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A Storg, 

By Miss Bessie Turner. 

' I fk) but beir a little cbangeling boy."— Shakipemt. 






riie Rus.sellM 5 

|A Wonmii in the Cat^ 7 


le Asks. She Answers 10 


Pen Years Later. A Summons 12 


The Boy! Oh, Where Was He? 13 


'"'^hort and Bitter IP 

)ve Melttfth Even Pride 15 


11 Death Doth Them Part 18 


pcnty Years After 19 

[e and She 21 


Dnie Strange Developments 23 


lie Snake in the Grass 28 

TeiTible Temptation 82 


i! Fire ! Fire! 84 

auble ia the Household 37 

That Next? The Programme 41 

lie Scene Shifts. The Tempter at Work 48 

Bmpleton's Story 45 




One-Kyed Churley nt Monie 49 

She Wttltwl Patiently. 



John Hardy's Story. A Sudden Stop 



The Miller and his Man 57 


Robert Relaney, Clergyman, appears. 

Miller Goes to Church. A Toe for a Toe 



Mand Russell as Florence Nightingale 


On the Track at Last 71? 


Bill, Bob and Harry 7!, 


The Snake Fascinates Mary Millev 79 ^ 


On the Rocks 8l| 

Miller does some Talking 

Beware, Poor Girl, Beware 

Porejvarned, Forearme«1 

Two Playing at the Same Game. 




89 1 


A Soft An.swer Turns Away Wrath 97 

The Surprisers Surprised . , 
Walking Down Broadway 


100 j 


John and Maud 106 *! 

At Last. At Last. 




Tliere's no Place Like Home ,. U^ 





TELL you, mother dear, I love 

her with all my heart, and 

marry her I will." So spoke 

lorace liussell, as, with his arm 

kbout his mother's neck, ho looked at 

^he retreatii^g form of Jennie Marvin, 

is sweetheart and intended bride. 

Born in a manufacturing village of 
England, and reared in the immense 
itablishment of which his father 
the founder and proprietor, Hor- 
se Russell was as fine a specimen of 
le better grade of the English mid- 
le class as one would care to see. 
[e had barely turned his twenty- 
lird v«ur, stood six feet in his 
)ckings, carried himself with the 
[ir of a hunter, and yas noted at 
the fairs as the best jumper, 
testier, boater and marksman in 
le county. His early years had 
m spent in acquiring the ruder 
lements of education ; but his head 
fas bent on mechai/.cs, and his de- 
jht was to go to the factory, watch 
le machinery, Uarn of the men the 
rhy and the wherefore, and perfect 
iself in all that pertained to his 
ither's affairs. At the age of eigh- 
9n, at the urgent request of Horace, 
[r. Russell, senior, put him at work, 
id on his twenty-tirst birthday the 
^oang man was hailed as foreman ef 
le works. 
The Russell family wns of bumble 

origin, self-respecting, frugal, and 
well-to-do. Joseph liusdell came of 
virtuous stock, and looked upon 
merry-making as a sin. Nnvorthe- 
Iflss, ho married young, and, at the 
period of which wo write, wm the 
contented husband of a devoted wife, 
and the happy futlier of two sons, 
Horace and Harry, the latter a crip- 
ple. In the factory and at home the 
will of Joseph Russell was law. The 
wife, as good a soul as over breathed, 
trembled at the least exhibition of 
impatience by Horace, who had a 
high temper, and shrank with appre- 
hension at every elevation of tone, 
lest it might be the beginning of an 
unknown end to be avoided and 
dreaded. Harry was a cri{)ple from 
his birth ; he was intelligent, quick- 
witted, sagacious and kitid. Books 
were his refuge, and study his de- 
light. Between tho tender-hearted 
mother, the sturdy Horace and tho 
pale-featured Harry, were bonds of 
sympathy to which Joseph, who 
was brusque in manner and rude of 
speech, was an utter stranger. 

And yet, Joseph loved his wife 
and loved his sons. Of Harry's pro- 
ficiency at school he was very proud, 
and whatever the young man desired 
was readily granted, at whatev5?r cost ; 
while in the tact and marvellous in- 
tuition of Horace, the honest manu- 


facturer found not only pleasure but 

Twenty -three years had passed, 
and aside from tlie little misunder- 
Btandings incident to well-regulated 
families, nothing had happened to 
mar the honie-ljarmoiiy, or jar the 
sense of love till now ; but now it 
had conic. And this was it. 

Jennie Marvin v.'orlced in the fac- 

Pretty 1 

She was beautiful in the eyes of 
all who saw her, but to Horace she 
was the incarnation of all that is good 
and sweet, and true and pure. Her 
parents were very poor while living ; 
60 much 30, that in sunshine and in 
ruin, Jennie was compelled to walk 
daily to the fa-tory, that the small 
wages she received mig^*^ -^ke out the 
pittance gathered hero and here by a 
willing but a shiftless father. Fever 
deprived Jennie of her father,and con- 
sumption, tantalizingly cruel in its 
grasp, threatened for months the life 
of tlio mother, upon whose blessings 
Jennie lingered long and wistfully 
after death had closed the poor 
woman's eyes, leaving the orphane<l 
girl of eighteen to fight for bread 
as best she could. 

A. pretty picture was the dainty 
girl, as turning t irough the stile, 
dressed in modest garb,she blushingly 
acknowledged the foreman's kindly 
greeting, and hastily pasced to her 
section. They had known each other 
from infancy, and with the crippled 
brother had sat upon the same forms, 
played the same pranks, suffered the 
same punishments, and shared each 
other's lunch. As years rolled along, 
the exactions uf domestic drudgery 
kept Jennie at home, the studies of 
Harry required his attention at the 
academy, and Horace's love of his 
father's work sent him to the factory, 
so that save a glimpse now and then 
at church, an occasional meeting on 

the street, or, perchance, a dance at 
the county fair, the three rarely met. 
In tho course of time, however, Jen- 
nie sought and obtained employment 
at the mill, and from that time on, 
her daily presence revealed to Horace 
the charms of head and heart which 
later led him to the step which even- 
tually changed the course of his life, 
and brought about a collision from 
which he would willingly have shrunk. 

Between Horace and Harry there 
were no secrets. The boys loved each 
other. In tho heat of oummer Hor- 
ace protected Harry, and in the winter 
he shielded him from tho blast. 
Whatever the one lacked in physical 
requirements, the other more than 
supplemented. Play and interplay 
was the habit of their lives. Horace 
rejoiced in Harry's successes at tho 
academy, and when the elder disclosed 
in tho secrecy of their chamber an 
invention with which he hoped to 
surprise and profit their father, the 
delight of tho one far eclipsed tho 
hopefulpess of the other. And be- 
tween the boys and their mother, too, 
was a most delightful sympathy. To 
her they confided the troubles of 
their boyhood, to her they told tho 
embarrassments of maturer years. 
She, mother-like, was full of consider- 
ation, of kindness, of sympathy. She 
concealed their faults, made peace 
with their father, aided and abetted 
them in all their schemes, and did as 
all good mothers do, oiled the ma- 
chinery of home, so that there was 
but little friction and not a bit of 

And yet, although Horace had told ^ 
his mother every trouble he had ever 
experienced, every annoyance of his 
life, every purpose and ambition of | 
his heart, when he discovered his love 
for Jennie Marvin he said nothing to 
her — but told it all to Harry. 

They both jumped to one conclu- 


lance, a dance at 
I three rarely met. 
mo, however, Jen- 
lined employment 
urn that time on, 
•ovealed to Horace 
and heart which 
) step which even- 
course of his life, 
, a colliBion from 
ingly have shrunk, 
and Harry there 
le boys loved each 
b of summer Hor- 
, and in the winter 
from the blast, 
lacked in physical 
other more than 
lay and interplay 
eir lives. Horace 
3 successes at the 
the elder disclosed 
their chamber an 
[lich he hoped to 
, their father, the 
B far eclipsed the 

other. And be- 

their mother, too, 

ful sympathy. To 

the troubles of 
ler they told the 
maturer years, 
as full of consider- 
)f sympathy. She 
alts, made peace 
ided and abetted 
hemes, and did as 
lo, oiled the ma- 

that there was 
and not a bit of 

1 Horace had told 
ouble he had ever 
annoyance of his J 
and ambition of 

liscovered his love 
he said nothing to 
to Harry, 
ed to one conclu- 

Thoy both know the oppoa'tiou to 
)me from their futlutr. 

And when Horace said to ((arry, 
[If I can gain her consent to-ni).;ht, 
I shall do it," they both felt it was 
ie cnUiring wedgo of serious trouble 

the family. 

Now Joseph Russell was by no 
lanner (if means a bad henrtod man. 
)n the contrary, ho wii'. us honest 
Lnd true as steel. Ho paid liis *lobts, 
rent to church, had family p'iiycrs, 
)oko kindly of his noif^'hbor.i, doalt 
snerously with his people, and was 
Dputed one of the most f traif,'htfor- 
^ard men in the county — out ho had 

; Ho wanted to leave his sons one 

ido higher in the social scale than 
was himself. 

Nothing that money could do was 

idged in Harry's eilucation. 

Nothing that time and patience, 

kid industry and zeal could accom- 

jish, was withheld in his pursuit of 

fealth for the elevation of his on 

id heir. 

In his eyes the marriage of his 
ith one of his factory hands w 

a step backward, which the boyt> 

woll know ho would never for a 
moment ^auction. 

Harry and hi-« motlicr canvassed 
the miitter tiiiu> and time again while 
Horace and his father were at their 
work, but thn way Hoomed darker tho 
more they Hcarohcd for light. Harry 
was fond of tlm girl ; she had always 
been kind and considerate of him 
whon they were childnm, and even 
if there wrxti no other bond, tho fact 
that Horace h)ved her, made Jennie 
sacred and lovable in his eyes. To 
his mother Harry recounted all the 
tender things Horace had told him 
about J'innio, and after much per- 
suasion induced her to agree with 
him, that after all it was tho happi- 
ness of Horace they v.'ero bound to 
consider, and further to pledge hop 
influence with her husband in favor 
of tho union, or at all events the 
engagement. With a light heart 
Horace heard Harry's report one 
pleasant summer night, and ho deter- 
mined that not another day should 
pass before ho disclosed his love to 
Jennie, and received by word of 
mouth her acceptance of his hand. 

-••► — 



R Russell's great factory gave 

con.stant employment to tlireo 

hundred men and women 

mng the busy season, and by a 

irstem of gradation-payments furnish- 

" them all a comfortable living the 

Jtireyear. Very naturally the master 

so many people was the great 

man of tho town, and his influence 
was acknowledged and sought by the 
neighboring gentry and magnates of 
the county. Always a self-willed and 
imperious man, Joseph Russell became 
in time little better than a conscien- 
tious tyrant, exacting from everyone 
a full measure of work, and giving 



vrith equal fuirncRR a full ntuasuro of 
pay. At hoinu lie \ui8 iiuvur goiiinl, 
but nevt^r nionmu. llo v/an making 
money, his witu woa unxiou8 to pleuHc, 
anil IiIh chililron woro ropulublu ami 
imluHtrious and obedient. He knew 
that Ilarry'u intiraiity woidd ncceosi- 
tatu a life of cane, and for tluit he was 
prepared. To Horaco ho looked for 
ttid in buHincHs, and after Hcvend yuars 
of trial concluded to make him a part- 
ner, establiHh him in a lionie, and 
gradually leave to him the entire man- 
agement of his aifairs. Ho talked 
freely with his wife of his plans, und 
announced to her that on Horace's 
next birthday he should liand to him 
the papers of partnership, give a grand 
holiilayparty to the hands, and make 
his son in name what lie had been 
for some time in fact — the nmster of 
the mill. 

The good mother was delighted, and 
imparted an added zest to her hus- 
band's pleasure by accepting his plan 
as pei'fcct, and endorsing his idea as 
the best that could be devised. 

At breakfast Mr. Kussell said : 
*' Horace, will you drive over to town 
with me this morning 1 I have busi- 
ness with Mr. Wilson, the lawyer, 
which may need your counsel." 

Horace, glad of an opportunity to 
tell his father of his love, cheerfully 
consented, and together they drove 
off, waving good-bye to the " house- 
keepers " — as they called Mrs. Rus- 
«ell and Harry — as they stood together 
on the broad stone in front of their 
pleasant home. 

The father was full of his project, 
and he meant to broach it that morn- 

The son was full of his love, and 
he meant to tell it then and there. 

" Horace," said Mr. Russell, '•' you 
have been in the factory a long time, 
and are the best forb.^an I ever had. 
That's good. I'm glad of it, for I 
ahould hate to have my son behind 

the rent. Your mother and I have 
been talking the matter over, and I 
have concluded to take you into the 
buHincHH, hair-and-lialf — now don't 
Hpeak — HO that you <:an have your 
hand on the crank it'anything should 
happen to me. And llial'ri what I'm 
taking you over to town lor." 

For a moment Horace looked at his 
fatl)(;r in blank aKtoiiislinient. If an 
angel from heaven had proniiHed him 
the desire of his heart, he wouldn't 
have been more delighted and sur- 
prised. Tears IIIIcmI his eyes, and the 
warm blood flushed his 'jiieeks, as ho 
grasped his hii]>py father by the hand, 
and thanked him with an iron grip 
which meant much more than words 

Then in a moment he said : "What- 
ever yo\i say, father, 1 will do, ami 
thank you." 

•' Well, well, that's all settled then," 
said Mr. Russell. " .And now, Hor- 
ace, you must get a wife — get a good 
wife. Get a wife like your mother, my 
boy, and life will be easier. Look at 
me. Lookathome — everything bright 
as a guinea and roun<l ns a bull. By the 
way, Horace, our ir.eniber was saying 
the other day that he would be pleased 
to have us call at his place. He has 
a fine family — two beautifid girls. 
Who knows what might happen, eh\ 
But — bless me ; what's the matioi 
with the boy ? Why don't you speak I 
I believe — bnt no, nonsense, that's 
absurd ; Horace, what are you think- 
ing of 1" 

" Well, father, there's no use in 
my trying to keep secret what must 
come out. I had determined to tell 
you .all about it, anyhow, tod.iy. I 
was thinking of the dearest girl on 
earth, father. You know her, you 
like her. So does mother, so does 
Harry. I wanted to iell you thnl 
althoiigh nothing final has ])aF8ed be- 
tween us, I am in love with Jennit 
Marvin ; and, with your permissioD, 
mean to make her my wife." 


notlicr niid I liave 
iiiuttiT over, and I 

taku you into tlio 
l-lialf — now don't 
oil can liavo your 
: it'anytliing should 
ind thal'rt wlmt I'm 
) t«i\vn lor." 
loraci' I'xikcd at liis 
toniHiinicnt. If an 
I ]iad proniiHod him 

heait, h« wouldn't 
di'liylitt'd and «ur- 
id his eyi's, and tlio 
ul his '.'lit't'kM, ns ho 

father i»y the hand, 
I with an iron fjrip 
h more than words 
nt he said : "What- 
her, 1 will do, and 

it's all settled then," 

" And now, Ilor- 

a wife — f,'(t a good 

ke your mother, luy 

be easier. Look at 

—everything bright 

ntl us a ball. By the 

ir.oniber was saying 

le would be pleased 

liis ])lace. He has 

vo beautiful girls, 

might happen, eli i 

what's the matter 

ly don't you si)eak i 

0, nonsense, that's 

vhat are you think- 

secret what must 
determined to tell 
inyhow, to-d-iy. I 
he dearest girl on 
ou know her, you • 
8 mother, so doe« 
1 to iell you thnl 
final has ]>assed be- 
love with Jennit 
b jour permissioD, 
my wife." 

[f Horace had knocked hi8 father 

of the wagon ho could not have 

iked him more. 

[Had ho lost his sunsos ? No, the 

ly team wore makii;^ umi miles mi 

)ur over a lovely English road, the 

|nlight was dancing through the 

Bes and across the meadow, the 

ins were in his hands, and Horace 

\,i by his side, sturdy as an oak and 

^ntlu as a child. 

" Conscience guide me !" said Mr. 

|ussell, and then turning to his son, 

)ko out in a perfect torrent of 

^post'.ilation, censure, abuse and in- 

Btivp, imtil, fairly white with rage, 

I said : " Next Monday will bo your 

rthday. I give you till then to 

lide. Forgot this girl, strike hands 

^h your father, and bo u man. 

Ihero to her, and I disinherit you, 

rn you off — and don't you dare to 

^rkon my door again. You know 

Now no more about it." 

" But father," began Horace 

" I tell you, no nioro about it," re- 
Kned his father. '* Hero we are at 
ke post office ; mail this letter, order 
^eso books for Harry, and let's get 
Ick as soon as wo can. We won't see 
Ir. Wilson to-day. I am in no mood 
^r business." 
Horace did as ho was bid ; and 
jether they drove homeward, un- 
ippy, discontented, and utterly un- 

As they entered the drive-way, 

[rs. Russell met them near the gate, 

id in a moment saw that there was 

nible between them. 

" Why, what's the matter, father 1" 

id she. 

'• Ask Horace," was his reply ; and 
rithout another word to either of 

them, ho turned his back and btrode 
off to the mill. 

Aa ho did so tho swoot face of 
.Jennie Marvin peorcil out fron» a 
group of nurslings by tho hedge, 
and a soft voice said : " Good morn- 
ing, Mrs. Russell ; good morning, 
Horace." There sho was, the cause 
of the first serious misunderstanding 
between father and pon ; the simple- 
hearted, blue-eyed beauty, for whora 
Horace would givo his life with 

" Why, how late you are, Jennie," 
said Horace. 

" Yes, I know it, Horace ; but I 
was kept at Widow Harden's until 
after eight ; she is very low, and I 
promised tho doctor I would care for 
her till some of tho other neighbors 
looked in. But I'm all right now, 
only I thought I'd give you a sur- 
prise, and catch you making love ti> 
your mother. Good-by," said Jennie, 
and off she went to her work. 

" And that's the girl you love is it, 
Horace 1 " said Mrs. Russell. 

" Indeed it is," said he, *' and I 
tell you, mother dear, I love her with 
all my heart ; and marry her / will." 

He then told his mother all his 
father had said, and, after begging 
her to intercede with her husband, 
aaid : " If the worst comes, mother 
dear, I have £200 of my own. We 
are both young and strong. I'll marry 
Jennie at once, and together we'll 
fight our way through life, bringing 
no dif credit on the name, and per- 
haps bo able sometime to repay the 
love and kindness you have always 
shown me. So, mother, dry your 
eyes ; help me if you can — and if 
not, I'll help myself." 





OT a word was exchanged be- 
tween Horace and his fatlier 
all day. After tea, at night, 
the young man, who was as frank 
and honest in lieart as he was noble 
and truthful in appearance, laid his 
hand upon his father's shoulder, and 
giving it a loving grip, said : "Father, 
I am going down to see Jennie. Let 
me take a kind woid from you ? " 

It was well meant, but the boy 
did not uuderstaud the man. 

Without changing his position, 
Joseph Rusd..ill said : " You know 
my wish — obey it, and all's woll ; 
thwart it, and we are no more to each 
other for ever." 

Mrs. Russell said nothing, though 
she looked unutterable sympathy ; but 
Harry, who loved his father, mother, 
and brother as one, rose hastily from 
the table, and throwing himself full 
upon his father's breast, begged and 
implored him to be considerate, to 
wait to hear what Horace proposed, 
and at all events to withdraw what 
seemed, to an over-sensitive nature, 
very much like a curst". 

But it was useless. 

A stubborn man is harder to move 
than a mule, and Joseph Russell was 
precisely that. 

The end of it all was that the 
father pretended to read the county 
paper, his wife busied herself with 
tearful eyes about her domestic 
duties, Harry wept alone, full length 
upon his bed, and Horace went to 
see his love. 

Of course he v ent. 

He had told J ennie that afternoon, 
as she was leaving the mill, that he 
should see her in the evening, and 
as ho had something to say to her, 

should wish her to take a walk with 
him by the side of the river. 

Quick as a flash Jennie saw, or 
rather felt — for women always feel 
situations long before they are appar- 
ent to men — that something had 
gone wrong; but wisely saying no- 
thing, she quickly put on her hat, 
and together they passed into the 

Ordinarily, Horace was tired with 
his day's work, and inclined to rest. 
He didn't object to being talked to, 
but he hated to answer questions. 
He was like a vast majority of the 
better grade of men who like the 
attentions and loving ways of wo- 
men, but do not encourage inquisi- 
tiveness, even if it be born of 
genuine interest. 

But on this occasion every nerve 
was alert, and ev? / fibre on a quiver. 
He hurried Jennie along at a pace 
very much faster than a lover's 
lounge, until they reached the bank 
of a beautiful stream, protected by 
superb old trees, through whose 
leaves the bright beams of an August 
moon gleamed and glistened. 

Taking her head in his two hands., 
he turned up to the full gaze of his 
impassioned eyes, and the full light 
of the curious moon, one of the 
sweetest of faces. 

He didn't stop to kiss her. 

"Without a caress, without premoni- 
tion df any kind, he spoke to her, 
and in such earnestness that she felt 
the gravity and sincerity of every 

" I know you love me, Jennie. 
You have told me so a thousand 
times and more. You love me de- 
votedly, and I — well, I love you well 
enough to make you my wife, and 



> take a walk with 
' the river. 
ti Jennie saw, or 
omen always feel 
3re tliey are appar- 
b something had 
wisely saying no- 
' put on her hat, 
■ passed into the 

ice Was tired with 
d inclined to rest, 
to being talked to, 
answer questions, 
(t majority of the 
len who like the 
ang ways of wo- 
encourage inquisi- 
it be born of 

asion every nerve 
fibre on a quiver. 

along at a pace 

than a lover's 
reached the bank 
am, protected by 

through whose 
5aras of an August 
in his two hands., 

full gaze of his 
ind the full light 
Don, one of the 

it's about as much as a man can 
1 leave my father. 1 go at 
ice. I have £200 in cash, my 
I, my hands, an'^ i constitution 
[iron. I want frc you an answer 
[w ; will you be my wife, will you 
me hand to hand and go with 
in search of home and fortune 1 
ly yes. Don't mar it by a but, or 

if, or a why. If you love me, 
^y yes. Will you 1 " 

Throwing her arms about his neck, 
}d burying her face in the bosom 

her lover, Jennie answered as he 
[ished ; but how, or in what lan- 
aage, it is not given us to tell. 

