall, and a great olha, or decorated water-pot, within, but there was no bedding or food. The gentlemen, however, had each brought with them army blankets, and Mr. Sanchez offered to act as their commissary and skirmish for provisions. He presently returned, followed by a woman carrying abowl of stewed beef and onions, and a boy driving a donkey, whose panniers were filled with melons. This, with some coffee, which the officer made over a spirit-lamp, and some crackers contributed by Mr. Armstrong, constituted their supper, which hunger made palatable.
After this refreshment they mounted to their roof and watched the preparations for the festivities of the next day. Mr. Sanchez pointed out the entrance to theestufa, or underground council-chamber, into which the young men of the tribe were disappearing for the celebration of mysterious pagan rites.
"I thought the Pueblos were Roman Catholics," Mr. Armstrong remarked.
The Catholic priest shook his head sadly. "Our converts have always remained half pagan," he said; "the early missionaries were content to engraft as much Christianity as they could on the old customs, thinking that the better faith would gradually supplant the old, but the old rites and ceremonies have remained. Still we must hesitate to say that the Fathers did wrong, since it was the only way to win the savages to the holy faith."
The priest strolled away to visit the church and to find a Mexican brother who was to celebrate Mass on the next day. The church was a ruinous building which stood apart from the others. The army officer told of the siege which it sustained during the Mexican War, and pointed to the indentations made in its walls by cannon-balls.
The situation was such a strange one that Jim slept but little. All night long he could hear the dull beat of the tom-toms in theestufa, and as soon as the first streak of dawn illumined the sky the pueblo was awake and all excitement. Indians from neighboring towns poured in, some on foot, and others mounted on ponies or donkeys.
In the plaza stood a great pole resembling a flag-staff, but instead of a banner there dangled from the top a live sheep and a basket of bread and grain, with a garland of fruits and vegetables. The church bell was clanging for Mass, and Jim followed the others. An old Mexican priest was the celebrant, and a few young Indians in red cotton petticoats and coarse lace overskirts waited upon him awkwardly as altar-boys. When the Host was elevated, an Indian at the door beat the tom-tom, and four musket-shots were fired. The priest then marched down the centre of the church, followed by the altar-boys, one of whom bore a hideous painting, which Mr. Sanchez assured them was painted in Spain by the great Murillo, and might be had, through him, for a trifling sum. The congregation joined in the procession and followed to the race-track, where games, races, and dances were participated in by fifty young men of Taos against fifty from other pueblos. The sports were witnessed by fully two thousand spectators, who swarmed along the terraces, and formed a packed mass of men, women, children, horses, and donkeys around the race-track. There was a group of visitors standing near our travelers, who regarded the races with intense interest. It consisted of an old man dressed in white linen blouse and trousers, with a red handkerchief knotted about his gray locks, an obese and not over cleanly old lady in full Indian toggery, and a young girl in a pink calico dress, with a black shawl over her head and shoulders. They watched one of the runners with the most intense excitement, and when he came off victor in several of the contests, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. "That old man is the Governor of the pueblo of ——," said Mr. Sanchez. "It is his son who has just stepped out to lead the corn-dance. The daughter, little Rosaria, is pretty, is she not?" He approached her as he spoke, with easy assurance, and taking her by the chin, made some remarks in the Pueblo language intended to be complimentary; but the girl twisted herself from his grasp with hot indignation; and Sanchez returned, grumbling that since she had been to the Ramona School at Santa Fé she was too much of a lady to speak to anyone. Jim was standing beside her; and sure, from her manner, that she understood English, he asked her to explain the corn-dance to him. She did so, very kindly, and the hunt-dance which followed, when the painted clowns brought out grotesque clay images, and after adoring them fired at them, and shattered them in fragments, the crowd scrambling for the pieces. The young man who had been pointed out as the Governor's son secured a piece, and brought it to the girl in triumph. "That is the ear of a wolf," she said. "It means that he will have success in the south; we, who have been taught better, do not believe these old charms any more."
The last thing on the programme was the climbing of the pole for the sheep, which was finally won by a young brave of Taos.
There was racing on ponies afterward by young Indians and Mexicans, but this was informal, and not included in the rites of the day. The young girl looked at the races enviously. "My brother ought to win there," she said, "for we had the swiftest ponies of any of the Pueblos, and ought to have them, for our pasture lands are the best, but we have sold nearly all our live-stock, and the pastures are no longer of any use to us."