The passion was over, and after 
^e mutual interchange of vows, as- 

rances, and asseverations customary 

such times, Horace told Jennie 
whole story, and anticipated her 
jjjections and demurrals by saying 

It he had written to Liverpool for 

formation respecting the steamers, 

id that doubtless the whole affair, 

^paration, marriage, and embarka- 

)n for New York, to which point 

had concluded to go, would be 
bnsnmmated by the close of the 
Allowing week. 

" And yet," said he, " I shall hate 

leave mother^ it will almost kill 
larry, and how father and the mill 
Kll get on without me, is more than 
can tell." 

But with an effort, he pushed away 
all the unpleasant features, turned to 
Jennie, his betrothed, kissed her 
again and again, and after leaving 
her at her door, started homeward at 
a rapid pace. 

At the gate he met his mother. 
•' Why, mother, it's after ten o'clock ; 
what are you doing here 1 " 

" Waiting for you, darling," said 
she ; " waiting for my first-born son. 
Can you not give up this love, dear 
Horace 1 " 

" Mother " 

"Buthear me, u.^rling. Can you 
not wait ? " 

" Mother, I love Jem ie. She has 
promised to be my wife, and before a 
week is passed, marry her I will." 

" Heaven bless you, my son. Hea- 
ven bless you. Come what may, 
your mother loves you, trusts you, 
and will always pray for you and 
yours. Good night, my boy. Re- 
member he is your father. Speak 
gently. It will do no harm, for he 
loves you very much and his disap- 
pointment is very great." 

They parted affectionately, as their 
custom was, and long hours passed 
before Horace reached his room, and 
throwing his arm over his beloved 
Harry, fell into a deep and restful 

I kiss her. 
without premoni- 
he spoke to her, 
mess that she felt 
ncerity of every 

jove me, Jennie, 
so a thousand 
ITou love me de- 
ll, I love you well 
)u my wife, and 





[EN long years of hard work, 
disappointment, domestic com- 
fort, bereavement, hope, anxi- 
ety and strupfgle passed over the heads 
of Horace Russel) and his faithful 
wife. They had crossed the ocean, 
found a home in Michigan, buried a 
daughter, made a fortune, lost it in 
a fire, and grown mature in each 
other's respect and love. 

Occasional letters from home had 
told of the gradual decline and death 
of the gentle mother ; of the sudden 
paralysis and death of the loving 
Harry ; of the princely wealth and 
hardening character of the father, and 
such lighter gossip as brings one's 
childhood's home and days so vividly 
before the absent. 

With a few thousand dollars laid 
away for a rainy day, Horace felt that 
he was comfortable, but not content. 
His mind was active, but the neces- 
sity of daily occupation left him but 
little leisure for study in his peculiar 
line. He knew that he had material 
in his mind which, if utilized, would 
make him rich and perhaps famous. 
Bat like Mary of old, he hid all these 
things in his heart, and never by look 
or word gave hint to Jennie of the 
unrest which was a canker to his life. 

On the 16th of August, 1854, he 
received a letter postmarked London. 

The handwriting was unfamiliar, 
and with some apprehension, he open- 
ed it. 


London, August 2, 1854- 

Dear Sir, — A meesage from my 
old ft lend, the Eev. Mr. Marsh, re- 
ceived this morning, tells me that 

your dear father has not long to live. 
When I occupied temporarily Mr. 
Marsh's pulpit, I had occasion to see 
much of Mr. Eussell, and one even- 
ing he unburdened to me the secret 
of his life. He loves you. He longs 
once more to see you. And yet so 
stubborn was his pride, that he would 
not consent even that amessage might 
bo sent to you. Knowing as I do his 
critical condition, aware as I am of 
his fatherly affection for the boy of 
his early manhood, the first-bom of 
his love, I have taken the liberty in 
your common interest, and beg you 
to lay aside whatever your occupation 
may be, and come here that you may 
receive your father's blessing, and 
I gteatly fear to close your father's 

Pardon me if in sending you the 
enclosed bill for £100 I oflFend, but 
not knowing your circumstances, I 
take the same liberty with you that I 
would wish taken with my son, if his 
father were flying, and he an exile. 

With best wishes for your health, 
and earnestly begging you to come 
home at once, 

T am, yours most truly, 

John Hall, 
Rector of St. John's. 

To Horace Russell, Milwaukee. 

Enclosed, bill on Brown Bro's & 
Co. for £100. 

Jennie's round fair arm was encir- 
cling her husband'", neck, and the 
little fat hands of Harry, their boy, 
were tearing the envelope at his feet. 

For a moment the tears refused to 
come, but only for a moment. Then 



ling to his feet, the noble fellow 
Id : " Jennie, love, see to the traps, 
po down to the agent's — learn 

5ut the steamers, and be back in 
llf an hour. For, dearest, he is my 

Jier after all, you know ; and if he 
Id known you darling, ai Heaven 

»nt he may even yet, we never 
lould have left him." 
1 And off he went. 

Of course, the jl>100 were not need- 

The next day Horace drew his 
money, paid his bills, placed his affairs 
in the hands of a law\'er, packed up, 
and started for New York. 

One week later he stood upon the 
deck of a superb Cunarder — but he 
stood alone, crying like a babe. 


., Milwaukee. 
Brown Bro's & 

lERHAPS you think men should 
never cry. 
Well, let us see. 

^ Three days before this, Horace, his 
"^ife, and little Harry reached the 

Btor House, and were skpwn one of 

|e best rooms in the hotel. 

The next day was spent in noces- 
jjiry preparations for the voyage. 

The day preceding the day of sail- 
^g was equally occupied until about 
o'clock, when Jennie, being 
Iterly exhausted, threw herself on 
%e bed to rest. 

Horace was weary, too. 
But little Harry was cross. 
Of course he was. 

Two long days he had been left in 
le care of a chambermaid, who was 
kind and careless. He rolled a 
|ooi le through the halls till a call- 
)y stole it. He slid down the ban- 
Iters until one of the guests com- 
plained at the office. He went into 
le dining-hall twenty times a day, 
id gorged himself until he was sick. 
[e played marbles with a little boy 
rom Boston, and won all his stock. 

He wore himself out in the endea- 
vor to amuse himself. 

And when his father carried him 
up stairs on his back, after dinner on 
Friday evening, he begged him to 
take him out for a walk. 

Little Harry was five years old, 
tall of his ago, smart, bright, quick, 
and full of fun. His hair was jet 
black, like his father's ; his eye was 
a blue gray, like his mother's. 
Nothing frightened him, but he 
could be easily moved by his sym- 

Altogether he was a loving, lov- 
able boy — one of the kind that fathers 
whip and mothers shield ; who 
always turn out well in spite of the 
lash, and develop qualities precisely 
the opposite to those which their 
" teachers and guardians " predict for 
their manhood. 

However, out they went. The 
father proud of the son ; the boy 
pleased with his father. 

They walked over to the City Hall 
Park, and admired the architectural 
wonders of the building, with its 
marble front and freestone rear. 




They wandered over the green grass, 
watched a free fight between two rival 
fire companies, at the corner of Chat- 
ham and Frankfort Streets, bought a 
penny glass of ice cream of au old 
woman near the Park, and were 
turning down town towards the Astor 
House, when 

" Hallo ! Where's the boy 1" 

Quite a question, wasn't it ? 

Horace looked in vain. 

He met one of Matsell's watchmen 
in an old-fashioned police hat, and 
told him his story. 

Of course he wasted time. 

What should he do 1 

The unfeeling crowd hurried by 
him. Carts and wagons and stages 
passed in everlasting procession along 
the street. 

But the boy, the apple of his eye, 
the core of his heart, the darling of 
his wife — his wife ! How should he 
■tell his wife? 

What should he tell his wife 1 

Half crazed with fear, full of bitter 
self-reproaches, uncertain which way 
to go, unfamiliar with the city and its 
ways, the poor fellow grasped the first 
man he could, and asked him to show 
him to the station. 

Thinking Russell was drunk, the 
man shoved him off, and hurried on. 

He spoke to another and was di- 
Tected to the chief's office, where all 
the satisfaction he could get was the 
tantalizing reply that if the boy turn- 
ed up, the office would keep him until 
his father called. 

" But I leave the country to-mor- 
row," said Horace ; "the steamer sails 
at nine, and we must be on board by 

" Oh, wait over," replied the ser- 

" My father is dying and I mtutt 
.go," rejoined Russell. " 

But of course " talk " did no good. 

The officpr took little Harry's name 

and description in his book, thus : — 

The Record. 

PersoJi — Small boy. 

Name — Harry Russell. 

Age — Five Years. 

Description — Tall, slender. 

Remarhs — Lost near lower end of 
the City Hall Park. Horace 
Russiell at Astor House. 

"There, sir," said the sergeant, 
" now that's all right. You go home, 
and if the boy is found we'll take 
care of him. Now donH make a fuss. 
Good night." And with that he slam- 
med the book upon the desk by way 
of emphasis, and turned to read his 

Horace moved off with a heavy 
heart, and hesitated long before he 
gave up the search, and went to tell 
his wife. 

"What words are adequate to picture 
that scene 1 

The heart-crushed man and the 
horror-struck Y'^oman looked at each 
othvjr, as, shrouded in despair, they 
saw their utter helplessness, and felt 
their desolation. 

If Harry had died, they would have 
known the extent of their loss ; but 
the very uncertainty of his fate added 
to their misery and gave poignancy 
to the sickness of their hearts. 

Those of you who have laid your 
hearts in the grave can understand, 
partially, the feeling with which 
Jennie , sat at the window through 
the weary hours of that long night, 
while Horace paced the streets. 

You who have not known Death, 
need not seek to understand. 



talk " did no good, 
little Harry's name 
his book, thus : — 



MORNING of nngiiish en- 
sued upon a night of frantic 

[Horace felt the urgency of the 
md he was on, and when the 
Mice suggested that if he must go, 
^ssibly his wife could remain and 
ssecute the search, he accepted the 
jposition, and at once broached it 

Well — she was a woman, and a 
wife and a mother, and that tells the 
story. He went on, and she stayed 

She drove to the dock and watched 
the steamer; waving her handker- 
chief to her husband as he stood 
leaning against the rail. 

What wonder that the strong man 

off with a heavy 
id long before he 
I, and went to tell 

adequate to picture 





jH, the long, long days at sea ! 
And the nights — would they 
never end 1 

;His heart was with his wife and 
by, but his duty sternly beckoned 
[orace to his father's home. 

Not an hour passed in the dreary 
%j without its prayer to Heaven, 
it little Harry might be saved. 

. And in the weary watches of the 
;ht, the father heard the little fel- 
low's cry, and starting, found he 
leard it not. 

The captain and some of the pas- 
togers knew of the circumstances 
tending Horace's trip, and endea- 
ired to console him by such sugges- 
ts as naturally occur to men of 
le world ; but the heartsick parent 

heeded them not. And even while 
he looked ahead to the meeting with 
his father, his very soul lingered 
longingly near the dear ones in New 

Every storm brought pictures of 
Harry's distress before his eyes ; and 
when the full features of the August 
moon disclosed themselves in the 
placid sky, wonder and imagination 
were busy with the possibilities of 
accident or harm to the wanderer. 

At length Liverpool was reached, 
the kind rector seen and repaid, the 
brisk drive made to the county town 
near which were his father's works, 
and finally the mill itself loomed up 
beyond the stream, quickly followed 
by the house where he was born, and 
wher$ his dear ones died. 



Horace had left his home a youth, 
full of hope and courage. 

He returned a man, sick in heart, 
anxious, restless, worn with care. 

A strange face greeted him at the 
door. Entering he met the doctor 
and a neighbor, to whom his coming 
was like the appearance of a welcome 
guest, for not an hour in all the days 
went by in which the sick man did 
not murmur, " Horace, Harry, Horace 

In a sentence, the condition of 
Joseph Russell was disclosed. It 
was possible, the doctor said, that 
he might rally, and recover his senses 
before morning, but his death was a 
question of brief time only, and might 
indeed occur at any moment. 

Hastily passing his friends, Horace 
made his way to the well-remembered 

On the wall hung the portrait of 
his blessed mother. Thei i was the 
chair in which she sat and read to 
him on Sunday. The old-fashioned 
bureau standing in the corner still 
held the sampler she worked at 
school, ar.d in a frame at the end 
stood a silhouette of her mother, cut 
by an artist at the county fair. The 
brass hand-irons and the wooden stool 
were as natural as life, and the high- 
posted bedstead — 

On that was his father. 

His father indeed, but not the 
father of his thoughts. He remem- 
bered a strong, athletic man j he saw 
a faded, dying paralytic. 

Advancing cautiously to the side 
of the bed, Horace laid one hand 
gently on his father's ample brow, 
and pressing with the other the at- 
tenuated fingers which nervously play- 
ed with the outer covering.whispered : 

** Father, I am Horace, do you 
know me 1" 

?or a moment all was still. 

The sick man opened his eyes. 

His parched lips wanted water, and 

after it wps given him, with an effort 
he portly r<»ised himself in bed and 
begar. to spepk, when ho foil exhaust- 
'id on the pillow. 

Almost distracted, Horace called 
the doctor, who knew he was of no 
use, biit very kindly came in, looked 
solemn, suggested the welting of the 
lips, advised perfect quiet, and went 

Presently Joseph Russell opened 
his great black eyes again, smiled, 
sat up in bed, threw his arms upon 
his son, murmured : " Horace, Harry, 
Mary," and gave up the ghost. 

For an instant Jennie and little 
Harry were blotted from existence. 

For an instant boyhood resumed 
its being, and Horace was a romping 
lad, cheered on by Harry, laughed at 
by his mother, and chided by his 
prouder father. 

And then — well, it only lasted an 
instant. Then he was a man again, 
with a father dead before him, a sor- 
rowing wife he knew not where, and 
a boy — oh, what would Horace not 
have given if he could regain that 
boy 1 

•Afte) the funeral services, which 
were ] .rj.,ely attended by all the coun- 
ty some three days after, Mr. Wilson, 
who had been Joseph Russell's man 
of business in all matters affecting 
law and formula, begged the favor of 
Horace's presence in the library. 

He went. 

" Mr. Russell," said Mr. Wilson, 
" as the sole heir and legatee of 
Joseph Russell, deceased, I have in- 
vited you here to take formal cog- 
nizance of the will of the deceased. 
He was a queer man, sir, a queer 
man. Would you believe it, sir, I 
never had read this will. He wrote 
it himself, sir, six years ago, the very 
night poor Harry died, when he tore 
up one I did write, and about which I 
of course knew everything. The will 
has been in my box six years, handed 



him, with an effort 
liniself in bed and 
len he foil exhannt- 

ed, Horace called 
D9W he was of no 
ly came in, looked 
the welting of tho 
ct quic'v, and went 

}h Russell opened 
yes again, smiled, 
ew his arms upon 

: " Horace, Harry, 
ip the ghost. 

Jennie and little 
i from existence. 

boyhood resumed 
ace was a rompiup; 

Harry, laughed at 
nd chided by his 

, it only lasted an 
was a man again, 
before him, a scr- 
ew not where, and 
would Horace not 
could regain that 

il services, which 
ed by all the coun- 
after, Mr. Wilson, 
ph Eussell's man 
matters affecting 
9gged the favor of 
n the library. 

said Mr. Wilson, 
• and legatee of 
ceased, I have in- 
take formal cog- 
cf the deceased, 
lan, sir, a queer 
believe it, sir, I 
will. He wrote 
ears ago, the very 
ied, when he tore 
ind about which I 
rthing. The will 
six years, handed 

by Joseph Russell himself, wit- 
Bed *«y me and my clerk, and we 
read it sir, together. 


" In the name of God, Amen. I, 

Beph Kussell, ot I nves, County Sus- 

^x, England, being in clear head and 

>und body, make ' iiis my will and 

Btament, all others being destroyed 

id of no avail. My wife Maty is 

id, God bless her. My sou Harry 

dead, God bless him. And I have 

other kiudred, heirs, or assigns." 

Up to this point Mr. Wilson had 

id quite glibly; now he began to 

apprehensive. Florace sat like a 


Mr. Wilson continued : — " My 

Idest sou Horace Russell, God bless 

|ira, left his home years ago. I 

ireat<ined to disinherit him. I 

9ver did, I never shall. He is bone 

my bone, and flesh of my flesh. 

le has my pardon — I hope for his. 

Co him, Horace Russell, 1 leave my 

)usfi, my mills, my real estate, and 

my property, real and personal, of 

rhatever nature, to do with as he 

lay elect, reserving such sums as he 

lay find necessary for the discharge 

It my funeral expenses and other 

|ebt8 ; and excepting £5i) to each 

>reman, £2 to each operative, £500 

to the parish of St. Sarah, and £10 
per annum for the care of the ground 
where rest the dear bodies of Mary 
my wife, and Harry my son. W) it- 
ten with my own hand on one sheet 
of white foolscap paper, this J 1th of 
August, 1849, and signed by me, and 
witnessed by John Wilson and Henry 

Joseph Russell, l. a." 

John Wilson, l. h. 

Henuy Place, l. s. 

" Gracious heavens, Mr. Russell!" 
said the gratitied attorney, " this is 
handsome. Why, sir, you've a plum 
at least, sir. The mills themselves 
are worth three quarters of that, and 
you may rely on u»y calculation. I 
congratulate you, sir. When shall 
we go on ? " 

Horace never said a word. 

In a moment £100,000 were placed 
at his disposal, and he never said one 

Mr. Wilson began to feel out of 
place. Presently he was convinced 
that he had better retire. 

Then he laid his card on the table, 
took his hat in his hand, and quietly 
stole away. 

And Horace sat motionless for 
hours, and never said one word 





OJiACE met his wife at the 

Not a word was needed. 

She had come homo without the 

Hor looks answered his distressed 
and anxious eye. 

That night they slept in the old 
house, the dear old home M'here Hor- 
ace was born, every room of which 
had its precious memory of those 
who were gone. 

Slept did wo say — far from it. 

Held tightly in her loving hus- 
band's arms, Jennie told the ten 
days' story of her terrible experi- 
ences ; how she had wearied the 
police with her importunity ; how 
the Astor House people had kindly 
interested themselves in her trouble, 
and laid it before the chief magistrate 
of the city ; how the press had aided 
her; and how after ten days of cease- 
less energy, tireless activity and most 
faithful inquiry, they and she had 
been forced to aee the utter useless- 
ness of further search. 

" And then, darling," said Jenuit*, 
as floods of tears relieved her tired 
head, " I turned to you. I turned 
to you and longed to have you tell 
n 3 where to look for comfort ; how 
to reconcile my sorrow with my 
faith ; how I could pray to a loving 
Saviour, with the grieving voice 
of Harry calling * mamma ' in my 

What could the strong man say 1 

How could he, whose very heart 
■\7as dried to dust in grief, find 
waters of consolation for the crushed 
and broken woman at his side 1 

And so the night rolled on, be- 
guiled by Horace's report concerning 
his father's death, his will, his busi- 

ness cares and sudden responsibilities, 
until as the early morning came they 
dropped to sleep. 

To sleep, but not to rest. 

Not to rest, ^or .jvery noise startled 
Jennie from her slumber, and every 
movement of her husband brought 
ner b"ck to grief, and in every breath 
she dreamed of Harry, till, with the 
bright sunlight streaming in at tho 
window, slie woke to repeat her ex- 
perience, and Horace, more exhausted 
than before, found nothing in his 
heart to say. 

There are griefs and griefs, just as 
there are different kinds of people. 

Some wear off ; others wear in. 

Horace felt quite as deeply as 
Jennie did, but upon him was laid 
her care, hei' comfort, and perhaps 
iie found in that duty a certain relief, 
to which she was a strange*. And 
then he was at once so thoroughly 
immersed in business cares that for 
many hours every day his mind was 
forced into other channels, and thus 
he was comforted. 

But Jennie had no cares. 

Her housekeeper took care of the 
establishment. She had no little 
ones to look out for. She found very 
little pleasure' in renewing acquain- 
tances with the few who remembered 
her as " that factory-girl who ran off 
with Horace Russell," and she was 
literally loft to self- commuc ion and 
self-torture the greater part of the 

She had authorized the police to 
pay one thousand dollars to any 
person who would give provr.ble in- 
formation about Harrv, dead or 
alive, and she communicated legn- 
larly, through Mr. Wilson, with the 
New York authorities. At the end 




len responsibilities, 
morning came tbey 

>t to rest, 
jvery noise startled 
lamber, and every 
husband brought 
md in every breath 
[arry, till, "Nvith the 
Teaming in at thp 
> to repeat her ex- 
ice, morfc exhausted 
id nothing in his 

and griefs, just as 

kinds of people. 

others wear in. 

lite as deeply as 

ipon him was laid 

^fort, and perhaps 

uty a certain relief, 

a strange... And 

nee so thoroughly 

tiess cares that for 

day his mind was 

channels, and thus 

no cares. 

r took care of the 
Ihe had no little 
She found very 
enewing acquain- 

who remembered 
ry-girl who ran off 
ell," and she was 

f-commufion and 
eater part of the 

zed the police to 
dollars to any 
give provable in- 
iarrv, dead or 
rimunicated regu- 
Wilson, with the 
ties. At the end 

[a few months the lost boy had be- 

le a v«)ry old story to the officials, 

finPilly the chief wrote to Mr. 

filson that further correspondence 

unnecessary, but that if anything 

discovered at any time, he would 

course and at once communicate 

Itb him. 

' From that day Jennie declined. 
She declined fast. 
: Horace watched her like a lover, 
|d tended her like a mother. Her 
Ightest wish va.s a command. All 
\t bodily wants were anticipated by 
kindest of husbands, and a3sum- 
a cheer he was far from feeling. 

the generous fellow often endeavored 
to lead her into such pleasant paths of 
social excitement as were open to- 
them. ' 

But he failed. 

Her heart wasn't there, — and what 
excitement can take the place of in- 
terest 1 

Slowly but surely hor decline de- 
veloped into the foroshade of Death, 
and •no bright moonliglit night, with 
her feeble arms around her hudband's 
neck, as his encircled hers, nho sweetly 
smiled her crushed and broken heart 
into the eternal silence of an early 



j HE grave and reverend Matsell, 

superintendent of the New 

York police force, sat in his cosy 

ler office, dividing his precious time 

Itween the demolishment of a huge 

ich of grapes and the mastery of a 

py of formal *• charges " preferred 

inst the Board of Commissioners, 

jien a formidable looking document, 

fcring the impress of the city's seal, 

handed him. 

Taturally cautious and careful of 
digestion, he first finished his 
ipea and then broke the seal. In 
envelope was the following 


Mayor's Office, New York, 
Augiist 10, 1874. 

Sir, — You will on receipt of this 
itail a reliable and efficient officer 

from the Detective Bureau to aid 
Horace Kussell, Esq., in a matter of 
importance. Mr. Russell can be I'ound 
at the Clarendon Hotel to-morrow 
morning at nine o'clock, at which 
time let the officer report to him, and 
place himself absolutely at his dispos- 
al, until such time as his services are 
of no further use. Mr. Russell will 
provide whatever funds may be neces- 
sary in the undertaking, and the officer 
will be relieved of all other duty, until 
dismissed by him. 

By order of the Mayor. 

George C. King, 

Chief Clerk, 

To George W. Matsell, 

Siipt. Police. 

*' Heaven bless me," said the old 
chief. ♦* What can this be 1 In th& 



wliole course of my official life 1 never 
have read such an order as this before. 
Uowever, I'll booh know all about it." 

Summoning Captain Irving, he ask- 
ed which of th ' 'vo« would be 
most likely to , tue purpose de- 
sired. Without tt moment's hesita- 
tion, Ciiptain Irving replied : 

"John Hardy, the keenest man I 
have, but I don't care to spare him 
for any length of time." 

" Never mind that," rejoined the 
chief, " send him to me." 

In a few momenta Officer John 
Hardy presented himself at the sup- 
orintendent'rt desk. Standing erect 
in the })resence of his superior he 
was OS handsome a man as one would 
see in :\ lorn; day's walk. Apparently 
about twenty-four years old, ho was 
at lea^t five feet ten inches high, 
Btraight and slender ; his hair was 
jet black ; his eyes un indescribable 
gray, looking blue or black as they 
were enlivened by humor or anger ; 
his nose was not purely Grecian, but 
passed for such ; ami over a well 
formed lip, lirm though full, hung a 
soft and graceful moustache. John 
had fun in him. Quick to detect the 
grotesque, easy tempered, with a 
•unny disposition, nervous, industri- 
ous and persevering, he had worked 
his way from the humble ipost of 
messenger through every grade in the 
service, until he stood high in the 
esteem of his superiors as a detective 
of rare sagacity, wonderful intuition, 
and fairly magical in " luck." 

All men have histories, but very 
few can look back upon a more 
eventful career — in huriible life — 
than John Hardy. 

His parents were scavengers. That 
is, his father was, and his mother 
— well, she was a scavenger's wife, 
with the same skeleton and general 
formation as the rest of her sex; 
with love for her child like other 
women, and full of the ambitions, 

cares and anxieties common to us all. 

John Hardy's father wa? a scaven- 
ger. That is, he used to go out in 
the morning with a bag, or basket, 
and a pick or rake, searching for 
what he might find. And he found 
a great deal. He found so much in 
gutter and street, in mound and 
filth, in sewer and refuse, that when 
he died his wife and son were heirs 
to $5,000 and a tenement house 
worth $10,000 more, with a rental 
of $G00 per annum. 

The secrets of New York sewers 
are not open to the world. Even 
the keen eyes of New York reporters 
have not searched them out, and 
what reporters have not discovered 
must be tolerably well hid. Down 
in the dirty depths so black and full 
of gloom, myriads of nasty creatures 
hunt each other. Rats and slimy 
creeping things prey on weaker 
evidences of Nature's omnipresence. 
Water and slime slush through the 
channels ; all manner of refuse finds 
its way to the outlet ; jewels, the lost 
of every name, sink to the bottom or 
lodge on the jutting stones ; in other 
words, under our streets there are 
other avenues where life conceals 
itself, where riches pass side by side 
with the offscourings of the earth, 
and where the lantern of the scaven- 
ger discloses much that is terrible 
and sickening, but mucli also that 
is valuable and worth preserving. 

A life spent in unveiling the mys 
teries of sewerage is not likely to be 
rich in anything, unless it be in the 
discovered wealth to bo found in the 
dirt and muck of the streets; but 
scavengers are men, and there is no 
reason why they should necessariij 
be bad men. 

At all events, John Hardy's father 
was so good a man as this : he loved 
his wife and idolized their son. 

He new nothing of books, cared 
nothing for newspapers, and never 



»nt to ehurah. Bui he Mut John 

■ehool, and when the little fellow 
shed to the head of his clasaea, 
ireloping talent in every line of 

idy, and finally stood before an 

idienoe of a thousand strangera 

rearing the medals of honor, as he 

}ke the valedictory of his class, 
rho shall say that the tears which 
>ur8ed down the old man's cheeks 
rero not as manly and as creditable 

the scavenger as though they were 
)rn of a philosopher or a student 1 

The Hardy's humble home was 

|nite near police head-quarters, and 

}ng before John had left the public 

shool he was as intimate and familiar 

lere as any of the officers. 

He was a bright boy, quick as a 
I, and always ready to do errands 
9t the habitues of the place. 

When he left school he was made 
lessenger in the Inspector's office, 
Iken a clerk, and after a subsequent 

term as roundsman, was detailed to 
detective duty, where we have found 

" Officer Hardy," said the superin* 
tendent, " I have received an order 
from the Mayor directing me to detail 
a prudent man from your bureau for 
an important duty. The captain re- 
commends you, and I confirm his 
selection. You will call on Mr. Rus- 
sell, at the Clarendon, at 9 o'clock 
to-morrow morning, and place your- 
self at his disposal. I have no infor- 
mation as to his desires. Do what- 
ever he directs, and in case of doubt 
report at once to me ; you are relieved 
from duty here until further orders. 
Now do your best, Hardy. I have 
a feeling that this is to be a great 
opportunity. Why, I'm sure I don't 
know : but I do. That's all," and as 
Hardy went away the chief re-read 
the order from the Mayor, and won- 
dered what it cou^d refer to. 



, T nine o'clock on the following 
day Officer Hardy, in citizen's 
dress, was ushered into the 
ance of Mr. Russell. 
It was Horace. 
Time had told upon him. 
His head was bald as a billiard ball, 
the locks which fringed the scalp 
hung curling over the ears were 
fcy. His eye was as bright as in tho 
len time, but his form was bent, 
the close-shut mouth marked the 
mess of his wiU, which had de- 


veloped of late much like his fa- 

Advancing to meet the detective, 
Mr. Russell looked at him with un- 
disguised interest. 

He expected to see a cast-iron sol- 
dier, straight, stiff and pompous. 

In place of such a one he was con- 
fronted by a handsome youth, who 
might OS well be taken for a gentle- 
man of leisure ns a man whoso life 
was devoted to the unearthing of vil- 



" Mr. Hanly, you are thr officer I 
was UAd to expect this morning, I 
presume, nml I am very glad to see 
you," 8ni<l Ilortice Uubs«U ; " this is 
my wife and this my daughter." 

At the moment uf speaking two 
ladies entered thu room, the elder a 
woman of perhaps forty years, a ma- 
tron grave, digniticd and handsome ; 
the other a petite young miss, upon 
whoso fair head some eighteen sum- 
mers had cast their loving sunshine, 
leaving the golden impress on every 
waving tress. 

" Take seats, please," said Mr. Rus- 
sell ; " I have much to tell Mr. Hardy, 
and ho needs to be attentive." 

" You would much better let mam- 
ma toll him, papa dear," said Maud, 
as she put a lump of sugar between 
the bars of her canary's cage. " She 
knows all about it, and you say your- 
self she is just as much interested in 
poor dear Harry as you are, and as 
for me, I'm fairly wild about him. 
Come, Mr. Hardy, you sit there near 
the window. Papa can have the 
easy chair. I'll sit on this hassock by 
papa's knee ; and mamma, let's see, 
mamma must take the piano-stool, so 
she can gesture. There now, w^o 
says I'm not a manager 1" 

Even Mr. Russell laughed at the 
girl's vivacity. All were seated as 
Maud directed, and John Hardy 
pinched his arm. He really didn't 
know whether he was in heaven or 
at his work. 

He soon found out. 

" Well, Mr. Hardy," began Mrs. 
Russell, " it's a very long story. I 
don't think you'll need that notebook, 
for I'll make it simple, and there 
really is very little in the way of 
dates and names and places. You 
know our name, and that's the only 
name you need to remember, and you 
certainly know New York, and that's 
the only place involved; so what's 
the use of notes 1" 

John put up his book, and Mrs. 
Russell went on. 

Horace shut his eyes, and Maud 
held his hands like a vice. 

•' Ten years ago," said the lady, " I 
went to England, from my native 
city. New York, a widow with my 
little Maud, then eight years old and 
very delicate. Mr. Russell met us, 
and nine years since, this very month, 
wo were married. Three months ago, 
on my husband's fifty-third birthday, 
we gave a grand iioliday party to the 
hands of hie factory, and everything 
was going on splendidly, when I ac- 
cidentally stumbled on him in his 
study, with his head on his desk, 
crying like a baby. It was the third 
time I had found him so. The other 
times I went away quietly, thinking 
it best not to disturb him, but this 
seemed so strange I really couldn't 
resist the impulse to speak. I did so. 
At ftret he parried my questions, but 
finally told me about a little boy ho 
had lost in New York twenty years 
ago ; how he never slept without 
direaming of his child ; that in his 
thoughts by day and his hours of 
wakefulness at night the little fellow 
was ever present ; that bitterest self- 
reproaches were constantly heaped 
upon him, and that over all his life 
of prosperity and success hung this 
dreadful mystery, like a pall of black- 
est gloom, and at times he felt he 
should go mad in sheer despair." 

" And you," said the detective. 

" I," replied Mrs. Russell, *' I saw 
my path as plain as daylight. In less 
than ten minutes I had the master 
among his men, the happiest of them 
all, for I had settled it then and there 
that his duty and my pleasure were 
one. His duty was to find that boy ; 
my pleasure was the same— and that's 
why we're here." 

" Yes, Mr. Hardy, that's why we're 
here," broke in Maud, " and that's 
why you're here, which is much more 



book, and Mrs. 

to the point. Only I don't boo that 
mainmn haM told you as much as shu 
mJKht have. For instance, mummu, 
don't you roraembftr how papa sayn 
he was just at the lower end of a park, 
and was looking at a picture of a fat 
woman and a zohra on a groat banner 
across a street, when all of a sudden 
little Harry was gone ?" 

" Perhaps Mr. Russell can give me 
the details of the loss, now that I 
have hoard the story of your coming," 
said Hardy, and taking his notebook 
from his pocket received from Horace 
Russell the particulars of the eventful 
night, when all that made life dear 
and sweet to a loving mother and a 
happy father was in an Instant blotted 
from their sight. 

Then as he rose to leave, the detec- 
tive said : " First of all I'll hunt up 
the police blotter and find out all 

they knew at the time of the disap- 

" Ami then," said Maud. 

" And then, miss," replied he, 
•' we'll consider our course. 

It was arrangad between Mr. Rus- 
sell an«l Hardy that the latter should 
call every morning at nine, and re- 
port every evening at eight, and that 
whatever happened should be dis- 
closed in full at the latter hour. 

Bidding the Russells good morn- 
ing, John Hardy found himself hurry- 
ing down town to the central office, 
as if wings were on his feet and 
ether in his lungs. 

The man thought he was interested ' 
in his mission. 

Perhaps he was. 

He certainly was heels over bead 
in love with Maud Russell, and didn't 
know it. 




HEN Hardy reached head- 
quarters he reported at once 
to Superintendent Matsell 
the developments of the morning, 
and was gratified at the great interest 
the old gentleman took in the mat- 
ter; especially when, upon comparing 
dates, it was found that little Harry 
had been lost when Matsell was Chief 
of the Municipal Police, some twenty 
years before. 

Reference to the official documents 
aflforded nothing beyond the bare 
f t&ct of loss, and so far as any prac- 
tical help was concerned, the books 

might have been burned years be- 

This much was asceHained — no 
dead body answering F. rry's des- 
cription had been found at or near 
the time of his disappearance, and 
on that they based a hope that he 
was still living. 

"It might be well, Hardy," said 
the chief, " to examine the records 
at the Tombs. Suppose we go down 
there now " — and jumping on a 
Bleecker Street car, down they went. 

Warden Quinn stood at the open 
gateway of the city prison, as th& 


aap«rintendent, in full uniform, gold 
spectacles and high hat, stepped upon 
the sidewalk. A second after John 
Hardy appeared from the car, and 
together the officials walked up to the 
warden, who saluted them with a 
calmness of demeanor which very in- 
adequately pictured the wonder of his 

" Ah, John, good morning, John," 
said MatsQll, addressing the warden. 
** Hardy and I have a little business 
with your old books this morning. 
How long will it take Finley to get 
down the record book of 1854 1 I 
want to see it. Let's see ; we want 
August. Tell him to get us the August 
record, John, and then show us 
through the prison." 

The warden gave the necessary 
orders to the kindly-faced keeper, who 
has been on duty at the Tombs, man 
and boy, since the first prisoner was 
taken inside its dreary walls. 

The three then passed the keeper 
at the inner gate, who respectfully 
touched his hat as he facetiously prof- 
fered return tickets to the superin- 
tendent and the detective, and walk- 
ing along the stone-covered enclosure, 
reached the entrance to the prison for 
men, just as that relic of barbarism, 
the " Black Maria," was driven in for 
its morning load of island prisoners. 

The ** Black Maria " is a heavy 
wagon, shaped like a windowless 
omnibus. At the extreme top is a 
slit, extending around from front to 
rear, and immediately back of the 
driver is a small hole. Through these 
utterly inadequate orifices air is sup- 
plied to the people shut and locked 
in, on their way from the Tombs to 
the island ferry. Men and women, 
old and young, drunk and sober, filthy 
and clean, innocent and guilty, the 
hardened offender and the neophyte 
in crime are packed int'^ this noi- 
some van, as sheep were formerly 
crowded in the cattle cars, before the 

happier days of Henry Bergh and his 
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty 
to Dumb Animals. 

Who can exaggerate the scenes pos- 
sible in that hideous vehicle 1 In- 
stances of horrible brutality and phy- 
sical outrage are of frequent occur- 
rence, and every trip makes known 
its report of blasphemy and indecency, 
wicked and repulsive in the extreme. 
The Commissioners of Public Chari- 
ties and Correction are good men and 
kind. They love their families, and 
give humane directions to their sub- 
ordinates ; but what do they know of 
the actual life of the prisoners nomin- 
ally controlled by them t 

Take this very small part of the 
daily routine, the transfer of criminals 
from the temporary to the permanent 
prison. They see it done every day 
of the year ; they see the rude con- 
veyance, the brutal keeper, the unfeel- 
ing driver ; they know that men and 
women are crowded into the narrow, 
unventilated, stomach-turning coffin, 
like pigs — they know and see it all, 
as their predecessors did for thirty 
years before them, but they make no 
change, effect no improvement. 

And if there is this indifference to 
matters directly before their eyes, what 
are the probabilities of the ten thou- 
sand horrors concealed from their gaze, 
kept out of sight by cunning officers, 
or perpetrated when the superintend- 
ing eye is turned away t The holiday 
story of our public institutions is 
often told, and paraded at length in 
the columns of our papers, but the 
great everyday suffering — that's as yet 

The warden's quick eye saw the 
disgust pictured on John Hardy's face, 
as sixteen hideous looking brutes were 
packed in the wagon, and turning his 
attention, said to Mr. Matsell : "Well, 
chief, it's rather a novelty to see you 
down here. What's up 1 " 

" That's a fact, Quinn," replied Mr. 



Matsell, " I really don't believe I've 
been here before in six months. I 
know very little of the details of our 
office. It isn't as it used to be. Bless 
my heart ! Why, in the old time the 
chief knew everything, and did pretty 
much everything too. We didn't 
have any political board to bother us. 
The Mayor was head of the police, as 
he ought to be ; and head of every- 
thing, as he ought to be. But he 
never interfered with me. Many's the 
time I've put on an old slouch and 
drove down among the roughs, wormed 
into their secrets, been arrested and 
taken in, and never found out till the 
magistrate ordered me to take off my 
hat in the morning. In those days, 
John, a chief was a Chief. Talk 
about this uniform ; why, look at that 
picture hanging in the office when you 
go back. It's a picture of me in the 
old-fashioned uniform, hat and all. 
That yjoaa a uniform, and it meant 
something, too." 

" That ' twenty years ago ' seems to 
stick in your crop, old man," said 
Warden Quinn, as he gave a sly wink 
at the detective. 

"Yes, yes it does," said Matsell. 
" The Mayor was saying to me only a 
few days ago that, with all our 'mod- 
em improvements,' he thought there 
was really less security on the public 
streets now than there was then. It 
seems harder to get the right kind of 
men on the force. Politicians boss 
the whole job, and it's simply impos- 
sible to move on the works of some 
of the worst criminals in the city with 
success. They know all about our 
purposes about as soon as we do who 
make them. You'll be surprised to 
know what I am here for now. Oh ! 
good morning, Mrs. Foster." 

This salutation was in honor of the 
matron of the prison for women, a 
good dame of perhaps fifty years of 
age, combining keen qualities of head 
with kindly graces of heart ; and as 

rigid a disciplinarian as any martinet 
in the army of tradition. 

Mrs. Foster has been matron of the 
prison thirty years. She is one of 
the few persons in New York official 
life who hold position on account of 
fitness. Wardens may come and war- 
dens may go, but Matron Foster holds 
on forever. With the unfortunate 
she is kind, as becomes a woman. 
With the vicious she is stem, as be- 
fits a matron. She tolerates no break- 
age of her rules, but looks with great 
favor on the erring sister who would 
be glad to do better. Mrs. Foster is 
not so famous as Florence Nightin- 
gale, but her sphere is as important 
and her mission as holy. Were she 
relentless and cruel, as many women 
are, she could make the Tombs a hell. 
Were she a gossip, as many women 
incurably are, she has it in her power 
to retail evil enough about New York 
to afford the press sensations for % 

She's no such person. 
Advancing with a quick, elastic 
step, she cordially greeted her old 
friend the superintendent, nodded 
hastily and pleasantly to the warden 
and the detective, and invited them 
into her sitting-room. 

After a moment's rest they passed 
through a narrow passage into the 
female prison, white and clean as 
constant scrubbings could make it, 
and chilly as a tomb. On the left of 
a contracted corridor were a nymber 
of small cells, most of which were 
empty. In one of them was a "Drunk" 
— a young hearty-looking woman, 
who, fighting and screaming, had 
been pushed in but a short time pre- 
vious, and falling flat upon her face, 
soon passi into a dull and heavy 
sleep. She was brought in by a 
policeman, too drunk to care for any- 
thing or anybody ; naturally a good- 
hearted girl, gin made her a demon. 
She was full of it, and from her 



shapely lips fell such terrible pro- 
fanity as made even the accustomed 
ears of the matron and her assistant, 
Mrs. French, shrink with disgust. 

Her bottle was taken from her 
pocket, and when the warden and 
his guests looked through the iron 
grating her heavy snore resounded 
through the hall, and beastliness 
seemed perfectly disclosed. 

This is not the forum for a lecture on 
temperance — but that sight was a text 
from which lectures might well be 

It is true enough that women and 
children, as a rule, suffer from the in- 
temperance of their husbands and 
parents, but no one who is unfamiliar 
with the police blotters of our station- 
houses, and the sad records of the 
lower courts, and the fearful scenes 
witnessed every day in every year by 
the prison officials, can understand 
the extent to which whiskey drinking 
is carried by the women of this gene- 

Surely intemperance is the Sin of 
the Time. 

Every fashionable saloon has its 
patrons on whose tables light wines 
sparkle. At the parties of our " best 
people " wine is offered in the supper 
room, and young men find stronger 
stimulants in their retreat above. 
The lady who accepts the invitation 
of her friend to dance, finds herself 
in an all-embraoing aroma of punch 
or toddy. On the cars, one constantly 
sees little flasks produced, turned 
up and emptied. Every hotel's finest 
apartment is its bar room, made bril 
liant with gorgeous adornments and 
magnificent fixtures. From the earli- 
est dawn of New Year's morning to 
the last flicker of December's stars, 
wine and rum, and whiskey and gin, 
are regarded by many as Heaven's 
best gifts to man. 

Pious men rent their stores for gin 

Christian gentlemen pay their pew 
rent from incomes derived from the 
traffic in liquor. 

And are women so different that 
the temptations of palate and physi- 
cal sensation which fascinate men, are 
powerless over them 1 

Let the Tombs answer. 

Go to Blackwell's Island and ex- 
amine the sickening record. 

We have societies for the preven- 
tion of cruelty to animals, and 
associations for the conversion of 
foreign heathens, but it seems to 
us that if ever there was a need for 
societies and associations now is the 
time, aud this the sphere of opera- 

Old and young, male and female, 
are on the broad road to death and 
destruction, — and rum is the devil 
who leads them. 

Mrs. Foster's iron steps were bright 
as a new dollar. 

At the head of the staircase is a 
circular corridor, whitewashed and 
damp, from which open cells like 
those on the lower tier. In these 
are always crowded many girls, the 
majority of whom await trial, or are 
serving short sentences of ten to 
thirty days. Now and then one has 
a book or a paper, but as a rule, they 
sit or lounge all day and sleep all 
night ; the hardened and the begin- 
ners together, with no distinction of 
any sort or kind between them. 

It is all wrong — but how to rem- 
edy it is a huge problem. 

As the party passed along to a 
private reception room at the end of 
the corridor, Mr. Matsell said, "Mrs. 
Foster, I came down to-day more 
especially to see if, by reference to 
the old records, I could find out any- 
thing about a little boy who was lost 
twenty years ago this August. I was 
chief at the time, but all I can recall 
is that the papers made quite a fuss 
about it, a small reward was offered, 



and nothing came of it. I thought 
there might possibly — but it really 
isn't probable — be some clue from 
the books here. Ah ! here's Mr. 
Finley with the record." 

The keeper handed the record- 
book to the superintendent, who 
adjusted his great gold spectacles and 
slowly turned the pages until he 
found the date. 

There were " drunks " and " dis- 
orderlies " by the score, two murders, 
a few burglaries, the customary allow- 
ance of milder offences, but no clue 
to a lost boy. Ordinarily there would 
be no sense in looking at the Tombs' 
books for such a record, but it will 
be remembered that neither the police 
memorandum nor the coroner's office 
furnished any information whatever, 
and the only other chance was that 
little Harry had been taken directly 
before a magistrate and committed 
by him to the temporary care of the 

Under the head of August 21st 
appeared this entry : 

Name : James Delaney. 