Mr. Armstrong overheard this remark, and asked Rosaria if her people would be willing to rent their lands. She conferred with her father in the Pueblo language, and Mr. Sanchez immediately joined in the conversation, talking volubly to the old man, and translating to Mr. Armstrong. "He says you are welcome to return to his pueblo with him," explained Mr. Sanchez, "and he will call a council of his townspeople to deliberate on your proposition."
There was more conversation, and it was decided to accept the Governor's invitation.Mr. Armstrong engaging Mr. Sanchez to go with them and help him in the transaction. This seemed to him the only thing which he could do, since he did not understand the language, and the Governor seemed to place confidence in the trader. The party set out the next morning for San ——, Mr. Armstrong and Jim in Mr. Sanchez's wagon, and the Governor and his children following on diminutive donkeys. Several days elapsed before the bargain could be made. The Indians were very suspicious of being entrapped into some fraud, and it needed all of Mr. Sanchez's eloquence to persuade them that the arrangement would be to their advantage. Mr. Armstrong had told Mr. Sanchez that he was willing to pay fifteen hundred dollars for the rental of the land for three years, and that he (Sanchez) might deduct his fee for services from this sum. "Then if I can persuade them to let you have the land for twelve hundred," asked Mr. Sanchez, "I may claim three hundred for my assistance in the matter?"
"That is a pretty round fee," replied Mr. Armstrong, "but it does not matter to me who has the money. The land is worth fifteen hundred dollars to me, and if you can persuade the Indians to take less, so much the better for you."
Jim was much interested in the negotiations. He sat beside Mr. Armstrong in the council-chamber, trying to make out from the expressive gestures what it was that the Indians were saying, and sometimes it seemed to him that Mr. Sanchez did not translate correctly. At such times he went out to where Rosaria stood by the open door listening, with other children. She translated for him the treaty as Mr. Sanchez read it, and he was astonished to find that it offered the Indians only three hundred dollars as rent for their land, the wily Sanchez having reserved twelve hundred as his own share.
"But Mr. Armstrong is willing to pay your people fifteen hundred," Jim protested to Rosaria, and the girl slipped into the council-chamber just as the Governor was about to sign the paper, and snatched it from his hand.
"Is it true," she asked of Mr. Armstrong, "that you are willing to pay more for our land? Mr. Sanchez offers us but three hundred dollars!"
Mr. Armstrong, surprised at the man'seffrontery, acknowledged that he was ready to pay more, while Sanchez, furious at seeing his opportunity slipping from him, poured upon Rosaria all manner of abuse, and threatened Mr. Armstrong that unless he held to his bargain to allow him whatever margin he could make he would spoil the trade for him.
"Here's a pretty affair!" said Mr. Armstrong to Jim. "You had better have kept quiet and let the old swindler feather his nest. Now I fear that I shall not be able to make any bargain with the Indians."
"But it was not right, was it," asked Jim, "that the Indians should have so little and Mr. Sanchez so much?"
"The proportion does seem unfair," Mr. Armstrong admitted to Jim; but he added, to Sanchez, "I hold to my part of the bargain. I will give you whatever margin you can make between their demands and fifteen hundred dollars."
Sanchez attempted to regain his lost advantage, but all this time Rosaria had been talking excitedly, explaining to one after another of the Indians, now pointing to the figures in the treaty, now scornfully at Sanchez, arguing, entreating, scolding, and whenthe trader began his defense of her charges, laughing him to scorn. The Governor put an end to the altercation by tearing the treaty in pieces and ordering two stout Indians to lead Sanchez from the room. He then bade Rosaria tell Mr. Armstrong that fifteen hundred dollars was the very least that they were willing to take for their land.
Mr. Armstrong bowed, and replied that he would think over the matter. He expected to have an opportunity to discuss it with his agent, but when he left the council-chamber he saw his wagon on the road toSantaFé, at a long distance from the pueblo, and was handed the label from a peach can, on the back of which was scribbled:
"That boy of yours is too smart to live; the plaguey Indians have given me an hour to leave their reservation. Manage your own concerns without the help of—Sanchez."
"That boy of yours is too smart to live; the plaguey Indians have given me an hour to leave their reservation. Manage your own concerns without the help of—
Sanchez."
The bargain was accordingly struck without the aid of a middle-man, and Mr. Armstrong was conceded the right to pasture his cattle for three years in consideration of the sum of five hundred dollars, to be paid in advance at the beginning of each season.Mr. Armstrong was much amused. "It has turned out all right," he said to Jim, "but you must acknowledge that it was really none of your business, and I would advise you, in future, not to meddle in matters which do not concern you."
"I will try," Jim replied, much abashed. "I ought to have told you instead of Rosaria, and you would have fixed it all right," he added, cheerfully. "I ought to have known that you wouldn't have let the Indians be cheated."