A'je : 45. 

Occupation : Builder. 

Residence : Stranger. 

Offence : Drunk. 

Sentence : 10 days city prison, $10 

Remarks : When brought in had 
small boy, five years old, with him. 
Boy sent in to Foster. Discharged 
after two days' detention, and fine 
remitted by Dowling. 

" Let me see that," said Mrs. Foster. 

Seizing the book the good old lady 
put on her glasses, ran her fingers 
over the entry, and then gave a long 

" Bless my heart. That's the same 
boy," said she. " Why, French and 
I have talked that child over and 
over a hundred, yes, a thousand times. 
He was the dearest, sweetest little 
fellow you ever saw, and he no more 

belonged to that Delaney than I do. 
The boy seemed to like him, too, but 
there was something about them both 
that didn't hitch. I had the little 
chap right in this room and I held 
him right in this chair. I rocked 
him on ray lap, and all I could get 
out of him was * I want my mamma,' 
or ' Where's papa V He wouldn't tell 
his name, except * Bub ' or * Bob,' so 
we called him * Bob.' I got Dowling 
to let the man go for the child's sake 
— you can always manage Joe Dow- 
ling through his heart — and when 
they went off the fellow was sober 
and ashamed, and the tears stood in 
his eyes because they fixed bini up a 
pass for Chicago, and a kit. Renera- 
ber that boy I I remember him as if 
he sat before me this blessed minute." 

" God bless my soul !" said Matsell. 

The warden, though a kind-hearted 
man, was too much accustomed to 
sensations to be particularly affected, 
but Detective Hardy, who was young 
and enthusiastic, jumped at what he 
clearly saw was one end of a clue, 
which might lead him to professional 
success, and perhaps aid him in 
making an impression on the young 
lady at the Clarendon. 

Even while copying the record and 
making > memoranda of the matron's 
story, John Hardy's active imagina- 
tion was building castles in the airy 

He saw — what is there that young 
men and women do not see at such 
times 1 — fame, fortune, success in all 
that makes life worth the living, all 
absolutely in one's grasp, almost. 
How often we wake from sunny 
dreams, so real, so true, that they 
challenge physical experience itself 
in reality, only to find that they may 
be but are not true. 

But Hardy was hopeful. He had 
a royal physique. Every move- 
ment, from the flash of his eye to the 
tread of his foot, showed spirit. He 





thought quickly, spoko well, bore 
himself as became a man, never for- 
got his position, and was one of the 
few men in this queer world who 
have sense granted them before they 
have wasted life and lost its oppor- 
tunities in experience. 

He knew perfectly well the social 
difference between himself and Maud 
Russell, and that she had seen in him 
simply a means of bringing peace and 
comfort to her father's heart. He 
knew that she cared no more for him 
than for the driver of her carriage. 
And, to do iiim justice, he had not 
as yet detected in himself any feeling 
deeper than that of admiration for a 
very beautiful and winsome woman. 

But for all that, he was conscious of 
an influence, an attraction which 
made him think, and was gradually 
affecting his purposes and plans. 

Taking down all that the record 
disclosed, and making full notes of 
all that Mrs. Foster could recall con- 
cerning Delaney and the little "Bob,'' 
Hardy said to the superintendent 
that he thought he would go to the 
hotel and see Mr. Bussell, although 
he would not be expected until eight 
in the evening. 

They parted at the entrance, the 
superintendent going down to meet 
the Mayor, with whom he went every 
noon to eat clams in Fulton Market, 
and the detective to the Clarendon. 




OHN HARDY reached the hotel 
at four o'clock in the afternoon. 
Mr. and Mrs. Russell were out 
driving, but Maud, knowing the ar- 
rangement between her stepfather 
and the detective, inferred that this 
call must be a matter of importance, 
and directed the waiter to show Hardy 
to the potior. 

When Hardy entered, Maud ad- 
vanced to meet him with an eager- 
ness born entirely of her interest in 
his mission. He was disappointed 
and pleased to hear that Mr. Russell 
was not in, but deeming di^retion 
the better part, simply said that he 
would call later, and made his adieu. 
As he left the room, a gentleman 
in the undress uniform of a naval offi- 

cer entered, and greeted Maud with 
earnestness and evident delight. — 
Hardy looked long enough to see that 
the interest was reciprocal, and with 
a muttered disgust hurried away. 

Holding Maud's hand in his,^ Wil- 
liam Templeton drew the fair girl to 
a seat in the window, partly concealed 
by the heavy drapery, and sat beside 

" Well, dearest," he began, " is it 
true at lastl Have I really found 
you, and is it possible I hold your 
dear hand in mine, uninterrupted for 
a moment ? Really it seems too good 
to be true." 

Maud smiled sweetly, and after a 
moment's lingering, drew somewhat 
away from her ardent lover, and 



lughingly said : " There, WUl, that 

lust do for now ; how fortunate that 

^ou should see me hero ; do you know 

rho that person is I was talking 

rith ? He's a detective, and is going 

help father find his little boy." 

"His little boyl" echoed Tem- 


^'Yes, his little boy, lost ever so 

lany years ago," replied Maud. 

I" Papa hasn't seen him in twenty 

rears, and he's determined now to 

ind him if it's a possible thing." 

" Well, don't waste tiofe in talking 
kbout little boys," said Templeton. 
f* If he has as hard a time in finding 
son as I have had in trying to find 
father, I pity him, that's all." 
William Templeton was a waif. 
He was found in a Massachusetts 
rorkhouse by a benevolent party of 
By him he was taken to the Hub, 
lucated and fitted for college. When 
khe civil war fever broke out, William 
ras fond of the water, and begged his 
riend to get for him a commission in 
"le navy. He did so, and the lad 
entered the regular navy as ensign, 
id at the end of the war ranked as 
lieutenant, with an unusual record, 
9ditable to him as a man and a 
His protector died shortly after, 
iving him a small fortune. The 
ieutenant went to Europe on leave of 
lbsence,and on his trip home met and 
Imired Maud Russell. 
Together they promenaded the Cun- 
rder's deck long after the old folks 
lad " turned in." 
The moon, the skies, the ships in 
le distance, the astronomical perplex- 
ities, the sea serpent, the phosphores- 
Bnce in the water, the gulls and the 
?iengers were for them a never-fail- 
ig source of interest and conversa- 

\ She became entangled. Her affec- 
lons went out toward this stranger, 

and he was greatly taken with thi» 
charming English girl. 

Men are curious creatures, and take 
the oddest possible fancies. 

Everybody on that good ship liked 
William Templeton except Horace 
Eussell, and Horace Eussell was the 
only man for whose good-will William 
Templeton cared the toss of a copper. 

When Maud or his wife appealed 
to him to be more courteous towards 
Templeton, Mr. Russell became in- 
sanely angry. He gave no reason for 
his dislike ; all he knew was that he 
would not like him, and he forbade 
his wife and daughter even to speak 
to him, in the improbable event of his 
crossing their path after reac'^i 3 the 
city. Mrs. Russell's influencb over her 
husband was great, because she rarely 
exerted it. He was a good man, and 
although very set in his ways, was 
never deaf to sensible arguments. 

In this matter Mrs. Russell quietly 
told her husband that his opposition 
to Lieutenant Templeton's steamer 
attentions seemed rather strained. 
The man held a position of honor, and 
was well spoken of by every one wha 
knew of him among the passengers, 
and as he would doubtless soon have 
his own affairs to attend to, it was 
not likely they would be in any way 
embarrassed by him. 

Mr. Russell was not convinced, but 
he was silenced, and as Maud, who 
was really very fond of her new made 
friend, was wise and prudent enough 
to avoid any scene that might annoy 
her father, there was no further cause 
of trouble on the voyage. 

Templeton was a brave officer and 
a bad man. 

In the service he was esteemed for 
the qualities that endure under priv- 
ation and trial. He had won his way 
unfavored by politicians, the bane^Jof 
every public department, and his 
theory of life had condensed into one 




hard maxim — Let every man takecare 
of himself. 

With all his bravery and pluck, in 
spite of his good nature and happy- 
go-lucky manner, he had a weakness 
—he loved money. 

No man ever made fortune honestly 
in the service of his country. Tem- 
pleton was not morally above certain 
grades of dishonesty, but he had never 
been in position to take or speculate, 
or falsely audit ; he had his pay, and 
a very meagre income from the estate 
of his adopted father ; but the most 
rigid economy would not make him 
rich, and he hated economy. » 

He was about twenty-six years of 
age, and at a time when most men 
are trustful and genuine, had become 
suspicious and deceitful. 

He deliberately planned his future, 
basing it on" a marriage with money — 
give hira the money, and the rest he 
was willing to risk. 

He saw Maud, he liked her ; he 
thought her the daughter of the rich 
manufacturer, and believing her to be 
his heir, resolved to win her. 

Introductions at sea are easily ob- 
tained, and when Miss Eussell and 
Lieutenant Templeton bade each other 
" good-night," after their first intro- 
duction, they were as well acquainted 
as many people would be only after 
many years of friendship. 

Maud was a queer Combination of 
prudence and indiscretion. She had 
just passed her eighteenth birthday, 
was bright, sweet-faced, and elegant 
in manner. She had the air of a 
beauty and the innocence of a pet ; 
she idolized her mother, and Mr. 
Russell had found in her the most 
loving of children. 

But she was fond of admiration, 
and so fond of it that a close observer 
could see that she catered for it. 

Some men and women are born 
flirts, and flaunt their purposes before 
the public eye, careless of the world 

and reckless of its opinion, so long as 
their own " good time " is assured. 

Maud was not one of those. She 
shrank from vulgarity of manner, or 
vulgarity in display, as quickly and as 
naturally as from rudeness of speech. 
And yet there was a curious boldness 
about her which manifested itself in 
an over desire to please, the motive 
being, whether she knew it or not, 
to gain thereby the flattering incense 
so grateful to her. 

She was as gracious to the steward 
as to the captain ; she met the detec- 
tive with the same smile that beamed 
on Templeton. Compliments pleased 
her, come from where they might. 
And if a beautiful face, a distinguished 
air, and a kind heart with a winning 
smile,would not elicit compliments in 
society, what would 1 

She had had but little attention at 
home ; indeed, there were but half a 
dozen families in the town, and the 
Eussells, though well informed and 
living in good style, were not ou 
visiting terms with the older county 

Still Maud knew something of life, 
and her regular trip to London 
brought her more and more, year 
after year, into the caldron of social 
excitement. She read some, was fond 
of music, played the piano tolerably 
well, rode dashingly, and was es- 
teemed an acquisition at the parties 
she attended. 

Of course she received at such 
times much attention. 

Every woman has more or less of 
it, and it is by no manner of means 
determined either in quality or quan- 
tity by the prettiness of the face. 
There are thousands of doll-featured 
girls who go through life without at- 
tention ; and in what circle do we not 
find a plain face the recipient of all 
the courtesy and civility possible. It 
is evidently what there is behind the 
face that attracts. 



opinion, so long as 
irae " is assured. 
>ne of those. She 
rity of manner, or I 
f, as quickly and as | 
rudeness of speech. 
I a curious boldness 
lanifested itself in 
)lea8e, the motive 
6 knew it or not, 
s flattering incense 

ious to the steward 
she met the detec- 
smile that beamed 
mipliments pleased 
'here they might. 
irt with a winning 
cit compliments in 

t little attention at 
ire were but half a 
he town, and the 
I'ell informed and 
rle, were not on 
tlie older county 

something of life, 
trip to London 

and more, year 

caldron of social 
id some, was fond 
le piano tolerably 

ly, and was es- 
on at the parties 

eceived at such 

more or less of 
manner of means 

quality or quan- 
less of the face. 

of doll-featured 
I life without at- 
, circle do we not 

recipient of all 

ity possible. It 
ire is behind the 

lo ever, Maud was very beautiful 
winning as well. Her manner 
bright and jolly, her heart 
jny, her general air that of con- 
itment. She was greatly pleased 
%\\ the attentions of her friends, 
|t she had never met a friend who 
taken such perfect and all- 
Borbing possession of her as Wil- 
m Templeton. He seemed to 
low by intuition what were her 
Vires, and he never hesitated to 
Itify them. 

[in 8pit« of the dislike of Mr. lius- 

1, Mr. Templeton found frequent 

portunities to be with Maud on 

steamer, and when they reached 

bw York, although no formal en- 

bement had been made, both felt 

It their betrothal was but a ques- 

Id of time and prudence. 

jAs they sat together on the sofa, 

fiud, becoming apprehensive of her 

her's return, said : ** Why can't 

1 go out for a walk or a drive '\ It is 

llong since I have seen you, and I 

re so much to say to you." 

Templeton was only too glad to 

He rang the bell, ordered a car- 

ge, and Maud went to her room. 

The lieutenant believed Maud to 

not only the daughter but the 

ly child of Mr. Russell, who always 

^ke of her and to her as ** daugh- 

'j" 80 that her remark about the 

ittle bov " meant more to Maud's 

lover t.ian she could have imagined, 
or he would care to have known. 

He was very fond of Maud, but 
fond or not, he had determined to 
marry her, and thus gain her father's 

Presently she appeared, perfectly 
equipped ; and leaving the hotel by 
the 18th Street exit, entered the car- 
riage and drove otf towards the Park. 

" Maud, tell me about this * little 
boy's ' business," said Mr. Templeton. 
" What is it, who is he, any way, 
and how is it I never heard about 
him before V 

"Well, I declare, Will, that's 
rather a long string of questions, I 
should say," replied she ; " but as 
we have plenty of time, and you are 
so good as to give me this delightful 
drive, I'll tell you all about it. And 
then, too, if you only could help us, 
papa would love you just as I do." 

She then gave Templeton a narra- 
tion of the story so familiar to her 
and the reader, and by the time they 
had reached the Mt. St. Vincent 
Hotel in the Park, he had mastered 
it all, and was quite prepared to say 
to Maud: " Suppose we stop here for 
an ice ; " and to himself, " this is 
just precisely my luck. I only want- 
ed this to make assurance doubly 
sure. Three cheers for me — and the 
' little boy !'" 






I HE evening of this bright sum- 
mer day was full of events. 
1. Lieut. Templeton had se- 
cured a pledge from Maud Russell 
that she vrould consider herself his 
betrothed, and him her accepted 

As yet, and indeed until Mr. Rus- 
sell's antipathy could bo conquered, 
the engagement was to be secret 
from her family. 

2. Detective Hardy had made his 
report to the Russells, and found to 
his surprise that the stem, quiet- 
mannered Euglishman was a perfect 
fire of enthusiasm, kindled into flame 
and outburst by the meagre story the 
detective had to tell him of his 
morning's gleanings. 

3. Mr. Russell had outlined a plan 
•f operations, including an immediate 
trip to the West, the offer of a largo 
reward through the Chicago pob'ce, 
and such other operation as a review 
of the ground might suggest. 

4. And last, but by no means 
least, Maud in her good-night letter 
to her lover, wrote to Templeton 
every word reported to Mr. Russell 
by the detective, as well as the entire 
programme for the future. 

Bidding Mr. Russell and the ladies 
good-night, and promising to take 
the anxious father to see Mrs. Foster 
early the next day, John Hardy pulled 
his soft hat over his eyes, lit a cigar, 
and moved slowly down 4th Avenue. 
Just as he reached 14th Street, he was 
accosted by a gentleman who, touch- 
ing him on the shoulder, said : " I 
beg your pardon, sir ; are you Detec- 
tive Hardy 1" 

There was no reason for Hardy's 
denying his name, and yet his profes- 

sional caution was on the alert, 
hie> suspicions were aroused. Hastil; 
glancing at his companion, he va 
about to answer, when the light froii 
a street lamp disclosed the handsom^ 
features and manly figure of Lienil 
Templeton. The detective placed! 
him at once, but pretending not to,! 
replied : " Yes, sir, that's my naini| 
What of iti" 

" That depends," rejoined Templ>j 
ton. " If you have half an hourt 
spare, come wi*h me, and we \riil 
discuss a matter of some interest 
both of us — and perhaps of profit] 
Where shall we go — Delmonico'st" 

" No Delmonico's for me !" si 
Hardy. •' That'll do well enough H 
pleasure. If you want to talk k 
ness, where you can be as noisy u J 
Bedlamite or as quiet as 6reenwooii,| 
come with me." 

" I'll do it," said Templeton ; d| 
be did. 

A short ride on a 4th Avenue oil 
took them to Houston Street, aadil 
shorter walk led them to the dooro 
Harry Hill's noted resort for all scrtil 
and sizes of pleasure seekers of Kev|| 
York and vicinity. 

Passing through Hill's wonderfnil 
stnbie, where he keeps trick poninf 
educated dogs, and wonderful Bheep,! 
and through the dimly lighted bii^ 
room, they reached a flight of 8tain| 
which led' to the concert-room. 

Templeton had never been thenl 
before, and wanted to linger ; but tt ^ 
the detective it was an old story, ani^ 
calling Harry Hill, a 8tout-buill|| 
cheery-faced Englishman^ said ^^ 
him : " Harry, this gentleman and! 
have a little matter of business It 
talk over. Let me have the use i 



ir, that's my nanJ 

ian be as noisy ai^ 
uiet as Greenwo 

Ad Templeton ; ujl 

a 4th Avenue oil 
uston Street, AQ(ii| 
lem to the dooTc 

resort for all scrl 
ure seekers of Kevl 

parlor for a few moments : that's 
)od fellow." 

Jarry Hill took a good look at 
tidy's companion, shook his head 
fif half in doubt, and preceded the 
}o to the room. 

JThe average man living in New 
rk knows about Harry Hill's 
)on; its Punch and Judy, its 
icora, and singen, and boxing 
Itches; its free and easy oppor- 
lities for safely seeing a great deal 
what young men call " life ;" and 
fact that it is one of the regular 
ihows " of the city. But probably 
kt one in five hundred of Harry 
fcirs visitors could correctly picture 
len the outer characteristics of the 
)prietor's inner home. 
[Pictures of prize-fighters, fancy 
btches of noted boxers, bronze 
see, flash story-books, foils and 
}ves, brass knuckles and billies 
Bre the paraphernalia which rose 
fore Templeton's mind, when he 
)ught of the probable adornments 
^the home of Hill. As matter of 
Bt, what Templeton saw was as fol- 
Two very fair specimens of 
kulbach's skill, several fine photo- 
iphs, an>I one or two admijrable 
glish engravings hung on the walls; 
one comer was a small boudoir 
)k-case bearing standard literature 
}m the Bible to Hume, from the 
aok of Common Prayer to Byron 
id Thackeray; in another a large 
bble and desk, fitted with writing 
iverials, aad ornamented by curious 
ipanese ware ; in the centre was a 
idsome round table, with books 
id cigar case, while two doors open- 
outward disclosed a dressing-room 
td a bed-chamber. 
Templeton was astonished. Mr. 
ill saw the look, and smiling, said : 
[A trade's a trade, my friend. 'Arry 
I's one thing 'ere and another there, 
lat's all," and shutting the door, left 
l&e two men to their business. 

e have the use ii 

Neither cared to begin, but Hardy, 
lighting a fresh cigar, threw himself 
on a lounge, and Templeton was 
forced to take the initiative. 

" Mr. Hardy," said he, " I am a 
friend ot the Russells, and aware of 
their plans. They are in search of a 
little boy Mr.Russell lost some twenty 
years ago. And I am that boy." 

*• WHAt !" cried Hardy, and jump- 
ing from his seat like a greyhound, 
banged his hand heavily on the table, 
and stared through Templeton's eyes 
down to his very soul. 

" Don't make a noise, man," con- 
tinued the lieutenant, " you would 
do yourself greater credit if you 
listened. I say, I am that lost boy, 
and you can prove it — if you care to. 
Old Russell has heaps of money, and 
can be bled like an ox, for anything 
that is genuine. He loved his child, 
lost him carelessly, left him cruelly, 
and mourns him sincerely. I know 
he would spend $100,000 to find that 
son. And I think if you were to find 
him, your fortune would be insured. 
Now listen. I can satibiy you that I 
am Russell's son, and your business 
will be to convince him. Is it a bar- 
gain 1" 

For a moment Hardy was nonplus* 
sed. He had met many rascals in 
his police experience, and had worked 
out many a plot, but the cool impu 
dence and suicidal audacity of this 
putter-up of villany eclipsed all pre- 
vious examples of the kind. 

He thought rapidly, and concluded 
it would be well "to lay in " with 
Templeton until the plan was ripe. 
Nothing could be gained by bluffing 
him ; much might be learned by pre- 
tending to work with him. After a 
brief pause, he said : 

" I don't know you, sir. Are you 
quite certain you can satisfy me ? " 

"Of course I can," replied Temple- 
ton with a cunning smile; "of courst 
I can, and I'll agree to put it off for 



iix months, too. How will that suit and now let's see what Harry haa kJ 

your royal highness 1 " show us to-night" 

Together they passed into the tA 

"Perfectly," rejoined Hardy; "you loon, and taking seats at one of tb"! 

have my address. I shall be in town little round tables, made part of \ 

two or three days, and then we're off large and laughing audience, listoniij 

to Chicago. Como in and see me to the jokes and songT of the charao 

when you're ready to talk finally ; — ter-people on the stage of H'\rry Hill'i 


fire! fire! fire! 

I HAT night Horace Russell 
seemed a boy again. Long 
after his customary hour of re- 
tiring he walked his parlor, talked 
earnesily and rapidly of his plans, 
read and re-read the slips cut from 
the papers of twenty years back bj 
his former wife, told for the one hun- 
dredth time the story of little Harry's 
loss, and worked himself and Mrs. 
Russell into a state of excitement 
bordering on frenzy. 

Maud had long since kissed them 
both good-night, and went to her 
room to write to her lover. 

With her long, soft tresses hanging 
over the bed, she was a pretty pic- 
ture, when her mother, entering the 
room, found her on her knees in 

Folding her in her loving arms, 
Mrs. Russell said : " Darling, don't 
think to deceive your mother. You 
are more deeply interested in Lieu- 
tenant Templeton than you care to 
confess. Tell me, darling, is it not 
sol and if* so, let me know exactly 
how you feel, and what your rela- 
tions are with him. Conceal no- 

thing from your best friend. Telll 
your mother all." 

Maud, as we have seen, was biightl 
and quick, even pert and almost forf 
ward at times, but she was truth I 
itself in speech, and this one secret of I 
her heart was all she had ever sought | 
to keep from the mother she idolized, 
and for whom nothing could be good 

She had promised Templeton to be I 
his wife, and to ktep her promise j 

What should she do between heii 
mo ler and her lover. 

Right ^zs with the mother, but] 
might seemed to be with the lover. 

" Has he told you that he loves j 
you, dear ? " said Mrs. Russell. 

" I know he does," evaded Maud, 

"And how does my darling know| 
so much ? " continued Mrs. Russell, 
as she "pushed a littte closer to the] 
citadel ; " did he tell you to look in | 
his heart and see 1 ^4, 

" No, darling manlma," replied the . 
girl, " he didn't say that, but please, 
mamma, don't aek me any more 
questions. I cannot tell you ; really 

fire! fire! fire! 


) what Harry has vl 

best friend. Tell I 

le do between hei! 

j cannot say another word. I do love 
mamma. He's as brave and 
:)blt' as he can be, and he loves me so 
early. Don't he angry, mamma dar- 
ng. Don't be angry. We can wait, 
foil know, ever so long ; and besides 
le's going to help find little Harry. 
le said ho wonld, and he will ; and 

ho only could find him and make 
ipa happy, what a splendid thing it 
rould be for all of us. And he likes 
^ou too, mamma !" 

" Mrs. Russell smiled faintly at her 
laughter's onthusiaam ; but, taking 
iev head in her arms, she pressed her 
rarmly to her heart, apprehensive 
)r the future, for she knew the feel- 
igs and passions and bitter preju- 
lice of her husband. 

" Come, my dear," called Mr. 
lussell from the parlor, " you musn't 
Keep daughter awake all night. Let 
ler go to sleep. Good night, again, 
ittle girl." 

Mrs. Russell rejoined her husband 

his planning, and it was quite one 

o'clock ere the consultation ended, 

id even then they were undecided 

rhether it was better to go to Chicago, 

jr start the search in New York city 


The entire hotel was resting quietly 

It three o'clock in the morning, when 

le cry of ** Fire ! Fire !" startled the 

leepy watchman on the corner of the 

fcvenue, and a policeman^ who was 

Bsting against the iron rail, actually 

locked three times for help before 
le opened his eyes. 

Smoke was rushing in volumes 
rom the upper windows. The story 
below that vfu in flames. 

Clerks ra^* hastily through the 

xouse to aroiqp the people, servants 

rere driven ftpm their rooms in the 

kttic, childrenifibre bundled out of 

the iiouse, and vbrts were made to 

ive the baggage»the guests. The 

ijacent streets favly hummed with 

Excitement. Crowds thronged about 

the firemen, tlie engines puffed and 
snorted and whistled, while the qukk 
buzz of the wheels made merry music 
on the air. 

If there is any one thing existing 
which resembles a fully developed, 
fiery devil, with wings of flame and 
a blazing tail, it is a modern fire en- 
gine as it flies to the scene of disaster, 
with its bells and whistle, and steam, 
and smoke, and screams, and dash of 
speed along the streets. 

Half a dozen of these wonderful 
machines were at work, and the con- 
flagration was largely under control. 
Still the building was burning, and 
great clouds of smoke overhung it and 
permeated every room. 

Mr. Russell had been for many 
years in the habit of waking very 
early in the morning. As regularly 
as the seasons in their course, Horace 
Russell rose every morning of his life 
at three, looked over at his mills, 
drank half a glass of water, looked at 
the mills again, and resumed his 

When at sea, his mind worked the 
same way. 

And in pursuance of this habit, he 
woke on this morning just as the 
porter in the lower hall discovered 
the smoke. £y the time the other 
guests were fairly awake, Mr. Russell 
had his wife and Maud down stairs, 
and was hurrying them into the street, 
when Maud, eluding his hand, slip- 
ped by him and ran in the direction 
of their rooms. 

Half wildj, with fear, Russell did 
not at first know what to do ; finally 
and quickly, however, he gave his^ 
wife in charge of an officer, and direct- 
ed her to walk down toward the 
Everett House, while he flew to find 
Maud. The halls and staircase were 
flooded with smoke. Guests rushed 
down stairs half-dressed| with such 
things as they had hastoy caught up. 
The hotel people were shouting, and 




diracting. The police were in the 
wey M usual, and the firemen worked 
like heroei. 

If ever men earned their pay, these 
fire laddies of the paid departmont 
earn theirs, and ought to have it 

Blind with the smoke, half para- 
lysed with apprehension for Maud's 
safety, aud really anxious about her 
mind, Mr. Russell felt his way to 
their apartments. They were filled 
with dense, black, stifling smoke. 
Groping to the window, he stumbled 
and fell on the body of his adopted 
daughter. Desperate, and half con- 
scious only, he instinctively grasped 
her in his powerful arme, and sought 
the door. 

Had ha over-estimated his strength. 

Possibly, but not his love. 

Love for the dear girl who had 
caressed his weariness to sleep at the 
close of many an anxious day, who 
had brought sunshine to his heavy 
heart in many a time of gloom, gave 
him inspiration, and he achieved in 
an automatic way, half heedless of 
what he was about, an act of heroism 
which, under other circumstances and 
for another person, would have made 
him famous. Staggering towards the 
door he fell. Half rising, he dragged 
the unconscious girl c ^ nd down the 

■ingle flight of stairs separating theit | 
apartments from the ground floor, 
step by step, till together they attract- 1 
ed the attention of men at the en- 
trance, and the cheery voice of John I 
Hardy said : "Brace up, Mr. Russell, 
brace up, old man ; it's all right, bract 

And he did brace up, but, ove^{ 
come with smoke and excitement, 
fell exhausted on the stones. 

Hardy had turned for a moment 
to give some directions to his partner, 
as they called the detective who 
worked with him, but seeing that 
Mr. Russell could no more "brace 
up" than Maud could jump up, h« 
extemporized a litter for them both, 
and had them carried along through 
the crowd down to the Everett House, 
where Mis. Russell had ordered roomi, 
and was waiting pluckily to meet 

Mr. Russell soon revived, and after 
a glass of brandy, felt quite like him- 
self, and wanted to see Maud. 

But Maud had been put to bed, 
and in her hand, tight grasped, her 
mother found the cause of her return 
to her room — a little gold brooch in 
which was a picture and a lock of 
curly hair. 

The picture was Templeton's; lo 
was the hair. 





[HE next morning Mrs. Rus- 
sell, overoorae with excitetnont 
and fdtigue, slept lato ; and 
Maud, who had been tended during 
the night by her mother, rested at 
her side. 

The detective called at ton o'clock, 
and finding Mr. Russ^l in the read- 
ing room, was surprised and delighted 
at hia freshness and vigor. Together 
they walked to the Clarendon, ar- 
ranged for a transfer of the luggage, 
which was in no way injured, and 
then, in pursuance of their agreement, 
drove to see Matron Foster at the 

The good woman was very cordial 
,iu her greeting, and gladly rehearsed 
(the story of little "Bob," adding 
that it would be the happiest day of 
I her life when she could see him 
I restored to his father's arms. 

Mr. Russell was deeply affected 

jboth by the story and the interest 

j-Mrs. Foster exhibited in the fate of 

the child; but he did not conceal 

from himself the great improbability 

[of a successful search for a boy whose 

[life for twenty years had been \rith- 

jdrawn from his ktiowledge, nor the 

greater improbability that " Eob " 

I should in reality be the Harry ol' his 


Nevertheless, in the absence of 
lother suggestion, he determined to 
[adhere to- his scheme, and go with 
[Hardy to Chicago, even if Maud and 
[her mother were unable to leave the 

After an interested examination of 
[the prison, Mr. Russell bade Mrs. 
roster " good-morning," and, accom- 
panied by the detective, turned to- 
[wards the door, when, quick as a 

flash, the sturdy officer dashed into • 
reception room just inside the iron 
gate and rail. 

As he did so. Lieutenant Temple- 
ton handed a pass to the gate-keeper, 
and walked over towards the female 

" Did you see that man 1 " said 

"No," replied Mr. Russell. "That 
is, I did, and I did not. I saw some 
one come in, but was so thunder- 
struck by your rushing oflf that I 
paid no attention to him. Why, 
who is hel" 

" That's just what I want to find 
out," rejoined Hardy. " You go on 
to the hotel ; wait there until you 
see me. Just take the yellow car, tell 
the conductor to let you out at the 
Everett House, and you're all right. 
Excuse me now ; every minute's an 

Mr. Russell did not precisely see 
the fotce of what Hardy said, but 
though somewhat dubious in his mind 
as to the propriety of the young man's 
conduct, did as he was directed, and 
soon regained the hotel. 

Hardy M^^ i^^ onc^ to Warden 
Quinn's i^nn, lJ6rrowed a uniform, 
put on a belt ami cap, and with baton 
swinging ffom his wrist, re-entered 
the prison yard, and walked quietly- 
over to the matron's office. 

Fortunately he met her as she was 
leaving the wash-house. Accosting 
her, he said : " Don't start, Mrs. 
Foster ; I'm Hardy the detective. I 
have a point to make here. There's 
a gentleman in your room who wants 
to see you. If I happen to seem 
rather curious, take no notice of me. 
I'm on business." 




The sagncious woman twinkled her 
eyes in ti'ken of comprehension, and 
quickly entered her office. 

As she did so, Lieutenant Templcr 
ton rose from his seat, and advancing 
with great politeness, extended his 
hand, bowed, and said:. "This is ray 
old friend, Matron Foster, at last. 
And not a bit changed, either. How 
kind you were to me, and how often, 
when a boy, T added to my lisping 
prayer, ' God bless Mamma Foster.' 
Do you not remember me 1 " 

" Remember you 1 " said Mrs. Fos- 
ter. " Ko, I don't. How should 1 1 
I never saw you before. What do 
you mean 1" 

Mrs. Foster is no fool. She has 
had her eye-teeth cut these many 
years. Slie is sympathetic, but not at 
all credulous. Real suiTeriiig elicits her 
condolence and aid ; but bogus com- 
plaints could never wring a tear from 
her, if they were to try a thousand 

She didn't "take" to this honey- 
dropping gentleman. He was alto- 
gether too grateful, and his gratitude 
came rather late iu life. Had he 
found her at last 1 Why, for thirty 
years she had not left her post ! Every 
day of every year she had opened 
and shut her room. She is never 
sick ; never away ; vacations are an 
unknown quantity to her, and as for 
Bleep — well, they do say she never 
sleeps ; but that is probably not so. 

" No, I don't remember you. Who 
are you?" said the robust matron. 

"Who am 11 Why, I am little 
'Bob,'" said Templt^ton. ''Surely you 
remember little ' Bol),' to whom you 
were so kind in tliis very room, now 
twenty years ago." 

" Little ' 15.)b ' !" cried Mrs. Foster; 
"little 'Bob!' little fiddlesticks! 
My little * Bob * had no such snake 
eyes as you've got, nor such hair, nor 
such — oh, don't bother mo. If that's 
what you came hero for, you've lost 

your time. I don't know you, and I 
don't want to." 

"But hear mo, madam ; I liavt 
proofs of what I say," said Temple- 
ton, now thoroughly alarmed. " And 
it may be worth money to you to 
help me, too. I have reason to be- 
lieve I have found my dear father, 
and your aid is indispensable to me," 

Just at this juncture, John Hardy, 
in policeman's dress, appeared at the 
door. "Here, officer," s^aid Mrs. 
Foster, "just tramp this party out of 
here. He's made a mistake. Ho be- 
longs in the male prison, 1 guess, and 
if he had his deserts he'd go there." 

Hardy raised liis cap. 

Templeton looked up quickly, 
turned black as his boot, and mutter- 
ing a curse, hurried rapidly by hi! 
tormenter toward the gate. 

Hardy stopped him by a whistle, 
and then taking him into the War- 
den's office, .'^aid : " Mr. Temi)leton,I 
give you just four hours in which to 
leave New York. If I catch you here 
after that, I'll go for you ; and wlwt 
that means you know. Now, get out." 

And he got out, right away. 

That evening Mr. and Mrs. Russell 
were dining in their parlor, and jMaud, 
still very weak, was reclining on a 
lounge, thinking of Templeton, long- 
ing to see or hear from him, and 
wondering how it could be possible 
for her to convey to him information 
of her situation, and the necessity of 
his beiflg content not to see her uniil 
she should be able to get out and 
about, when a servant handed Mr, 
Russell a letter. 

Not having seen the detective since 
his singular conduct at the Tviinbs, 
Mr. Russell was wondering why !)« 
did not hear from him, when the let- 
ter was brought in. Without lonkiiie 
at the address, Mr. Russell broke the 

He read a sentence, turned the 
page, read again, and then, with • 



I know you, and I 

luadum ; I liavt 
ay," said Temple. 
ly alarmed. " And 
money to you to 
.we reason to be- 1 
1 my d«iar father, 
lispensaMe to me." 
!ture, John Hardy, 
38, appeared at the 
fficer," f^aid Mrs. 
p this party out of 
a mistake. IIo be- 
prison, lgues.s, and 
ts he'd go there." 
s cap. 

iked up quickly, 
5 boot, and mutter- 
ed rapidly by hi! 
the gate. 

him by a whi.stle, 
lim into the War- 
"Mr. Templeton,l| 
hours in which to 
[[f I catch you here 
or vou ; and wh»t 
ow. Now, get out." 

right away, 
and Mrs. Russell j 
pallor, and Maud, 
?a8 reclining on a 
Teinpleton, long- 
from him, and 
could be possible! 

,0 him information! 

id the necessity of 

not to see her umil 
to get out and! 

rvant handed Mr, 


the detective since | 
let at the TiJinbeJ 
ondering why lie 
lim, when the let- 
Without locking j 
Russell broke the 

teYice, turned the 
and then, with if 

[face white with rage, went to the 
I door, opened it, shut it, looked at the 
feeble girl upon the lounge, and sank 
despondingly in his chair. 

Maud's eyes were closed ; her soul 
was with Templeton. 

But her mother saw her husband's 
passion, and knew that nothing but 
his love for Maud kept him quiet. 

" What is it, Horace 1 " said she. 

" Read that," said he ; " read that, 
and see what an infernal scoundrel 
you've cherished between you. Oh, 
that I had him here ! Oh, that I had 
him here % " 

His raised and excited voice I'oused 
Maud from her reverie. 

She, too, knew her father's ungov- 
erned passions, and trembled when 
she saw them upon him. Her sweet 
voice rarely failed to calm him, and 
her gentle caresses were many a time 
and oft the balm which brought peaca 
and comfort to a disturbed circle and 
a troubled mind. 

" Why, paj;a darling," said she, 
half rising from her position ; " what 
has happened] Don't look so black ; 
tell me, papa, what is it 1" 

"What is iti" replied Mr. Rus- 
sell. "What is it? You're it. Your 
mother's it. Heaven only knows 
who isn't it. I must think this out. 
It ])uzzles me. I can't understand it. 
I leave you together. When I re- 
turn, I must and shall know all." 

Without another word the angry 
man left the room. 

And he left two sad, and crushed, 
and sorrowful hearts as well. 

The mother, heart-sick for her 
daughter ; and the daugjiter, consci- 
ous only that something terrible had 
happened, but what she knew not. 

As the door closed, Mrs. Russell 
caught her daughter in her arms and, 
wild with grief aud apprehension, 
said : " Sweetest, you cannot wonder 
at your father's anger, nor at his 
anxiety. This lettsr ia from Lieut. 

Templeton to hia betrothed bride. 
Think of it." 

" Give it to me, mother," said 
Maud ; " how dared he open it. 
Mother, give it to me; 1 " — but t^ho 
could go no further. 

Her mother bathed her head, and 
kissed and soothed the young girl's 
temper down. 

Then together they read 

thb letter. 

Fifth Avenue Hotel, 
New Yokk, Aug. 21, 1873. 

" Maud, my darling, my own be- 
trothed, I have but a moment to 
write you and I have volumes to tell 
you. I have heard, darling, of your 
night of peril, and although I cannot 
see you, I understand that you are 
quite well, though weak to-day. I 
have to leave town at once. Dan- 
ger, of which I cannot safely write, 
threatens me. I had hoped to be of 
service to your father, but it cannot 
be. I leave, and leave at once. Con- 
sider, darling, my proposal. You are 
virtually my wife. Why can you 
not be so absolutely 1 If you are 
strong enough, and can manage to 
elude the vigilance of your over- 
anxious mother for an hour do so, 
and meet me in the corridor near the 
ladies' entrance. I will be prepared 
with a carriage, and in half an hour's 
time ray sweetheart will be my bride 
— my darling will bo my wife, I 
beg you will not, at this crisis, hesi- 
tate or yield to scruples, which can 
only delay what must happen sooner 
or later. You love me, do you not 1 
Then jirove it. Bear in mind, dar- 
ling, that I must leave town. Shall 
I go alone 1 And if so, may I not 
at least carry the picture of my wife 
with me 1 I can think of no mode 
by which I can be informed of your 

purpose, so 

I will, at all events, go 




to the rendezvous, and trust to the 
promptings of your loving heart for 
a favorable response. And till then, 
sweet one, darling, adieu. 

" Ever yours, 

" W. T." 

" Great Heavens ! Papa will meet 
him, and " — — 

Again Maud fainted, and her thor- 
oughly frightened mother threw 
water ar I lavished kisses upon her 
until, half dead with fear, she opened 
her eyes and whispered, " Save him, 
save him !" 

Mrs. Eussell was not a woman of 
the world, nor a society woman in 
any sense. She was born in New 
York city, and at the age of thirty- 
four was a widow, with a daughter 
six years old. With the child she 
went to Europe, travelled two years, 
met Horace Eussell, then a widower, 
at the house of a London friend, and 
at the time of the present occurrence 
had been Mrs. Horace Kussell ten 

She was a clear-headed, kind- 
hearted woman, very fond and proud 
of her husband, and idolatrously de- 
voted to her daughter. Like her 
daughter, she was the incarnation of 
truth, and nothing of whatever mo- 
ment or consequence had ever been, 
or could ever be, a temptation to one 
or the other to swerve, even by a look, 
from the line of perfect veracity. 

But here was her daughter — and 
there was her husband. 

Without a word she kissed Maud 
on the forehead, left the room, and 
passing quickly down the private 

stairway, stood near the ladiet*! 
entrance, her figure partially con| 
cealed by the curtain of a t, Indow. 

Would he never come 1 

Moments seemed ages, and her I 
courage was oozing fast, when the 
well known form of Lieut. Temple- 
ton appeared at the head of the stair- 

A slight morcuient of the curtain | 
attracted his watchful attention, and 
in a moment he was at the side — not I 
of the loving daughter, but — of the | 
indignant mother. 

It was a study for an artist. 

But there was no artist there ; onlj 
two embarrassed and mutually anxious j 
individuals, neither one knowing pre- 
cisely what to do or say. 

Presently Mrs. Eussell, with fire 
flashing from her eyes, said : " Mr, 
Templeton, we thought you were a I 
gentleman. We find we were mis- 
taken. For my daughter's sake, and 
that there may be no scene between 
you and my husband, I came here to 
tell you that we decline all further 
acquaintance with you, and to assure 
you that no member of our family 
has the slightest desire to see you 
again. Now go, and go quickly, 
unless I ou care to meet Mr. Eussell, 
for there he comes, and with him che 

Without a word, Templeton, who 
was thoroughly alarmed, hurried 
away, while Mrs. Eussell quietly re- 
gained her room, and drawing Maud's 
arm through her's, gently led her 
heart-broken daughter to the privacy 
of their chamber ; and what passed 
there we may imagine, but certainly 






HEN Mr. Russell so abrupt- 
ly left his wife and Maud 
in the parlor, he had no 
lefinite plan before him ; but having 
id enough of Templeton's letter to 
ret a general idea of love and an en- 
[gagement, and only so much, he saw 
the absolute necessity of his being 
lalone for a few. moments, ere he 
[trusted himself to speak. 

He understood his own passionate 
[nature thoroughly, and being very 
[anxious about Maud's physical con- 
idition, wisely and kindly checlred 
[his outburst,and simply left the room. 
His meeting with Hardy at the 
[door was purely accidental, and with- 
jout alluding either to Templeton or 
lis letter, Mr. Russell entered at once 
[upon a discussion of their Chicago 
[plan, as together they passed within 
[twenty feet of his wife, on their way 
[to the general parlor. 
Hardy was in trouble. 
He had seen but little of Mr. Rus- 
[eell, but he liked him, and was inte- 
[rested in his mission. Still he knew 
Ibo little of the man, that he was in 
Idoubt a> to the advisability of telling 
[him about Templeton's proposal at 
Harry Hill's, and the expose at the 
I Tombs. The detective felt competent 
to manage Templeton in any scheme 
I he might attempt, and as yet knew 
nothing of the condition of atfairs in 
\ the family. He had seen Maud and 
i Templeton together and had noticed 
I the warmth of their greeting, but the 
|only thought suggested by that, was 
[the difference between Templeton's 
Uocial opportunity and his own — a 
thought which fiad often made him 
curse the world, which, even in re- 
publican America, is disposed to be 
sensitive on social points. 

Hardy's maxim was : " When in 
doubt, hold your tongue ;" and being 
in doubt, he obeyed that teaching, 
believing that if at any time it be- 
came necessary to bluff, outwit or con- 
front the plotter, he had the game in 
his own hands. 

Unsuspicious, then, of Templeton's 
design upon his fortune, Mr. Russell, 
as calmly as he could, canvassed the 
possibilities of a search at the West, 
while Hardy, uninformed of the new 
development that had upset the peace 
and harmony of his employer, quietly 
aided him. During the interview, 
Hardy presented this programme for 
Mr. Russell's action, as the best he 
could, after consultation with the 
chief, suggest : 


1. Obtain official letters of introduc- 

tion from the Mayor and police 
to the Chicago authorities. 

2. Obtain personal letters to people 

of prominence from the New 
York correspondents of Mr. Rus- 
sell's mills. 

3. Go to (Chicago with Hardy, secure 

a local detective, offer privately 
or through the press a small re- 
ward for information, leaving all 
negotiations in the hands of 
Hardy and the western officer, 
and then be guided by circum- 
" That's not very long," remarked 
Hardy, " but it's the boilings down 
of many an hour's thought. The old 
man has given time and consideration 
to this matter astonishingly. If ever 
you want to interest Matsell, just 
connect your subject with something 
that occurred twenty or thirty years 
ago, and he'll jump in lively." 