Mr. Armstrong felt the reproach in the undeserved confidence. Here was a companion who was a sort of embodied conscience. It was not always profitable to have a conscience in business, and yet there was something satisfactory and refreshing in the way in which this affair had terminated. "They say 'honesty is the best policy,'" he said to himself; "I wonder if this little fellow would not be a Mascot to bring me good luck. I have a notion to make him my partner in some of my risky ventures; Providence seems to smile upon him and his principles; perhaps if I make my good-fortune his as well, it will smile upon me." What he said to Jim was this: "You seemfond of a wild western life, Jim, and of the Indians. Our business among the Pueblos is ended. We are going back to Colorado. I have a notion to show you what the Colorado Indians are like. They are Utes, and they do not live in houses, like the Pueblos, but rove about in a perfectly savage manner; they are not peaceful and industrious, like the Pueblos, but lazy and ugly. I do not think that they are susceptible of civilization. I would as soon think of educating a coyote as a Ute.
"Now the Utes possess some of the best mining lands in Colorado, but will never develop them; so it seems to me better that they should be removed to the desert lands, which are worthless for purposes of civilization, and let the whites have their opportunity. I have my eye on a gulch which I discovered while hunting in the San Juan Mountains four years ago, and which I mean to pre-empt just as soon as we get the Utes to give up their present reservation and pack off to Utah. We shall go back that way, and I will show you the spot."
Jim opened his eyes very wide. He did not quite comprehend what Mr. Armstrong had said. Surely he could not mean to defraud the Indians in any way! He would doubtless pay them the worth of their mine, and if they liked the ready money better than the trouble of mining the silver for themselves it would be all fair.
At Antonito Mr. Armstrong left the railroad, provided himself with a span of horses, a wagon, camping outfit, and a brace of greyhounds, and struck out through the Ute reservation for the mountains. He told some gentleman whom he met at Antonito that he proposed to enjoy a little coursing for antelope; but there was a set of surveyors' instruments in the wagon, which proved that he intended to locate the mine which he had come across during his previous visit. His acquaintance attempted to discourage his making the trip alone, saying that the Utes had been restless of late, owing to a failure in receiving their supplies from Government, and it was hardly safe to approach their reservation.
"You need not be afraid of the Utes," another gentleman replied. "I knew their old chief, Ouray, and was entertained once in his house—a neater farm-house than many a white settler can show, and I was hospitably waited upon by his wife, Chipeta, who gaveme peaches from their own orchard, and saleratus biscuit, and when I saw the familiar yellow streaks in them, and tasted the old chief's whisky, I had to confess that the Indian was capable of civilization."
Mr. Armstrong laughed, but the first speaker bade him be careful, for all the Utes were not like Ouray, who had so well earned his title of the White Man's Friend.
"Now," exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, after he had driven out of sight of the last human habitation—"now at last we can breathe! What do you think of it, Jim?"
"I didn't know the world was so big," the boy replied; "these must be the Estates del Paradiso which Miss Prillwitz talks about. Why, there's room for all New York to spread itself out, and every child to have a yard to play in. It seems a little bit lonely," he added, after a pause. "I should think you would have liked to have had some of those gentlemen go with you."
"Why, you see, Jim," Mr. Armstrong replied, "I am going to hunt up that silver mine, and I had a little rather not share the secret with any one but you. Besides, I like the loneliness. I grow very tired of people sometimes, Jim, and it seems good toget away from them. Don't you ever feel so?"
"Mother did," Jim said. "She likes helping at the Home very much, but she got a little tired just before the young ladies sent for her to go to the seashore, and she came across one verse in the Bible which sounded so beautiful. It was, 'Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place and rest awhile, for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.'"
"I didn't know they had such hurrying times down in Galilee," Mr. Armstrong replied, lightly. He was in good spirits, and they drove a long distance that day, camping at night by a small stream, in which he caught some fine trout. As Jim curled up close to him under the army blanket, Mr. Armstrong felt a slight tremor run through the boy's frame.
"What is the matter?" he asked. "Are you afraid? We are still miles away from the Indians."
"It isn't the Indians," Jim replied, "but it's all so still! I don't hear horse-cars, nor the Elevated, nor people passing, nor nothing. Down at the Pier it was something like this, but there was always the sea; and at thepueblo there were the dogs; while here it seems as if something had stopped."
"'All the roaring looms of time,'" Mr. Armstrong replied, quoting from Tennyson, "have stopped for a little while for us, my boy, and that's the beauty of it. But the old machines will have us in their grip again very soon."