" Well," replied Mr. Russell, " it 
seems sensible. The only point is 
that wo seem to be giving up New 
York altogether. This ' Bob' search, 
may be a farce and result in a fizzle. 
If 8o, we waste out time and throw 
away our luoney — although, to be 
frank about it, money is really no 
object. Do you know, Hardy, that 
boy of mine would be, must be, 
twenty-five years old now ; just about 
as old as you, and I fancy I would 
like to find him as true and sensible a 
man as you appear to be. God knows, 
I have but the one wish upon my 
heart. I miss him all the time ; I 
think of him, dream of him, talk to 
him — but always as my baby, my 
Harry boy of twenty years gone by. 

" Come, come, this won't do ; I'll 
see Mrs. Eussell and the doctor. As 
soon as they say Maud may travel, 
off we go. 

" Now, Hardy, I need hardly as- 
sure you of my earnestness in this 
life-work. I trust you. In any 
event your reward shall be ample; 
but if we succeed your heart's desire 
shall be granted — I'll make you rich 
and independent for life. Now go, 
my friend, learn all you can from the 
prison people, and get all needed 

letters from Mr. Matsell ; I'll attend 
to the rest. Good night." 

Hardy bade Mr. Russell " good 
night," and Mr. Russell went to get 

He found the gas brightly burning 
in the parlor, and the door of Maud's 
room shut. He entered his own 
chamber. The bed was. undisturbed ; 
evidently his wife was with her 
daughter. Knocking gently at Maud's 
door, Mr. Russell waited for an 

None came. 

He softly opened the door, and on 
tip-toe approached the bed. Fast 
asleep in her mother's arras lay the 
beautiful girl, with flushed cheek 
and eyelids wet with tears. 

Mrs. Russell's eyes were wide open, 
but she dared not stir lest Maud 
should be disturbed. She saw love 
in her husband's smile, and as he 
bent over her to press a father's kiss 
upon the " daughter " of his heart 
though not of his racL-, Mrs. Russell 
whispered, " Good night, father ; I 
will stay with Maud — she is very 
nervous, but all will be well. Good 

For a moment Horace laid his 
hand upon her brow, then kissed her 
tenderly, and without a word left the 
weary and the comforter together. 

— <5r. 





v\\c:j quickly to the Fifth Avenue 
c*^ ■ Hotel, purchased a through 
ticket for Chicago by the morning 
express, paid his bill, and left oi-ders 
to be called in time for breakfast and 
the trani. 

The evening he occupied in look- 
ing through all his papers, and delib- 
erating as to what was best for him 
to do with his commission. He was 
liable at any hour to be ordered on 
duty, and resignation after the receipt 
of orders would not be tolerated : or 
rather it would subject him to such 
criticism in naval circles as he would 
not care to brave. And then, too, 
it must be borne in mind that Tem- 
pleton was not so foolish in his or- 
dinary life as he has shown himself 
in dealing with Hardy. He doubt- 
less believed that the average police- 
man, of whom Hardy was a type, 
had only to be approached to be se- 
cured. A bribe, he thought, would 
never be refused unless it were too 
small, and he had purposed making 
his offer to Hardy so tempting as to 
be irresistible. 

He failed. 

What Hardy, or the average officer 
might do under some circumstances 
we know not, but Tompleton's man- 
ner was unfortunate; his time was 
badly chosen, his plan was too start- 
ling — and, besides, the detective had 
warmed towards Mr. Russell, and the 
Bweet face of Maud was constantly 
before his eyes. 

Having failed with Hardy, Temple- 
ton's next hope was to work on Maud's 
affections through her fear for his per- 
sonal safety, induce her to marry 

him, and then leave or take her with 
him, as might seem best at the time. 

He failed in that also. 

Had the letter been handed to 
Maud, it is quite certain she would 
have met her lover j and had she gone, 
weak, nervous and unsettled as she 
was, it is more than probable she 
would have yielded to his importuni- 
ties, and placed herself at his dis- 
posal, and brought desolation on her 
mother's heart. 

From that she was spared, but at 
what a cost ! 

Failing in his second endeavor, 
Lieut. Templeton bethought him of a 
third an<l better scheme. He knew 
Mr. Russell perfectly. And he was 
well informed of the plans, as arranged 
in general by Hardy and Russell be- 
fore the morning of the fire. With 
this in mind, he was discussing the 
advisability of resigning his commis- 
sion in the service, that he might 
risk all he had in one desperate ven- 
ture — a claim to the right and title 
of Horace Russell's son. 

He took time to think of it, and 
pondered it well before he decided. 

He then wrote his resignation and 
had it mailed at once. 

His trunks were packed, his travel- 
ling preparations made, his bed ready. 

And he slept like a boy till the 
porter called him to rise. 

In due time Templeton reached 
Chicago, and on the following day 
placed himself in communication 
with the detective office at police 
headquarters. Securing an introduc- 
tion, through a hotel clerk, to Charles 
Miller, or, as he was there more 
familiarly known, " One-eyed Char- 



ley," he made an appointment with 
him at the hotel, at which time, as 
he told him, he would lay before him 
a matter directly in the detective's 
line of business, and in which there 
was " big money." 

One-eyed Charley was a character, 
and not altogether a good one. He 
was very much esteemed by his 
superiors, his intuition being remark- 
ably clear and his experience great. 
He knew all the regular thieves and 
professional men well. His twenty 
years' dealings with the counterfeit- 
ers, and burglars, and minor rascals 
of the Mississippi Valley had educat- 
ed him to a point of sharpness and 
cleverness that entitled him to higher 
rank in the office than he ever held, 
bUb he had risen as far as he could, 
for gin was his failing, and rum was 
his delight 

Half the number of sprees in which 
Miller indulged would have "broken" 
a less useful man. He knew it, and 
accepted his lot without a murmur. 
It was ruroorec , now and then, that 
there were other potent reasons for 
the lack of promotion, but they never 
rose above a whisper ; for much as 
men might suspect, fear of Miller's 
vengeance kept the tongues of his 
bitterest enemies quiet. 

He had two daughters, the only 
living beings for whom he cared the 
value of a rush — for whom he saved 
what he could ; and that was by no 
means inconsiderable. 

Physically, he was ugly. His head 
was well covered with a reddish 
thatch ; in a fight he had lost his left 
eye; his face was badly marked with 
traces of small-pox, and in stature he 
was tall when he sat, and short when 
he stood. Morally he was queer; he 
believed in no God, no heaven, no 
hell, no future of any kind; his 
motto was "keep all you get, and 
et all you can." Mentally, he was 
hrewd and quick ; shrewd enough 

to see that, in his business, honesty 
as a rule was much the best' policy, 
and quick enough to see when he 
might safely serve a dishonest pur- 
pose with profit to himself. ~ • 

And this was the man who called 
on Lieut. William Templeton at his 
elegant apartments, in pursuance of 
an agreement made at the general 

Templeton saluted Miller, as he 
entered the room, with : " How are 
you, my friend ; what will you take 
to drink 1" 

" Well, sir," replied the detective, 
" I don't mind a stiff rum and gum, 
after we've finished our talk ; but if 
you mean business, defer the refresh- 
ments till business is done. My chief 
clerk is my brain, and liquor is his 
worst enemy." 

" All right," said Templeton, " as 
you say ; but you surely will let your 
chief clerk have the flavor of a good 
cigar under his nose, won't you T 

" Yes. I don't object to that ; but 
I really think as how that curious 
creature would very much prefer a 
pipe, if it's handy," rejoined Miller ; 
and, suiting the action to the word, 
drew from his pocket a common clay 
pipe, filled it with " horse cut," lit it, 
and puffed vigorously. 

" Now, young man, as the widder 
said, pitch in, and what you've got to 
say, out with it." 

Templeton eyed him closely. 

Under any circumstances he would 
have done so, but his experience with 
Hardy had taught him a lesson, and 
he meant to profit by it. 

He eyed him closely, and concluded 
he would do. 

Miller pretended not to notice the 
scrutiny, but he saw it all, and made 
up bis mind that there was devilry 
in the air, and he meant to profit by 

Pulling from his pocket a huge 
wallet filled with papers, Templeton 

templeton's story. 


settled himself in his chair an<l open- 
ed the ball. 

" Mr. Miller," said he, " I have a 
long story to tell you, and I want you 
to listen to it carefully, professionally, 
and in my interest. To that end I 

hereby retain 
bargain ?" 

you, and ask, 13 it a 

With this he laid five $20 bills 
upon the table, pushed them over to 
Miller, and waited for his reply. 

Miller puffed quickly, counted the 
bills carefully, stuffed them in his vest 
pocket, nodded to Templeton, and 
simply said " Go ahead." 




and concluded 

^^NTIL yesterday," began Tem- 
(feai) pleton, " I was a lieutenant 
^ in the navy. My resignation 
was forwarded last week, and last 
night's mail brought me official notice 
of its acceptance. I see you think a 
man who has so pleasant a berth is 
foolish CO get out of it. Well, possi- 
bly, but I have two strong motives, 
and one equally a motive but not so 

" First, I want money. 

" Second, I want a father. 

" Third, I want a wife. 

" The way to each and all of these, 
I believe, lies through my resignation, 
whereby I am left free to prosecute 
a plan, in the outwork of which I 
need ^ our aid. 

"Don't misunderstand my position. 
I am not po.)r. In any event I can 
abundantly Compensate you. My 
game is higher'and my prize greater. 

" Who I am, no one knows. 

" Where I came from, no one can 

" I may be the son of a beggar, 
I may be heir to one of the largest 
employers in Great Britain. I have 

chafed under my assumed name f 
William Templeton till my mind is 
sore, and, at times, the very mention 
of it makas me wild. I hate it. I 
hate its origin and everything con- 
nected with it. 

" As near as I can make out, I am 
thirty or thirty-one years of a^e. I 
run back connectedly until ray tenth 
year, as follows : thirteen years I 
have been in the service ; four years 
I was ai college, and three years I 
was preparing for college under the 
protection and at the home of a 
good-natured Bostonian, who found 
me sick and homeless, and v/ith no 
other name than *' Bill," in the work- 

" Prior to that, and young as I 
was, I had been a ' bum.' Nothing 
that you know by observation of the 
life of a homeless boy, can equal 
what I knew by daily experience. 
I've been through it all. I blacked 
boots, sold papers, ran errands, slept 
under stoops, in ash barrels and over 
steam escapes, ate when I had food, 
and bore hunger when I had none. 
Dirty, half-clad, bare-footed, often 





never washed, on the Island in New 
York, in the Toiuba, known to the 
watch, and often sick, I led the life 
of a vagabond aa long as I can re- 

" Well, I'm blowed," interrupted 
Miller. " Say, stranger, do you know, 
I like you. Pitch in again." 

Templeton, who was too much in 
earnest to smilo, or to welcome the 
interest, proceeded. 

"I have a vague memory of stow- 
ing myself on a schooner, but whether 
it was accidental or intentional I 
don't know, and of being very ill. 
From then, until I found myself in 
the hospital of the workhouse near 
Boston, I recall nothing. I have had 
of late a pleasant life. My associates 
were gentlemen. Society is always 
open to a uniform ; and then, too, I 
prided myself on my record. At col- 
lego, although among the youngest, I 
ranked well; and my protector was so 
pleased with my general progress that 
he left me his property when he died, 
from which I have a small annual 

" I see the power of money — and I 
want to wield it. 

"I see the advantage of family 
connection — and I think I see my 
way to it. 

" I have met a woman whom I 
love : and through her boundless love 
for me, I see the clue to both family 
•nd wealth." 

** Well, if you've got it all down 
Bo fine as this, where do I come in 1" 
said Miller. 

"Are you a mason?" asked Temple- 

"No, I ain't," replied the detec- 
tive ; "and I don't want to be. I 
can keep a secret better than any 
mason can, if that's what you mean." 

"Well, that was not what I meant," 
rejoined Templeton, who was won- 
dering in his mind whether Horace 

Russell's high rank in masonry could 
in anyway bulk bin plans. 

For several minutes neither spoke, 
and then, as if inspired. Miller jump- 
ed up, and, resting his two han^s on 
the round table, over which blazed 
four fan-ti li-^d jots of gas, he looked 
his compai.ion full in the eye, and 
said: "Stranger, there's something 
on your mind, and you don't do 
justice to the subject. When you 
go to a doctor, you tell him just 
what's the matter, don't you 1 Well, 
then. And when you go to a lawyer 
you tell Am the whole Btory, dim't 
you 1 Well, then. Now you've come 
to me. This cash is my fee. State 
your case. If I like it, I keep the 
cash and go on. If I don't like it, I 
keep the cash and step out. That's 
all. How old are yon, anyhow' 
Don't be a boy." 

Templeton smiled at the idea of 
his being a boy, for he felt as if he 
had had about two hundred years of 
experience in the ruggedest paths of 
life, but he naturally hesitated to 
repeat the mistake he had made with 
Hardy, and preferred to feel his way 
more cautiously with Miller. 

Fearing to lose a bold on him, 
however, and with a desperation born 
of the reckless adventure before him, 
Templeton determined to lay the case 
in detail before the detective, and 
trust to luck to get it out plausibly 
and successfully. 

Taking a cigar from its case, he 
walked to the mantel, struck a match, 
lit his weed, and, leisurely returning 
to his seat, apparently resumed his 
narration, as though there had been 
no interruption. 

" This woman whom I love," said 
he, "is the daughter of an enormous- 
ly wealthy Englishman. His name 
is Russell. He owns and runs im- 
mense mills and factories in the in- 
terior of England, and is said to he 
worth five or six millions. He used 

templeton's stqry. 


to live in I.Iichigan, and has, like 
most men, a romance. 

" Twenty years ago ho lost a son in 
New York, and he is fool enough to 
believe that he can find him now. He 
has no clue to his whereabouts. Ho 
knows absolutely nothing of him. 
He is in Now York now with his 
wife and danghter, and, before long, 
is coming to Chicago with a New 
York detective to look up an old 
party who was sent out here by the 
authorities, having with him u boy 
somewhat answering the description 
of Mr. Russell's child. Of course he 
can't find either of 'em — unless we 
help him ! 

" I believe I am that boy. 

" You believe I am that boy. 

" And we must make him believe 
I am that boy. 

" What do you say 1 " 

Miller said nothing for a moment. 

Then he pulled from his pocket an 
oblong shaped document, and, open- 
ing it carefully, read it to the aston- 
ished Templeton, as follows : 

Hbadquabtbrs Police Dbpartment, 
CJiicago, August 30th, 1873. 

Sir: — In conformity to the en- 
closed request from the Superinten- 
dent of the New York police, you 
are hereby directed to place yourself 
and services at the disposal of Horace 
Russell, Esq., who, accompanied by 
Officer Hardy of thi New York force, 
is expected to reach this city some 
day this week. You will report 
daily at those headquarters. 

Per order of the chief, 
J. G. Nixon, Clerk. 
To Detective Miller. 

The enclosure, a copy of a letter 
from Supt. Matsell to the Chica^-^o 
Chief, read as follows : — 


New York, August fSSth, 1873. 

Sir : — Mr. Horace Russell, a re- 
putable and responsible gentleman 
from England, in company with De- 
tective Hardy of our force, will call 
on you in the course of a week or ten 
days, advising you by telegraph the 
day before, for aid in a matter of some 
delicacy and importance. I am de- 
sired by the Mayor to say that any 
assistance afforded Mr. Russell, will 
be well bestowed. We have done 
what was possible here and have as- 
signed him the keenest man in the 
detective bureau. Whatever expense 
is incurred, Mr. Russell will defray. 
Commending him to your professional 
and personal regard, I am, 

Very respectfully, 

Geo. W. Matsbll, 

Su/f't Police. 
To Chief Police, Chicago. 

The fire died away from Temple- 
ton's cigar. 

But the fire in his eyes fairly 
glowed with excitement. 

"What do you think of thatl" 
said Miller, as he replaced the docu- 
ments iu his pocket. " Ain't that a 
stunner? How's that for a lone 
hand V 

Every nerve in Templeton's body 
was alert. He was in Miller's power 
for good or ill. With him, fortune 
was assured ; without him, he was 
worse off than ever. What to say he 
knew not. 

Miller paced the room for some 

Then he stopped as if he had been 

Turning quickly, he said: "For 
Heaven's sake, man, do you really 
care anything for that girl 1" 




" Of course I do," said Tompleton ; 
"and, what is more, sho is my affi- 
anced brido, and it's only an accident 
that she's not ray wife." 

" Why, don't you see that you're 
to be her brother, you fool 1" shouted 

'' Great God ! I never thought of 
that," said the astonished Templeton, 
and he sank back in his chair, utterly 

Had he known that Maud was 
Mrs. Russell's daughter by a former 
husband, his perturbation would have 
been less — but that was something he 
had yet to learn. 

Miller quickly brushed that asida, 
And evincing even more interest in 
the plan than Templeton had dared 
to hope, said : ** Now, my friend, this 
sort of thing is new to you, very evi- 
dently, for you have told me nothing 
whatever of your relation to the Rus- 
sells, nor how you became informed 
of their purposes." 

Templeton then made a clean breast 
of everything, and gave a clear and 
connected reyort of his acquaintance 
with the family on shipboard, his be- 
trothal with Maud, his gleanings from 
her of Mr. Russell's loss and search 
for little Harry, and last, but not 
least, his wily endeavor to bribe 
Hardy, before he had really laid out 
his plan of operations or knew how 
to utilize him. 

"And this Hardy is the same 
* Officer Hardy ' referred to in these 
■orders," said Miller. 

" Certainly," replied Templeton. 

Taking a sheet of paper from Tem- 
pleton's portfolio on the table, Miller 
rapidly wrote, crossed out, wrote 
^ain, read it carefully, and then said : 

"Templeton, I like you. Never 
mind why ; but I do. Some time 
I'll tell you. I think I see my way 
here. But there are three embarrass- 

"And you are the chief. 

" Detective Hardy is the i.ext. 

" And that sweetheart is the third. 

" You must all be got rid of, or 
the plan won't work at all. Now, 
my idea is this : 

" First, I'll take you out of this 
elegant crib, and give you less ample 
quarters in the Hotel de Miller. 
You'll have to keep as snug as a bug 
in a rug. If Hardy finds you in 
Chicago, up goes our job. I'd send 
you away, but there's no telling when 
you may be needed. It's worth a 
little trouble, any how. So if you 
agree to it, to my house you go, and 
in it you slay till I say * come out.' 

"Second, If Hardy can't be bought 
— and that's ticklish, if what you say 
is true — ho must be managed. Of 
course, Til have a big pull on him, 
as I'm assigned to the job, and if I 
don't corner him he must be tolera- 
bly wide" awake, and New York is 
too small a place for him ; he must 
ptay in Chicago. 

"Third, I hate to interfere with 
women. So I won't say anything 
about the girl till she gets here and 
I've got the cut of her jib. 

" Now, what do you say. I'll get 
in for $1,000 cash down, and will 
take your word for $10,000 more, 
payable six months after you're the 
accepted son of Horace Russell. Is 
it a go 1" 

" It is," said Templeton ; " and 
now, what Will you take V 





>ton ; " and 

I T ten o'clock of that evening, 
a carriage drove up to the 
door of Detective Miller's 
modest home ; one of the neatest and 
pettiest cottages, near the lake. C lie 
might easily imagine it to be the 
" ideal home " of a happy family, 
whose head and father devoted him- 
self and all his better energies to 
humanizing his race and elevating 
his kind. It stood in the centre of 
a well-kept enclosure, about fifty feet 
from the road, and attracted the at- 
tention of every passer — it was so 
clean, and cosy, and inviting. 

From the open doorway a flood of 
light shone upon the walk to the 
gates, and thence upon the street. 

Miller hastily jumped from the 
carriage, and, while Terapletoa fol- 
lowed, assictcd the driver in taking 
the luggage oflT the box and into the 

*' Why, father, how late you are," 
said a sweet voice at the head of the 
stairs ; " and we thought you were 
lost," said another, while a pair of 
round arms embraced the detective's 
burly figure, and a pair of pouting 
lips gave him a cordial welcome home. 

Mary and Martha Miller were twins, 
and had been partners in this vale of 
tears and smiles eighteen yeai-s. 
Their mother, a wise and careful 
Scotchwoman, died when the children 
wore ten years of age, leaving them 
to the curious care of " One-eyed 
Charley" — abroad, a rough; an in- 
dulgent father at home. 

Chicago's schools are Chicago's 
pride, and of the many pupils gradu ■ 
ated in the past ten years, none have 
better records, none stood higher than 
the pretty daughters of this ugly 
featured man ; and no father in all 

the great astsemblage was more nearly 
choked with joy and pride than " One- 
eyed-Charley," when his girls received 
their blue-ribboned diplomas, and 
joined the class chorus in honor of 
their Alma Mater. 

He was a strange compound, this 
Charley Miller. 

On the very threshold of a great 
crime, with an accomplice at his side, 
his mind full of a nefarious scheme, 
and his thoughts burdened by his 
plan, he smiluij^ly greeted his daugh- 
ters, affectionately kissed them, was 
really delighted to be at home, and 
looked forward to a few hours' rest 
and domciitic relief with satisfaction 
and delight. 

His life had been hard and bad. 

His companions were often the 
vilest of the vile. 

He prided himself on knowing ail 
the rascals in Uie West ,; and if report 
was to be credited, he was not unfairly 
classed with them. 

But his wife loved him when living, 
and blest him as she died. 

And his girls — they fairly idolized 
him, and manifested their regard in 
everyway known to loving woman and 
ingenuous children. 

Miller entered the parlor, followed 
by Lieut. Templeton. 

Mary and Martha stood near their 

" Girls," said he, " this is an old 
friend of mine. His name is Harry 
Eussell. He will stay with us for 
some time, and none must know of 
his beiiig here. Ann, the cook, can 
be relied on, as she has been for 
twenty ye?irs ; and when I tell you 
that it's for my sake and in my inter- 
est that this gentleman shall be made 
to feel at home, and that his being 



hero is not to be talked about, that 
endii it. Mr. RuMell, those are my 
daughterit. This is \fary, nnd thii is 
Martha, the best girU iu the world ; 
not 80 pretty, perhaps, as their old 
dad, but quite as good." 

Temploton bowed pleasantly, and, 
as ho did 80, wondered how it was 
possible to toll which was Mary and 
which was Martha. There was not a 
discoverable difference in the color of 
tbeir hair, the calm beauty of their 
eyes, the shape of their features, or 
the style of their figures. 

" We will see that yo\ir room is 
in order, Mr. Euasell," said Mary as 
•he loft the parlor. 

" Would Mr. Russell have any- 
thing to eat, father 1" said Martha. 

" Nothing for me, I assure you," 
replied. Templeton ; " we dined late, 
and I am so very tired that I shall 
welcome most of all a hospitable bed." 

Presently Mary returned, saying 
that Mr. Uussell's room was in readi- 
ness, and bidding the young ladioa 
"gooil night," Templeton an«l Miiler 
carried their trunks upstairs. 

The room assigned the new gueit 
was not large, but very comfortable 
and well furnished. From the front 
windows, he had a perfect view of 
the broad calm lake, on which a 
raagniJicont harvest moon was glor- 
iously-shining, and from the side he 
could look upon one of America's 
greatest marvels, a vast and populous 
city, striving with zeal for supremacy 
in all that is enturprizing and bene- 
ficent, and cursed with extremost 
temptations to vice, and the widest 
opportunity for every species of de- 
bauchery and sin. 

Templeton had nn eye for. the beau- 
tiful, and gazed long at the silvered 
lake, ere ho unpacked his " room 
trunk" and prepared for rest. 




I HE sun was high in the heavens 
when Maud and her mother 
greeted Mr. Kussell the day 
after the scene at the table, and iC 
was evident to all that an embarrass- 
ment lay upon their intercourse. For 
the first time since her mother's mar^ 
riage, Maud did not look Mr. Rus- 
sell in the eye when she greeted him. 
She was not ill-tempered, but she felt 
hurt, and could not understand the 
extremity of her father's antipathy to 

After a rather uncongenial hour at 
breakfast, Mr. Russell walked to the 
window where Maud was standing, 
and putting his arm about her, drew 
her towards him, and said, " Daugh- 
ter, I cannot bear to have the least 
shade of trouble between us. Let us 
be perfectly frank and truthful with 
each other, as we ever have been, and 
see if, in any way, we can come to- 
gether on this subject, which seemi 
to be very near your heart, and which 
has given me more anxiety th^n all 



urnod, flaying 
a was in reudi- 
I young Udioa 
X)ii anil Miller 

the new gueit 
py comfortable 
b'roin the front 
orfect view of 
, on which a 
icon was glor- 
tn the side he 
of America's 
t and populous 

for supremacy 
:ing and bene- 
'ith extromost 
and the widest 

species of de- 

^e for. the boau- 
\i the silvered 
3d his " room 
iT rest. 

geniiil hour at 
walked to the 
was standing, 
jout her, drew 
aid, " Daugh- 
iave the least 
in us. Let us 
truthful with 
lavo been, and 
can come to- 
which seems 
art, and which 
uety than all 

my business cares for years. Your 
mother tolls mo you love this man." 

" Oh, father, darling, I do, I do !" 
intorruptud Maud, and burnting into 
tears, Hhe threw her arms about her 
father's neck and sobbed upon his 

This was more th^n Mr Russell 
had bargained for, but remembering 
Hardy's advice at the time of the 
fire, iie " braced up " and bore it 
like a man. 

After a little the paroxysm passed, 
and Mr. Russell continued : 

" I am quite willing to concede," 
said he, a.s, like nil fathers, he pre- 
pared to yield a jwint ho could no 
longer hold, " that Lieut. Temj)loton 
is a hnelooking, well-behavoil pers(m. 
I find his record in the navy is excep- 
tionally giiod, and although I can 
learn nothing of hia family ante- 
cedents, lio is a man f)f some pro- 
perty, aid generally liked by his 
associates. Uut I don't fancy him. 
Wiiy, I cannot tell ; but I never see 
that man without a shudder. I'll 
say nothing about his letter to yoii. 
You are old enough to know your 
own heart ; and what reason he had 
for believing that such a proposition 
as ho made would be acceptable, you 
know better than I. I have talked 
the matter over with your mother, 
who is your guardian, and the only 
one in authority over you — for, al- 
though I love you as if you were my 
own flesh and blood, I remember 
always that I can only advise you — 
and we have concluded that you may, 
if you choose, invito Mr. Templct«m 
to call here this evening. We will 
receive him pleasantly, and if he 
then makes any formal proposition 
for your hand, I will answer him 
precisely as if you were my own 
child, asking such questions as a 
father with propriety may ask, and 
putting iiiiu on such probation as is 
both decorous and just. Ar then. 

if all is wtdl, my darling shall havA 
her heart's desire, and all my preju- 
dice shall be whistled to the wind. 
How does my plan please you Y" 

Maud's geiterouH nature a[)preciated 
the sacrifice her faih'ir was making 
on the altar of her love, and thanked 
and kissed him a^;ain and again. 

The three were as happy as moituls 
could b(\ 

At Mr. RusaeH'H suggestion, Maud 
wrote a note to Templeton at once, 
and sent it by a messenger to tho 
Fifth Avenue Hotel. 

Stupidly, the boy simply left it at 
the counter, and the clt-rk on duty 
not knowing that Templeton had 
gone, placed it in his box. 

Of coarse, Templeton did not re- 
ceive it. And ecpially, of course, as 
hour after hour passed on, and her 
lover tnilod to answer her summons, 
whicli she hoped woidd bo to him 
both a surprise and delight, Maud's 
feeble physique drooped, and when 
tlie lateness of tho hour shoWed the 
folly of further expectation that even- 
ing, sho threw her head upon her 
mother's lap and cried most bitterly. 

Neither Mr. Russell nor his wife 
could apology, excuse, or rea- 
son for Temploton's absence. They 
shared Maud's disappointment to a 
certain extent, and the constant strain 
upon her nerves made them anxioua 
for her health, which of late had 
become less firm than when at home. 

During tho evening Hardy called, 
but as between them nothing had 
ever passed in reference to Temple- 
ton, the perfect explanation he could 
80 easily have given was not made, 
and a cloud rested on the entire group 
because of the absence (;f a man, 
whoso presence to-day, fnir hours 
before, would have created a perfect 
storm of indignation. 

As Hardy started to leave, he said : 
** How soon do you think you will 
be able to go West, Mr. Russell I" 



"That depends on Miss Maud en- 
tirely," replied Horace. " We can't 
afford to have a sick daughter on our 
hands ; can we, darling 1 " 

Maud looked up mournfully enough, 
and said : " Go when you wish, father. 
I'm ready to-night, if you say so." 

** Nonsense, nonsense ! " broke in 
Mr. Russell. " What you'll do to- 
iiight is, sleep. A good night's sleep 
will bring you out as bright as a 
button, and to-morrow we'll take a 
drive in the Park, liy Monday next 
I think we'll be all right. Hardy. 
Some friends of mine arrived by the 
steamer to-day. We dine together 
to-morrow. Next day I'll g(;t my 
letter of introduction, and yju be 
prepared with your share by Sunday 

at ihb latest. We'll take the earliest 
train on Monday morning. Good- 
night, my boy, good-night ! " 

Hardy bade them all "good-niglt." 
and walked away full of wonder. 

On his way up town he stopped at 
the Fifth Avenue Hotel, inquired of 
the clerk if Lieutenant Templeton 
was still there, and learned that he 
had gone West that morning. 

"Gone West!" thought Hardy. 
" What under heavens does that 
mean t It isn't possible that he 
would be so foolish as to try to cut 
in again. But no; that's too ab- 
surd!" and, dismissing the matter 
from his miud, he lounged easily up 
the avenue. . 

"If ii 

I ^i'- 


JOHN hardy's story — A SUDDEN STOP. 

^pLEASANTLY seated in a Pull- 
jJS^ man car, the Russells and De- 
'^-^ tective Hardy sped swiftly on 
their way to the wonder of the West, 
the pride of Illinois. It was a beau- 
tiful morning, and the perfect venti- 
lation of the car kept the party 
comfortable, in spite of the excessive 
heat of the day. 

Mrs. Russell was a good traveller. 

She was burdened with no surplus 
luggage. A strap held her wraps and 
those of her daughter ; a small valise 
contained the needed changes of ap- 
parel on the road, and by her side 
were books and papers for entertain- 
ment or relief. 

" What time are we due at Chicago, 
Hardy," said Mr. Russell. 

" By schedule time," replied Hardy, 
" at 5.30 ; but I understand we have 
lost time, and may not be in till an 
hour later. I can't say that I care 
much, for the scenery is beautiful, and 
now that we are accustomed to the 
motion of the cars, it's almost as pleas- 
ant here , as anywhere. I've been 
thinking for the last hour or so about 
that boy of yours. What a life he 
may have led ! Perhaps he has had 
everything * dead ' against him, and 
possibly he has been helped from the 
very start. I know how it is myself, 
and I tell yoU it makes a great diffei- 



JOHN hardy's story — A SUDDEN STOP. 


ence to a fellow whether he paddles 
his own canoe or is towed along by a 



If it's a fair qi^^tion, Mr. Hardy, 
which was your^t?" asked Mrs. 

The detective colored up a littij, 
and glanced across the seat at Maud, 
who was half listening to the conver- 
sation, and half gazing at the clouds 
which kindly shielded them from the 
fieree rays of the boiling sun. 

As Hardy looked at her she smiled 
and said : " Oh, yes, Mr. Hardy ; do 
tell us all about your life. It must 
be a perfect marvel of romance and 
aJventure. I should dearly like to 
hear it." 

"In many respects," said Hardy, 
" I have had an easy life ; in some a 
very hard one. My business is pecu- 
liar, and leads one into queer scenes 
and among odd people now and then. 
But, as a rule, I see the same kinds of 
human nature in men and women you 
do, and find lif 3 in any one sphere is 
not so very different in motive from 
life ill any other. I have a little 
property, but I had a very humble 
origin. I hardly like to tell you that 
my ft\ther was a scavenger, but he 
was ; and he was as good and true a 
man as ever I knew ; kind and in- 
dulgent, though very reticent and not 
at all informed about matters which 
interest ordinary men. I was the 
only child, and of course had my 
own way. I really can't remember 
much about my childhood, and what 
I do recall is so strangely mixed up 
with fancies and fables that it is not 
at all satisfactory. I think the first 
event I remember, now, is having a 
blue suit with bright button?;, one 
exhibition day at school, and speak- 
ing a piece bef jre quite an audience. 
Queer, isn't itl One would imagine 
that he'd remember some toy, or 
playfellow, or a thrashing, or some 
out-of-the-way thing ; but I can see 

father and mt)ther sitting in the Hall, 
as distinctly as if they wore here thi$ 
blessed minute. 

" Mother was a quaint old body. 

" Her Johnny was the ap])le of 
her eye and the core of her heart. 

" And how she did sing ! 

" I can see and hear her sing 
now. She was a great Methodi-st, 
and she had all the camp-meeting 
tunes and songs at the end of her 
tongue all the time, 

" I never knew father to speak a 
cross word to her or to me, and I 
never saw a fro"'n on mother's face 
up to the day of her death. 

" I don't give much evidence of it, 
I know, but I was always ambitious 
and successful at school, and espe- 
cially when I saw that it tickled 
father so. Every time I received a 
medal he went wild. Every time 
my teacher gave me a book, or my 
report was particularly good, he acted 
as if a new heaven was opened to 

either of 'era. 

I don't look a particle like 
I have a very fair 
picture of mother in my room, but 
we never could persuade father to sit 
for one. He seemed supL'rslitious 
about it. When he died I was a 
messenger in the chiefs private office. 
I was only seventeen, ami had been 
there going on two years, when one 
of the neighbors' children came run- 
ning over to headquarters — wo lived 
right round the corner — and said : 
' johnny Hardy, run home as quick 
as you can, your father's got a fit.' I 
rushed into the police surgeon's room, 
got Dr. Appleton, and hurried home. 

" I was just in time. 

" The good old man had fallen in 
a fit at the corner of Prince and Mul- 
berry Streets, an 1 was taken home 
by people who knew him. As I 
entered the room he opened his eves 
and smiled. I was very fond of him 
and ho of me. Sai.l he; ' Juhtmy 
boy, look out for your mother. Do a 



good boy ; be a good boy, Johnny ' 
and falling back, died almost ini 

•* The doctor said it was apoplexy 
— and perhaps it was. 

" He left, mother comfortably pro; 
vided for, and then T had my pay 
every week, so we got along nicely, 
but not for long. 

" You see they had lived together 
for twenty-two years, and had grown 
in and about each other's nature so 
that when one was torn away — and 
so suddenly, too — the other had to 

" She wanted to follow. 

" I faw it pained mother to think 
of leaving me, but all through her 
illness she thought and spoke of hard- 
ly anything else but her meeting and 
rejoining father. 

** Well, she died too. 

" In a little while I was transferred 
to one of the bureaus as clerk ; and, 
aa soon as I was okl enough, I was 
made an officer. 

" I didn't like it. 

" There's too much ' red tape ' and 
' boss ' business about it. And a roan 
has no chance for promotion unless 
he has friends, and friends are of no 
use unless thoy are politicians. I 
saw enough of it. Politicians keep 
men from being * broken ' every day 
in the year. They put them on the 
force, and keep them there, too. How 
ever, I was lucky enough to do some 
detective work in which my mother- 
wit helped me very much more than 
my experience did, and I w^as detailed 
to detective work altogether. I can't 
say I like it, but I find it pleasanter 
than being in the club brigade. But 
I've seen some queer sights iu my 

*' Did you ever have anything to do 
with a real murderer 1" said Maud. 

" Oh, yes, indeed," laughingly re- 
plied Hardy ; " murderers are not 
always such dreadful people to deal 

with. Not very many years ago, I 
was one of live men put on a murder 
scent, and it occupied us three months 
constantly. The victim was a very 
old lady, rich and much respected. 
She was killed in her own bedroom 
one summer night ; and the room 
exhibited signs of a violent struggle. 
After a sensational funeral we were 
sent for and given our instructions. 
Each man had his theory. Burglars, 
or interested parties, must have done 
the deed. Nothing had been stolen, 
so I dropped the burglar idea. I be- 
lieved the woman was killed accident- 
ally by some one who, for some occult 
purpose, was in her room j and then, 
surprised, for fear of detection, did a 
deed he was very loath to do." 

" Well, well, go on," said Maud. 

" I wish I could," continued Hardy, 
" but I was never permitted to. Or, 
perhaps, I shouldn't say that ; but it is 
a fact that every line of search seemed 
to lead directly to one of the dead 
woman's nearest friends. I followed 
clue after clue, and invariably came to 
the same point. Then I was bluffed, 
or foiled, or ordered off on some other 
job, or pooh-poohed, until I found I 
was treading on toes which wouldn't 
stand it, and I must get off." 

" But has the murderer never been 
discovered 1" asked Mr. Russell. 

" No, sir. There is a kind of open 
secret about it. And it comes up in 
the papers every little while," said 
Hardy ; " but money, and politics, 
and social influence manage to keep 
it down, 
man out 
you out. 
the first 

I believe I could point the 
as easily as I could point 

But if I should do it, in 
place, I would forfeit the 
confidence of my superiors ; in the 
next, I would doubtless lose my posi- 
tion, and last, but by no means least, 
very likely I should fail to prove my 
suspicions. Circumstantial evidence 
which satisfies me might not have 
weight with the public or a jury." 

JOHN hardy's story— a sudden stop. 


her room ; and then, 

,^ "That's so," said Mr. Russell; 
" but do th3 other friends of the dead 
woman regard this one of wlmm you 
speak with suspicion 1" 

"Certainly they do," said Hardy, 
"and that's the very point. They 
have from the first ; and although 
for social pride's sake they keep up an 
external toleration of the man, I sus- 
pect in private they despise him, and 
really have nothing whatever to do 
with him. Possibly they have struck 
a kind of domestic balance ; and, 
remembering all the other hearts that 
would suffer, have deliberately chosen 
silence and condonation rather than 
the shame and disgrace resulting from 
a public trial. Or, again, there may 
be nothing in it. 

" One of the queerest cases I ever 
met," continued Hardy, " was that of 
a lady living in Troy. She was rich, 
or rather her husband was, and owned 
some superb diamonds. They were 
lost — she said they were stolen. Sus- 
picion fell on her maid, and the poor 
girl was arrested. I became quite 
interested in the cage, because I feJt 
that the accused party was innocent. 
I knew the thief would take the 
diamonds at once to a pawnbroker in 
Now York, so I simply caused it to 
be known among the professional 
thieves that, for certain reasons, the 
detective bureau wished those dia- 
monds found. In less than a week I 
received information that they were 
in a pawnshop up town ; and, on 
inquiry, it turned out that the lady 
who owned them was the party who 
pawned them. She was short ot 
money and adopted that mode of rais- 
ing it, knowing that her husband 
would be very angry if she were to 
sell them. I was perfectly delighted 
when I found it out, and compelled 
her to compensate her servant for the 
infamy she had put upon her." 

" That was just right," said Maud. 

" What did her husband say," ask- 
ed Mrs. Russell. 

"Oh, I don't know," replied 
Hardy ; " I said nothing to him. If 
she told him, all right; and if not, 
what was it to me 1" 

" Were your parents American, Mr. 
Hardy ?" asked Mns. Russell. 

" My father was," replied he, " but 
I have an impression that mother 
was English. She had relatives in 
England, at all events. I have a 
trunk of her things at my lodgings, 
which I mean to rummage some time. 
It is full of books, and newspapers, 
and letters, which, I daresay, would 
throw some light upon her early life. 
At all events, I think I'll devote my 
first leisure evening to an inspection, 

Hardy never finished that sentence. 

Ere the words could come the air 
was dark and filled with smoke. 
Dust and cinders, and fire and noise, 
and hissing steam drove life and 
breath away. Crashing timbers and 
splitting wood flew in every direc- 
tion. Over and over and over again 
the car rolled, and groaned, and 
broke into confusion. 

The people were like dust in the 
balance. High and loud, and shrill 
over the shrieks of the murdered men 
and women, sounded the fierce rush- 
ing of the escaping steam, and, for a 
moment — long as eternal night — hell 
seemed to have its home on earth 
and every fiend was busy. 

The engine had struck a pile of 
rails heaped high upon the track, 
and had bounded from its iron path 
full tilt upon the adjoining ties. 
Two cars rolled over an embankment 
and four were drawn with terrific 
jolts across the rugged edges of the 
parallel track. 

The uninjured passengers hurried 
to the relief of their less fortunate 
companions. The engineer was dead, 
the fireman joined him later. 



Several passengers were very seri- 
ously injured. 

Mr. and Mrs. Russell were badly 
strained, Maud was well shaken but 
not hurt j but Hardy, when extricated 
from the wreck, though carefully car- 
ried to a bank near by, gave no sign 
of life and was pronounced dead by 
the conductor and the rest. 

Fortunately the accident, or rather 
outrage, was within a fe\^ miles of 
one ol i,he " line towns," and mes- 
sengers were at once dispatchou for 

Mrs. Russell and Maud, with other 
ladies, were seated in one of the 
ordinary cars, while Mr. Russell, 
who had become very much attached 
to Hardy, stayed by his body. 

It was well that be did so, for, 
after a long time, he noticed a tremor 
of the lips and a partial opening of 
the eyes. 

" Thank God," said Russell, as he 

applied a flask of brandy to the lips 

of his friend, and calling for aid, did 

what was possible to bi'inghim back 

to consciousness. 

A series of fainting fits showed the 
weakness of the poor fellow, and sug- 
gested also the probability of some 
internal injury. 

A wrecking train came up in about 

three hours with surgeons and help 
of all description. 

The dead were coffined, the wound- 
ed cared for, and, when the .(Ithrig 
was cleared away, the train proceeded 
slowly on to the station, drawn by 
the engine of the relief. 

Of the wounded, Hanly was the 
only one whose case the surgeons 
pronounced dangerous. Ttiey decid- 
ed that he must not, be carried further 
on. He was the^ rifore left at a house 
where boarder? were taken, and a 
nurse, hired by the company, was 
placed with him. 

Mr. Russell was completely dis- 
heartened by what the doctors said, 
but was omewhat comforted by his 
wife, \\A0 reminded him that they 
were only two hours' car ride from 
Chicago, and that, after they had 
secured their apartments there, it 
would be easy to run out and see 
Hardy, and, if he wore providentially 
spared, to remove him, wuen conval- 
escent,' to the city. 

The company's officials assured Mr. 
Russell that Hardy should have the 
best of cure, and having himself made 
the nurse promise to advise him im- 
mediately if his presence was necel^• 
sary or anything whatever was needofl, 
he took his wife and Maud, and sor- 
rowfully finished the journey. 



rgeons and help 



'HEN Officer Miller brushed 
his hair down, and paid close 
attention to his beard, he was 
not absolutely ugly. Indeed, if he 
had retained the use of both eyes, he 
would be tolerably presentable. Or- 
dinarily, however, his short reddish, 
hair would not staydov , and a day's 
neglect of the razor imparted a tinge 
to the rude man's cheek which by no 
means enhanced his beauty. 

Two days after Templeton, or, as he 
was there called, Mr. Harry Russell, 
was made one of the Miller house- 
hold, the young ladies were pleas- 
antly surprised when their grim father 
appeared at the breakfast - table, 
dressed in his best, clean shaven, 
irreproachable as to linen, and with 
his hair as slick and smooth as brush 
and comb could make it. 

Evidently something out of the 
common routine was on the carpet, 
and Miller's manner made it more 

Breakfast was served, and pothing 
of moment was said or done until 
Miller, who was reading the morning 
paper and drinking coffee at the same 
time, choked, coughed, jumped up 
and spluttered, and then recovering 
himself, said : *' Here, Mary, read 
this out loud, and the rest of you 

Somewhat surprised, Mary took 
the paper, and read as follows : 

"A fiendish outrage, resulting in 
the killing of several railroad men, 
the probable death of othera, and tiie 
wounding of twenty or thirty passen- 
gers, was perpetrated on the Michigan 
Central Railway yesterday aftt moon, 
about ten miles beyond Johnson sta- 

tion. The New York express, due 
here at 5.30 p.m., was somewhat be- 
hind time, and theengineer was doing 
his best to recover what he safely 
could, when he made the sharp turn 
just below Wilson's Grove. At that 
point the road is visible but some 
thirty feet at a glance, and, failing to 
observe any obstruction, theengineer 
drove at full speed upon what is 
represented as a pile of railing. The 
concussion was trementlous, resulting 
in the demolishment of the engine, 
and the instant killing of the en- 
ginee . The train was thrown from 
the track ; two of the cars rolled 
over the embankment, and the rest 
were jolted at a fearful rate across the 
rails of the adjoining track. Th6 
fireman was drawn from the wreck 
still living, but he died soon after in 
great agony. The wounded were at- 
tended to as well as was possible by 
the uninjured passengers, until the 
arrival of the wrecking train, when 
all but one were brought speedily to 
this city, where they were taken at 
once to the hospital or their homes. 