The next day Mr. Armstrong enjoyed a rabbit hunt. Jim, though he took part in the sport, could hardly be said to enjoy it. "It seems such a pity to kill the pretty things!" he said. But this did not keep him from making a hearty meal of broiled rabbit, or from hoping that they might find antelope before the trip was over. The loneliness which he had felt the night before came on again toward evening, and Jim was not sorry, on their third day out, to see that they were approaching a new frame house.
"An old half-breed guide used to have a tepee here," said Mr. Armstrong; "I shall engage his services for our trip. He is a good cook, a good hunter, faithful to his employers, and he knows every rock and clump of sage-brush in all the region. His only fault is that he will get drunk. He was with me when I found the silver ore,and I need him to guide me to the spot again."
As they came nearer, Mr. Armstrong seemed greatly surprised to see a large field of waving corn in front of the house, while some cows were being driven toward an out-building by a young Indian in checked shirt and brown overalls.
"What can have come over old Charley!" exclaimed Mr. Armstrong. "When I was here before, nothing would induce him to degrade himself by farm labor. Some boomer must have established himself here. It's illegal, for the land still belongs to the Indians."
They drove up to the front door, and were met by the same young man whom they had seen driving the cows, but the overalls were replaced by a faded pair of army trousers, and a paper collar had been hastily added to the checked shirt. He bade them enter, in good English, and the interior of the house was clean and inviting. The walls were papered with newspapers, a bright patchwork quilt was spread upon the bed, and a pleasant-faced girl was frying ham and eggs over the stove; while there was a shelf of books over the table. An Indian womanemerged from a shadowy corner and expressed a welcome bypantomime.
"Is not this Charley's wife?" Mr. Armstrong asked, and the woman smiled and nodded her recognition.
"Where is your husband?" was the next question. "Charley no good," was the wife's frank reply; "gone hunting with white men."
This was a disappointment that Mr. Armstrong had not anticipated; he was not sure that he could find his way to the silver mine without Charley's help, but it was worth trying. The odor of the frying ham was appetizing, and the invitation to supper was promptly accepted.
"Are you Charley's son?" Mr. Armstrong asked of the young man, who presently brought in a foaming pail of milk, and assisted his mother and sister in waiting on their guests.
"Yes, sir," was the prompt reply, "and my name is Charley too—Charles Sumner."
Mr. Armstrong stared in astonishment. "Where did you learn to speak English so well?" he asked.
"At the Indian Industrial School at Carlisle, Pennsylvania."
"Then you are one of Captain Pratt's boys?"
"Yes, sir," and a smile lightened the somewhat stolid features. Mr. Armstrong did not believe in Eastern schools for Indians, and he asked, rather sarcastically, "And what did you learn when you were in the East—Latin and Theology?"
The boy shook his head. "I learned to work on the farm," he said, "and to read and write, and do a little arithmetic; and I learned some carpentry—enough to build this house, and make that table, and the cupboard and things."
"Very creditable, I am sure," Mr. Armstrong replied, half incredulously, "but how did you come into the fortune necessary to set you up in this flourishing style?"
"I helped build the new depot at S——, and they paid me off with the lumber that was left, and I built the house out of that. Then I had some money which I had put in the savings-bank from my earnings every vacation in the East, and I bought the cows with that; and then I made a churn, and we've been making butter the way I saw them do it in Pennsylvania, and I sell it for a good price at the Springs."
"Well, you have more stuff in you than I ever thought it possible for an Indian tohave," Mr. Armstrong replied, fairly won, in spite of himself, to admiration. "I always supposed that those Carlisle students, as soon as they returned to old surroundings, went back to savagery."
"It is pretty hard for us," the boy replied. "Last year I planted about three times as much corn as you see here. I had taken a contract to supply the quartermaster at Fort ——, and I thought I should make a good deal of money; but just as it was green, all of our relations came to see us. There were ten families. They camped there by the creek, and they stayed until they had eaten every roasting ear. They said they had come to celebrate my home-coming, and father made them welcome, and gave a dance, and killed one of our cows for them. They would have killed them all, but I drove them off into the mountains, and hid them. That is the reason I have planted so little corn here this season. I have another field over in a little valley in the mountains which I hope they will not find, and I drive the cattle up the cañon every morning, for they may be here any day."
"You poor fellow!" said Mr. Armstrong. "I have heard the proverb, 'Save us fromour friends!' but I never understood the full force of it before."
After the hearty meal the little house was put at the service of the travelers, the family camping outside, and, much to Mr. Armstrong's contentment, they passed a comfortable and restful night. The next morning Mr. Armstrong asked Charles Sumner if he was familiar with the mountains, and could guide him to a certain valley, which he indicated as having a chimney-like formation at one end.
"Why, certainly," the young man replied; "don't you remember I was with father when he took you hunting four years ago? He killed an eagle that had her nest on a ledge high up on the chimney, and I climbed up for the young ones."
"Ah yes, I remember now, but you were such a little fellow then that I could not realize the change."
"I grew more at Carlisle," said the young man, significantly, "than at any other time of my life. We all grew at Carlisle."
"Then you will take us to the chimney," Mr. Armstrong asked, "and cook for us while we are out? What will you charge?"
"I don't think I ought to ask you anything, sir, for there is good pasturage thereabout, and I can drive my cows along, and herd them there until after the visit of our relatives. My sister is going to B—— with all the green-corn that the ponies can carry, so when they come they will find mother, and very little else. The valley in which my other corn is planted is in that direction, and perhaps you will let me bring some of it in your wagon when we come back?"
Charles Sumner rode cheerily beside them on a diminutive pony, driving his cows and the pack pony, and chatting freely of many things. Sometimes Jim sprang from his seat to make him change places and rest awhile. The pony had a fascination for Jim, and he speedily learned from Charles Sumner how to manage it, and to "round up" the herd of cows and calves. The young Indian taught him, also, how to make arrows, and to shoot with them, to picket the horses, and to use the lasso, to make camp coffee, and to set up and take down the tepee, or tent of buffalo hide, which the pack-pony dragged between long poles.
"You would like to be a cow-boy, wouldn't you, Jim?" Mr. Armstrong asked, but Charles Sumner shook his head. "Cow-boys are no good," he said, emphatically; "they shoot Indians as if they were wild beasts. Better stay in the East, where the white people are good. I wish I could, but the Government insists that as soon as we are educated we must go back to our reservations. I wish it would let us stay and earn our living in the East, where it is so much easier to stay civilized."
Jim, on the other hand, was delighted with everything he saw. "If all the boys in Rickett's Court could only come out here!" he exclaimed, "and ride, and herd cows, and hunt, and camp out, and all the Indian boys could only go East, and go to school, and work at trades—how nice it would be!"
Mr. Armstrong admitted that the change might be good for both, but while speaking they came in sight of the chimney-shaped pinnacle, and he hastily unpacked his theodolite and other instruments, and began to take angles, and to jot down memoranda.
"This is the first time that I have ever seen a surveyor on the Ute reservation," said Charles Sumner, "and I think that our troubles will be ended sometime by that little machine. Just as soon as the Governmentdivides up our land and gives each Indian his own share, then each good Indian will cultivate his own farm, and will have some heart to work. How can he now, when the land belongs as much to every lazy Indian in the tribe as to himself? O sir, is it possible that the Government has sent you to begin this division?"
Mr. Armstrong confessed that his observations were made only for his own amusement. He was surprised to find that the young man had such advanced views on the "land in severalty" question, and he asked whether any of the other Indians of the tribe shared his opinions.
"There are a good many who have staked out farms and are cultivating them, just as I have," he replied, "but we know that we have no right to the land, and may be turned out any day, whenever bad white men persuade our chiefs to give up this reservation and move away to the bad lands in the West."
Mr. Armstrong winced a little under the earnest, questioning look with which Jim regarded him. To turn his train of thought he said, "There is the old eagle's nest on the ledge still, Charles Sumner. Can you climbup there to-day as nimbly as you did four years ago?"
For answer, the young man threw himself from his pony and began to ascend the cliff. It was very steep, but he chose his way cautiously, seizing each point of vantage in the way of a crevice or projection. He had almost reached the nest when he paused, looked away to the southward, and began rapidly to descend. "There is a band of Utes coming over the divide," he said; "I think it would be as well for us to go a little further up the valley." He hurriedly collected his herd, and drove them before him through a pass into a long, shady gorge. Mr. Armstrong followed with the team. "This is the place!" he exclaimed, excitedly, as they entered the ravine. "It was in this little cañon that I found the silver. A vein cropped right out to the surface, and I filled my pockets with the ore. I set up a buffalo skull to mark the spot. There it is—at the foot of that pine. It must have rolled down, for I placed it higher. Hold the reins, Jim, while I scramble up the bank and see if I see any signs of the vein." With the agility of a younger man, Mr. Armstrong climbed the steep bank, and came down with his handsfilled with crumbled ore. "It is there, fast enough," he said, triumphantly; "if it were not on the Indian reservation I would be the owner of that mine now. They cannot hold the lands long, and when they are opened to settlement this cañon shall be ours, Jim. You say you would like to live a western life. If your mother, of whom you seem so fond, is of the same opinion, you shall pre-empt a claim here, and I will take one just beside you, and between us we will own the mine. You don't understand it, my boy; but I have taken a fancy to you, and I mean to make your fortune."
"And will this ravine be my very own?" Jim asked—"mother's and mine?"
"Yes, my boy; and I am curious to see what you will make of it, and what you will make of yourself while you are waiting to come into your possessions. I mean to put you in the way of getting a good practical education, which shall be of use to you out here."
"And can I learn surveying?"
"Yes; and mining engineering and assaying and mechanics, and all that."
"That is what Lovey Dimple would like to learn too. Can he come with me? He'dinvent a machine right off to dig the silver just as easy."
"We will see, Jim. I would like to give him a good turn for his father's sake; but don't take too many into our company, or we shall have to water the stock too freely."
They had nearly reached the head of the gorge, and they found that Charles Sumner had paused, and had corraled his cows in a little natural amphitheatre, where they were resting contentedly.
"I must watch them pretty sharply," the Indian explained, "for the corn I told you about is in the next valley, and if they should get into that, they would be as bad as our relations. Just walk to the top of the hill, Mr. Armstrong, and see what a nice field of it I have over there." Mr. Armstrong returned bringing an armful of fine roasting ears, but Charles Sumner thought it best not to build a fire until the party of Utes had passed, and they sat down to a cold supper of canned baked beans. After supper Jim had a long talk with Charles Sumner, and ascertained that the young man had fixed his heart upon making this particular section his home farm as soon as the reservation should be divided in severalty among theIndians, which he hoped would happen before many years.
"Then," said Jim, "you think that the white people will never have a chance to come in here and take up land?"
"Do you think they ought to be allowed to do so, when the land is ours?" Charles Sumner asked.
"No, I don't," Jim replied, promptly. "I think it is really yours, and you ought to keep it; and I'll just tell you a secret about this cañon. It is worth a great deal more than you know. There is a silver mine in it, and I'll show you where, and you had just better go back East and study the best way to mine silver, and then when you get your claim you will know how to work it. I wish you would take me in as your partner, for Mr. Armstrong is going to have me taught all about mining. He thought he might pre-empt this mine for me, but, of course, when he sees that it really belongs to you, he will not want to, unless, perhaps, you would like to sell out your right in it."
Jim had spoken so rapidly that he did not notice that Mr. Armstrong had approached, and was listening with an astonished expression to what he was saying.
"Jim, are you crazy?" Mr. Armstrong exclaimed, as soon as he could recover himself. "Don't you see that you are throwing away your chances?"
"Oh no," Jim replied, with a smile, "I hadn't any chance at all. You didn't know, but it all belongs to Charles Sumner."
Their conversation was interrupted by a whoop in the valley below. The band of Utes had discovered the traces of their last camp, and had followed their trail into the cañon.
"Drive over into the next ravine!" said Charles Sumner; "they will camp here when they find my cows. Wait for me just below the corn-field, and I will join you as soon as I can. They will not hurt you if they find you, but they will beg and steal everything."
Mr. Armstrong hurriedly followed Charles Sumner's advice, and was joined about midnight by the young Indian, who drove before him three cows, all he had been able to rescue from a herd of twelve.
The young man wiped his brow with a despairing gesture. "They were ugly," he said. "Some Durango cow-boys have been pasturing their cattle on the reservation, andthey insisted that my cows were a part of the herd, and that the owners were somewhere near. If they had found you, they might have treated you roughly. I think we had better get away while they are feasting."
It occurred to Mr. Armstrong that it looked very much as if Charles Sumner had saved their lives at the sacrifice of his property, and a feeling of gratitude and liking sprang up in his heart for the young man.
"I don't know what I shall do," the Indian continued, dejectedly. "It doesn't seem to be any use to try to be civilized in this country."
"No, my poor fellow!" replied Mr. Armstrong, "it really does not. In your place, I think I should go back to the blanket and be a savage with the rest. I will tell you what to do: come East again with your mother and sister. I will let you try farming on a piece of land which I have taken a fancy to in Massachusetts, where you will not have these discouragements. When the land question is settled, you and Jim shall come back here and form a partnership. If it is divided in severalty to the Utes, then I will establish your right to the cañon, and you shall take Jim in as your partner; and if it isopened to the whites for settlement, he will take up the land and give you a share in it."
This proposition was accepted by Charles Sumner and his sister, the mother preferring to remain with her husband. After establishing the young Indians in Massachusetts, Mr. Armstrong brought Jim with him to Narragansett Pier.
A short space must now be given to Milly and Adelaide, who, though mingling in a very different class of society, had an experience that summer not unlike our own. Mrs. Roseveldt gave a lawn-party at the beginning of the season to organize a tennis club. Tennis was the rage that season. Many of the cottages had tennis courts, and the different players wished to plan for a grand tournament at the end of the season. A pretty uniform was designed of white flannel, the skirt embroidered with a deep Greek fret in gold thread, and laid in accordion pleats. A little jacket lined with gold-colored silk, and embroidered in the same pattern, was to be worn over the shirt waist, and a gold-colored sash ending in a tassel, with a white Tam o'Shanter, completed the costume. Milly had planned thatMrs. Halsey should have the making of these costumes while at the Pier.
A fund was contributed with which to purchase a trophy for the prize player. It rose quickly to a hundred and fifty dollars, and a meeting was held to decide what the trophy should be. Most of the members thought that a gold pin in the shape of a racket, with a pearl ball, manufactured by Tiffany, would be the correct thing, and this idea would certainly have been adopted if Milly had not turned the current by a neat little speech.
"I am sure," she said, "that we do not want to vulgarize our club by making it professional, and a prize of any great money value would certainly do this. So I move that the prize be a simple wreath of laurel tied with a white ribbon, on which the date of the tournament and name of the club be printed." The members all agreed that this would be in better form, but asked what was to be done with the money already contributed. Then Milly rose to the occasion, and flung out the banner of the Home.
"It seems as if we had no right to be romping in this delicious fresh air while poor children are gasping in the vile smells of the city."
The Fresh-Air Fund and the Working Girls' Vacation Society were both popular charities, and were proposed by different members as proper recipients of our funds. Milly was ready to agree to this, but one young man, supposed until that day to be a mere gilded youth, without an idea above his neckties, suggested that it was always pleasanter to be the distributer of one's own benefits, and moved that the club get up a little Fresh-Air Fund of its own. "We might rent a cottage down here and send for a dozen or so young beggars, and take turns in caring for them."
A general laugh followed this remark. "What would you do, personally, Mr. Van Silver?" asked one of the girls.
"I would put my coach and four-in-hand at the service of the enterprise," he said, "and make myself expressman and 'bus driver. I'd take the children out to drive every day, for one thing."
Everyone insisted that they would like to see him do it, but he persisted until they were convinced of his sincerity. Mr. Van Silver's patronage had given an aristocratic stamp to the enterprise, and some one now proposed that they rent a cottage for the children for the season.
Milly then explained that Adelaide had already fitted up her cottage for the purpose, and was expecting an invoice of children by the next day. Adelaide invited the party to visit the cottage that afternoon, and the entire club climbed to the top and interior of Mr. Van Silver's coach; Mr. Stacy Fitz-Simmons, the whilom drum-major of the Cadet band, blowing the coach horn for all he was worth.
They found a park overgrown into a forest, in the depth of which stood a pleasant cottage, with broad verandas, which once commanded a beautiful view of the glistening bay, with Newport in the distance.
"I intend to have some of these trees cut away, so as to leave a vista through to the water," Adelaide explained.
They entered the house, and found it renovated from the mold and decay with which ten years had encumbered it, sweet and fresh with new paint, and papering of pretty design. Light and graceful ratan furniture and chintz hangings added to the beauty of the room, simple straw mattings covered the floor. It was as lovely a home as heart could wish.
"I have done all I can afford," Adelaide said, simply, "and if the club would like to use this cottage for their city children it is at their service, but first Milly wants to entertain the younger children of the Home of the Elder Brother here for a couple of weeks."
"And we will each of us take his or her turn for a week," said Mr. Van Silver; and so the "Paradiso Seaside Home" was provided for.
Mrs. Halsey came with the children. From the moment that she left the station she seemed to be in a dream.
"It all looks so familiar!" she exclaimed; "I am sure I have been here before! There is something caressing in the feeling of the damp air, as though it kissed my cheek like an old friend. And the scent of the salt-water! I remember it so well; and shall we hear the surf? Oh, when was it, where was it, that I knew it all?"
When they drove into the grounds she shook her head. "No, it was not this place," she said, with a wistful look in her eyes; "there were no trees." But at the first glimpse of the house a trembling seized her, and she could hardly mount the steps.Within doors a puzzled expression came into her face.
"It is familiar, yet unfamiliar," she said. "I cannot be sure. If I could only see some face that I had known before, then I could tell."
"Perhaps the face will come," Adelaide said; and it came.
A few weeks later Mr. Armstrong returned with Jim from the western trip, and came down to the Pier to make the visit which his daughter so greatly desired. Adelaide had driven to the stationforthem in Milly's pony carriage, Jim mounted to his old place on the rumble, Mr. Armstrong settled himself for the drive, and Adelaide took the reins.
"I am going to take you around by the cottage, papa," she said. "I want to show you what I have done there, and how happy the Home children are."
Mr. Armstrong drew himself up, as though wincing from some sudden pain. "I did not intend to go there again, daughter," he said; "I shall miss a face at the window."
"I know, papa—the cameo; but she would have been glad to see the cottage used as it is."
They turned into the drive, and Mr. Armstrong nerved himself for the sight of his old home. Suddenly he cried out, and caught his daughter's arm. "Is it only memory, or have I lost my senses? The face is there!"
Adelaide laughed reassuringly. "I don't wonder that it gave you a turn, papa; it did me, too, when I saw the same sight in Miss Prillwitz's window last winter, but it is only dear Mrs. Halsey looking out for us."
"Then thank God!" exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, leaping from the vehicle and hurrying forward. "Do you not remember me? my own!—my wife!"
His wife remembered: the veil which had blinded her for years fell at the sight of her husband's face.
Happily the shock had not been as sudden as it seemed; during the time which she had spent in the cottage the conviction had grown upon her that this had been her home. She had asked Adelaide its history, and learning that it had been built for her mother, who had been drowned in the great steamboat disaster, a hope had sprung up in her heart, which she dared not express to any one, that she had found her own again.Adelaide had said that she expected her father, and Mrs. Halsey waited only to see his face to be assured of the truth.
Adelaide's delight at finding that Mrs. Halsey was her lost mother, and Jim her brother, was genuine and intense. "I knew, all the time, that Jim was somebody's child," she exclaimed, incoherently. "It is all too good to be true! too good to be true!"
"Jim deserves a better father than he has found," said Mr. Armstrong, "and by God's grace he shall have a better.
"It is too bad to break up this nice little arrangement of a summer home for the poor children," he added, "and I will allow the cottage to be used for this purpose just so long as the tennis club desire to maintain it; but I must have my wife. Please remember that we have been parted from each other a very long time. I am going West next week, and I must take her with me; and it will not do Adelaide any harm to have a glimpse of the great West before we send her to school in the fall. Jim has had as much of the West as he can stand at present, and we will leave him in the best school that we can find."
"But what shall we do for a housekeeperfor the cottage?" Adelaide asked, in dismay.
"Mrs. Trimble has just left the hospital, fully recovered, but I have no doubt she would prefer to run your little enterprise rather than to return to the store; and as I have deprived you of your housekeeper I don't mind paying Mrs. Trimble to supply her place for the remainder of the summer. It will do Mr. Trimble good, too, to complete his convalescence here, and perhaps in the winter they will accept the janitorship of your tenement."
"My tenement!" Adelaide replied, in surprise.
"Yes, I intend to give you the management of this property, which I have always considered your own. You have a matter of twenty thousand dollars insurance money, which, with the ten thousand which I have deposited to your name in the savings bank, you may use in erecting a model tenement on the site of the old Rickett's Court building. I think I shall have some more money for you to put into the enterprise if the patent works well. I shall give Mr. Trimble a share in the profits of that invention over and above the five thousand dollars already paid him, but I think that he would like one of yoursuites of rooms in return for acting as janitor and agent of the building, and it will not interfere with his teaching mechanics to the boys at the Home."
"If you please, papa," said Adelaide, "I like the plan of engaging Mr. Trimble as janitor, but I would rather be my own agent and collect the rents myself; then I can see just what improvements are needed, and be sure that my tenants are all comfortable."
For the remainder of their stay in the East the Armstrongs busied themselves with architects' plans and specifications. Adelaide enjoyed planning the bathrooms and conveniences of different kinds. "And the paving-stones must be taken up in the court," she said, "and a nice grass-plot laid out in their place, and we will have pretty iron balconies before every window, and a fire-escape."
"Yes, daughter," replied her father, "I will make you a present of that, outside the other matters—the very best kind of fire-escape to be found in the city; and, while we are about it, I will send one to the Home of the Elder Brother."
Adelaide's interest in her tenement did not wean her away from the Home, andI have since observed that it is always those who, seemingly, are already doing as much as they can in the way of charity who are always ready to lend a helping hand to other enterprises, and that it is the earnest workers of little means, as well as the wealthy philanthropists, who