" The passenger who was so badly 
halt as to be unable to endure the 
fatigue of the trip is Mr. Hardy, a 
member of the New York police force. 
He was accompanying an English 
fumily, who were on their "'ay to 
tA's city on matters requiring'his pro- 
fe lonal aid. It seems that Mr. Hardy 
and the gentleman of the party were 
sitting vis-a-vis to two If.dies, wife 
and daughter of the Inglishman, 
whose name was not obtained. The 
collision was abrupt and sudden of 
course, but Hardy, with praiseworthy 
prssence of mind, caught the younger 



lady, who sat facing him, in his arms 
in such a way as to protect her from 
contact with the ironwork of the 
seat, by which, as the car turned over 
and over, he was terribly bruised, 
while his companions, beyond the 
shock, experienced no injury of any 
kind. The surgeons tind that Mr. 
Hardy's left arm is fractured in two 
places, three of his ribs are broken, 
his face is badly cut, and his whole 
body so battered that it is a won- 
der he lives. He seems to have 
a strong constitution, and if his 
mind can rest while his body recu- 
perates, he may possibly recover." 

Miller and Templetou looked at 
each other. 

The girls were interested in the ro- 
mance of Maud's escape. 

The men were excited to extrava- 
gance of hope by the reality of Hardy's 

" What an infernal outrage that 
is," said Miller. 

'• Yes," chimed in Templeton ; 
" the fellows who would do such a 
deed as that would murder their own 
mothers. Now, what earthly motive 
could they have for throwing a train 
full of stiangers off the track, and 
perilling the lives of hundreds of 
people ]" 

" Perhaps their object was not 
earthly," said tiartha, 

Mary smiled, but the men did not 
seem to notice her sister's suggestion. 

Presently Miller rose, kissed his 
daughters, and turning to Templeton, 
said : " If this report is true, it won't 
be necessary for you to keep so quiet ; 
but wait till I find out. I shall be 
back, perhaps, at one, but certainly 
in time for supper. Good-bye." 

Leaving home, Charley Miller went 
first to headquarters and reported. 
There he learned that the facts were 
substantially as set forth in the paper, 
and that inquiry had already been 
received from New York about Hardy 

and his condition. The chief thought 
Miller ought to go to the hotel at 
once, and see if he could be of any 
service to Mr. Russell ; so he went. 

Mr. Ilussell received the detective, 
and in the presence of his wife and 
Maud rehearsed the story of their 
accident, words failing only when ho 
sought to picture the noble conduct 
of Hardy, who had undoubtedly been 
much more seriously injured in his 
efforts to shield Maud than if he had 
cared only for himself. The ladies 
were also enthusiastic over Hardy, 
and begged Miller to advise them if 
Hardy would really be as well cared 
for where he was loft, as if he were 
brought to the city. 

Miller replied that ii Hardy was 
kept quiet for a week or two where 
he then was, he might be able to 
endure the jolting of the cars each 
day a short distance, and then be 
made more comfortable during his con- 
valescence. He did not conceal from 
himself, however, the very probable 
fact that Hardy would not only never 
see Chicago, but never leave his bed, 
for the reports received at head- 
quar'.ers said he had passed a very 
bad aight, was in a raging fever, and 
could not be kept quiet. 

Mr. Russell was not i)reposses8ed 
by One-eyed Charley ; but M iller 
was so quiet, so plausible, so kind in 
his reference to Hardy, and so blunt 
in the expression of his opinion, that 
before the business on which he 
called was broached Miller felt that 
he had the confidence of the family. 

And besides, he was the detective 
detailed from headquarters, and pre- 
sumably as reputable a man as was 
on the force. 

" I suppose," said he, " you don't 
feel like talking business to me to-day, 
do ydii. I called partly to see if I 
could do anytliing for you or Hardy, 
and partly because I am directed to 
report to you lor orders. If it isn't 

and if 
I'll call 
his min 
by his 
hoy, bu 
at once 
could d( 
a feeliii 



agreeable to-day, I'll call to-inoiTow ; 
and if you don't feel up to it then, 
I'll call next day, and so on." 

Mr. Eussell hardly knew what to 
say. Whatever thought occupied 
his mind was sure to be driven out 
by his anxiety about Hardy. He 
wanted to begin his search for hia 
boy, but even that desire brought hifn 
at once to the consideration of what he 
could do without Hardy. Insensibly 
a feeling of personal regard had 
grown up between them. Hardy was 
always respectful, willing, good-natur- 
ed and sensible. He had tact and 
knew when to leave. 

Few men have that faculty. 

He was bright and jolly, and full 
of fun, but he was also serious, busi- 
ness-like, and full of resource. 

Eussell liked him because he was 
a thorough man of the world, with a 
clean tongue and an honest heart. 

And the ladies liked him because 
he was useful without intrusion, and 
attentive without gallantry. 

Still, much as Mr. Itussell thought 
of John Hardy, it was clear that he 
could be of no benefit to him now, 
beyond securing to him the best of/ 
care and most experienced nursing. 

That, as we have seen, was at- 
tended to, and Mr. liussell concluded 
that ho might as well unfold his 
plans to the Chicago detective in 

Mrs. .liussell and Maud retired, 
and Mr. liussell proceeded to busi- 

" I had hoped," said he, ** to have 
the benefit of Hardy's already ac- 
quired information so that you and 
he might get to work at once, leav- 
ing me rather in the po.sition of one 
to whom reports are made ; but this 
accident deprives us both of valuable 
aid, and I find I must take a hand 
in it myself. In brief, my case is this. 
Twenty years ago I lost a boy in New 
York. He was five years old. Next 

day I went homo to England. My 
wife stayed over two HteanuMs, but 
nothing was heard of the little follow. 
She followed me. AVo nearly died 
with grief at the time, and the poor 
girl did succumb at last. Well, 
twenty years are gone. Harry, if liv- 
ing, i.s twenty-five years old. 1 want 
to tinil him. Money is no object, 
time only do I grudge — not that I am 
unwilling to spend time, and strength, 
and all to find the boy, but I long to 
havii him." 

" Have you no clun at all? ( \>uldn't 
the police help you in any way then 
or now ? " asked Miller. 

" Not much," replied liussell; "not 
much. "We did find at the Toujbs a 
record of a man named Dolancv, who 
just at that tune was picked up drunk, 
and taken to the Tombs. He had a 
boy with him, and wa.s sent out her(\ 
Hardy seemed to think A might be 
well to hunt Delaney up, and trace 
the boy. It could tlo no harm, at all 
events, and might be ])roiluctive of 
good. But, as Mrs. Eussell says, * if 
Delaney was a hard drinker, and had 
gotten so low as the Tombs twenty 
years ago, wo are not likely to find 
him alive at this late day.' What do 
you think ? " 

"Oh, I don't know about that," 
said Miller; "some hard drinkers 
live longer than temperance folks. 
That's nothing to the point. But this 
boy, what was his name T 

" Harry," said Mr. llus.sell. 

" Well, Harry," continued .Miller, 
" this boy Harry, did he have any- 
thing peculiar about him? I don't 
mean curly hair — they all have that 
— nor anything fancy, but marks or 
scars, or anything that would IloUI. 
Look at my cheek. Sue that scar ? 
That's nothing but a moscjuito bite. 
1 had that l)ite fifty years ago when 
1 was a baby. I scratched the bito, 
and made the scar. I don't suppose 




the little chap had a mosquito bite, 
but did he have onything at alH" 

" Upon n)y word, I never thought 
to spenk of it, nor has the question 
ever been asked," replied Mr. Russell ; 
" but when Harry was in my place in 
Milwaukee " 

"In where 1 In Milwaukee ! Did 
you ever live in Milwaukee?" cried 

"Of course I did," paid Mr. Russell. 
" I had a shop there, and turned out 
the best cold chisels you ever saw in 
your life. I lived in the city over 
eight years, and in the vicinity two 
years more. Why T 

*• Why, my dear sir," exclaimed the 
detective, who really saw a point in 
honest search, and certainly saw a 
bigger point in his lit.le game in 
Tenipleton's interest, " don't you see 
that everything bearing '<n the boy's 
early life is of interest 1 And if you 
lived in Milwaukee five years with 
this boy, and he was a boy of any 
parts at all, he must remember some- 
thing of his father's home and sur- 
roundings. If we were to find a 
young man who answered the descrip- 
tion, and forced us to think he reallv 
was your son, unless he could give 
you some evidence drawn from the 
experience of his life in Milwaukee, 
I should very much doubt him. And 
on the other hand, even in the ab- 
sence of other conclusive proof, if the 
youth did remember, to your satisfac- 
tion, any marked occurrence of the 
life at home before you lost him, I 
should yield a much readier assent. 
I beg your pardon for the interrup- 
tion, but take my word for it, that 
^lilwaukee life will prove a pivot in 
thi? entire search." 

What a fortunate thing it is that 
men and women are unable to read 
each other's thoughts. There are 
clever people, now and then, who can 
make out a little of the inner life of 
their fiiei.ds and conipanions, but as 

a rule the Unknown ground is im- 

It was especially fortunate for De- 
tective Miller, at this moment ; for his 
lively imagination had already packed 
itself with facts, drawn from future 
talks with Mr. Russell, and in turn, 
Templeton'b ready wit was stored with 
much that would puzzle, embarrass, 
and delight the heavy-hearted father, 
and perhaps convince him that he 
WHS the lost boy of his search. 

Determining then and there to draw 
from Mr. Russell all he could con- 
cerning his Milwaukee home, Miller 
setthd back in his chair again, and 
Mr. Russell proceeded as follows : 

*' Well, as I was saying, I had a 
little factory, hardly that, and yet it 
was more than a shoj), where I turned 
out a high grade of tools, and was 
getting along quite nicely, when I 
was called home to see my father die. 
About a year before that, Harry, 
then four years old and quite tall of 
his age, was playing about the place 
one day when 1 was out. The hands 
were busy and didn't notice him as 
he went up stairs, where the finished 
tools were packed for shipment. 
Presently they heard a sharp ciy of 
pain, and rushing up to see what was 
the matter, found that Harry had pull- 
ed a sharp chisel from one of the 
benches and had dropped it on hia 
foot. One of the men quickly took 
oflF his shoe and stocking, and ascer- 
tained that the little toe of the right 
foot was cut through and hung by a 
mere shred. The stupid fellow cut 
the little film of flesh by which the 
toe hung, and hurried with HaTy 
to my house, which was only a block 
away. My wife bound the foot up, 
but neither of" them thought of the 
toe itself till the doctor came an hour 
later, and then it could not bo found. 
W'e feared the mutilation would 
lame him, but he soon recovered, 
and really, I don't believe I have 



thought of it or of the occurrence in 
twenty years." 

'' And yet that vory mutilation, as 
you call it, i; iy preserve you from 
being deceived by ocheniers and 
fooled by rascals," rejoined Miller. 

And to himself he added, "Off 
goes Templeton'8 too as sure as fate!" 

Mr. Russell then narrated their ex- 
perience in New York, and concluded 
by asking Miller if he was willing to 
begin to hunt up Delaney at once, 
and to take charge of the whole in- 
vestigation independently of Hardy, 

whoso recovery was a matter of 
months at leajt. 

Miller said he was not only wil- 
ling, but would bo very glad to do so. 
Before making any suggestions, how- 
ever, ho would go homo and think it 

Meanwhile, he proposed that with 
Mr. ]{u8sell ho should take the two 
o'clock train, run out to see Hardy, 
and return bv the train due at 
Chicago at 9.30. To this Mr. Rus- 
sell assented, and Miller went to the 
otfice to report. 




N canvassing possibilities, Miller 
!]J[[ found himself confronted by the 
^^^ fact that the old man Delaney 
might be found, and that the boy he 
was reported to have with him might 
bo the lost son of Mr. Russell. To be 
euro, if, through the efforts of the 
Chicago police, these people were 
found, and the object of Mr. Russell 
thereby attained. Miller would be 
certc 'n of a large reward ; but he be- 
lieved a greater profit could be de- 
rived from Templeton if his plan 
were to succeed. Already |)l,000 
had been paid to Miller, and $10,000 
additional were pledged, but to the 
shrewd detective's mind, Templeton, 
as Harry Russell, would prove a per- 
petual mine to one who held his 
secret, and could at any time expose 
his fraud. 

Miller determined at once to put 
all his machinery in motion to dis- 
cover Delaney ; and, first of all, went 

to the Mercantile Library, wh«fe 
were kept the directories of the city 
for more than twenty years back. 

There were quite a number of De- 
laneys, but no " James " among them 
until the year 1865, and he was a 
clergyman. The fact that no James' 
Delaney appeared in the list was not 
conclusive proof that there was no 
person of that name in the city ; but 
it was presumptive evidence. In the 
Directory of 1870 there was "James 
Delaney, builder ;" but after that 
year, although there were several of 
that name, none of them were build- 

Miller was about giving up the 
search, when his eye lit on "Robert 
Delaney, clergyman." He wondered 
for a moment why that name should 
be familiar to him, and then suddenly 
recalled that at a little Baptist church 
not far from his own home, his 
daughters frequently worshipped > 



and that onco or twice Iho inini-ster, 
who8<) name wiM Dolanoy, had culled 
at luA houst). 

He further roineinberHd that the 
only serious discussion that ^[ary and 
Alartha had ever lield beibre hiiu was 
about this very man, who had anked 
Martha to take a class in his parish 
Sunday-school, and to visit among 
the poor as a kind of reader to the 
sick and infirm. Mary thou^ltt it 
was presumptuous in Mr. Delaney to 
propose such a thing to a stranger ; 
but Martha insisted that th> pastor 
of a church was charged with the 
Lord's work, and hatl a pt rfect right 
to assume that every person who 
attended service in his church would 
be ready and willing to do what lie 
could to aid the suffering and cheer 
the sick. 

The end of it all was, that Martha 
did not teach in the school, but very 
frequently called upon the poor people 
of the district, and in a quiet, woman- 
ly way, won the hearts of many sick 
persons by her gentle endeavors to 
relieve their troubles, and break the 
monotony of weaiy days and sleepless 

Miller had heard liis daughters 
talking about these visits occasiryual- 
ly, but it had never occurred to him 
to say anything about them. He 
gave Mary all the money she asked 
for, trusting to her to keep the house 
books of expense, and knowing that 
between her and her sister there was 
no jealousy and no rivalry, except 
in their endeavor to make nome at- 
tractive and pleasing to their father. 

The Eev. Robert Delaney was 
about twenty-six or seven years of 
age, tall and stout. He walked a 
trifle lame, but he bore himself with 
the air of a soldier. Indeed, he had 
served two or three years in the army, 
entering as a private, and leaving as 
a brevet-colonel. He began his ser- 
vice long after the fuss-aud-feather 

days of the earlier yeai-s had passed, 
when for a while it was easier to be 
made a brigadier-general than to earn 
an honest live dollars per diem ; but 
when tighting had become a business, 
politicians hud Ittss and less power 
every month, and at the close of the 
war, brevet-colonels really ranked 
higher in the estimation of men who 
knew anything, than their superiors 
whose stars were conferred to please 
the whim of a i)iditician. 

When Kobert Delaney began his 
work in Chicago, he had a small hall 
and a slim audience ; but he was full 
of zeal, and talked to his hearers as if 
he were in earnest for their good. He 
was simple in hh tastes, and modest 
in his manner, but magnetic and 
impulsive in speech. In prayer and 
exhortation ho was peculiarly impas- 
sioned, and his efforts in behalf of 
young men were so sensible and 
practical that his reputation soon 
extended, and, had he chosen, he 
might have been called up higher 
many a time. But ho preferred to 
stay where he was and work. His 
friends appreciated his love of the 
place, and determined to build him 
a larger church. This they did, and 
on the Sunday following the search 
made in the directories by Miller, 
rtie building was to be dedicated, and 
the church formally installed in its 
new home. 

Wondering whether he had act- 
ually had tlie very man he wanted 
under his own roof. Miller made a 
memorandum of Delaney *s residence, 
and returned to the hotel for Mr. 
Russrfl, with whom he intended to go 
to see how Hardy was progressing. 

Miller found Mr. Russell in a state 
of great excitemeilt over a dispatch 
just received from Hardy's nurse. 
The message reported Hardy in fever- 
ish condition, and said that the 
doctor would allow no one to see him 
or entey his room. 



Of course, thero Wiia no nocd or uho 
in their K^ing to the ])laco whcru tho 
wounded man n as, if they could nei- 
ther Bee him nor do him ony good. 
So the trip waa given up, groatly to 
Maud's regret, who had «((cretly de- 
termined to make one of the party. 

" Well, Miller," said Mr. Kussell, 
after it was decided to defer tho visit 
to Hardy, *' have you thought of any 

" Yes, sir," replied the detective ; 
** I shall first try to find James l)e- 
lanoy. You told me, I think, that 
the matron said the little hoy was 
five or six years old. How old exactly 
was Harry ? " 

" Let me see," said Mr. Kussell. 
" Harry was more than five. I think 
he was nearly six, or he may have 
been over six and nearly seven. I 
have no way of fixing his age precise- 
ly, except by reference to some of my 
wife's letters, and I haven't seen them 
in five years. Anyhow, he was a little 
fellow, and I should say five, or six, 
or seven years old — there really is 
very little difference, you know." 

" No," rejoined Miller, •' 1 don't 
suppose there is. I was only think- 
ing that if living, he must be getting 

on toward thirty your.H old ; and that, 
for a driving western \\n\\\, is tho 
prime of life. Out here, if a man is 
ever to amount to anything he knows 
it by the time he turns thirty. 1 
may not sue you for a few days. I 
have an idea. J may go to Milwau- 
kee, and I may go olsewltore. Mean- 
while keep your eyes and eai-s oj)on, 
and your mouth shut. If you are 
allowed to see Hardy I hope you'll 
go. T'lero isn't much fun in heing 
sick away from homo, and ten to one 
ho frets about the job besides." 

Maud thanked Chariey Miller with 
her tearful eyes for tho kind word he 
spoke about Hardy. She longed to 
speak to him about Lieut. Templeton, 
and to ask if any such name had 
been mentioned in the arrivals, but 
bhe knew better, and diil nothing of 
the kind. 

Mr. Russell acquiesced in Miller's 
proposition, assuming that he knew 
what was best to do ; and after urg- 
ing him to spare neither expense nor 
care, bade him " good day," and the 
party separated. 

Tho Kussells drove out with a 
gentleman to whom Horace had let- 
ters, and Miller went directly home. 





N puriiiinnce of u suj^j^estion made 
by their father, Mary and Mur- 
tha Miller invited the liev. Mr. 
Dehiiiey to dine with them the day 
of the dedication of tie now church, 
and for his conve'<i»^iice eix o'clock 
was the hour named. 

At the morning service the eacred 
edifice was densely thronged, and 
several distinguished clergymen of 
the city participated in the ceremo- 
nies, the dedicatioii sermon being 
delivered by the pastor. 

Detective Miller astonished his 
daughters by volunteering to accom- 
pany them to church, and as in their 
recollection he had never done such 
a thing before, it may well be 
imagined their astonishment was 
thoroughly leavened with delight. 

None of the pews had been rented 
as yet, and on this occasion all seats 
wore free. The Millers were well 
known in the society, and, as they 
were early at the door, were taken 
to excellent places quite near the 

The services were rather prosy Jin- 
til the delivery of the sermon. 

Up to that time Mr. Delaney had 
taken no part in the proceedings, 
and as he sat quite out of sight, 
Miller began to think he was wasting 

Presently, however, the pastor ap- 
proached the desk, and Miller was 
his most careful observer. 

The detective element was in full 

Miller studied Delaney's head, 
hair, eyes, mouth and carriage, as a 
turfman does a horse. 

He examined his points, mental 
and physical, aud confessed himself 

Is he the son of Horace Russell, 
or is he not 1 

There was nothing in Robert 
Delaney's look or bearing that for- 
bade the supposition, and there was 
much that might be considered con- 
firmatory evidence, if the theory 
were already advanced and partially 

The young preacher was not a 

He felt himself the bearer of a 
message from the Ruler of the world, 
and as he delivered it earnestly and 
eloquently, self never obtruded, and 
Delaney never interfered with the 

Little by little Miller became in- 
terested in the subject. 

He forgot the man in tha matter. 

And when the minister wound up 
one particularly impassioned appeal 
to fathers as exemplars before their 
children, the old rascal actually found 
a tear on his cheek, and an uncom- 
fortable sensation in his throat. 

Robert Delaney was a sensational- 
ist, but not a vulgar one. 

All earnest men and women are 

It is necessary that they should be. 
In this world of hypocrisy and sham, 
honest endeavor and earnest work 
win their way and attract attention 
by their novelty ; and whatever is 
novel is sensational. 

The young man succeeded because 
success was not his aim. 

He was popular because he cared 
nothing for popularity. 

He was a good thinker, a magnetic 
preacher, and thoroughly imbued 
with the sacredness of his calling, 
and the universal need of moral and 
spiritual education. With no other 




care upon his mind, he ha<l deliber- 
ately choHun his fluid, and now thirt 
abundant harvest was rewarding his 
industry and zeal. 

Ho was loved by honobt men, and 
toadied to by fools ; ho was appreci- 
ated by earnest women, nnd llattered 
by silly ones. 

The hoiiedt and t)io earnest ho 
loved and appreciated os they deserv- 
ed ; the fools and silly women he un- 
derstood, antl tolerated only because 
he hoped in time to do them g')od. 

Like all popular men he had his 
besetting temptations. 

Had he been weak-headed, and 
vain, and selfish, flattery, and incense, 
and social preferment were at his 

But ho chose the wiser course, and 
in giving up all worldly plans, in the 
interest of his Master's cause, he 
gained the more desirable rewards of 
respect, esteem and honor of his fel- 
low-citizens and his flock. 

He was apparently twenty-six or 
twenty-seven years of age, with no 
parents, and no homo save the mod- 
est lodgings he called his " rooms." 
Attached to the new church, however, 
was a smt>l! parsonage, and into that 
he prr posed to move at an early day. 
His deaions had often told him ho 
ought to marry, but his heart very 
properly suggested that he should 
wait until he had met a woman 
whom he loved. 

Delaney had a high regard for his 
deacons, but there are some matters 
about which even deacons know very 

He was in no sense a lady's man. 
He thought of women mainly as 
co-workers in the field he tilled so 

As teachers, readers, visitors, dis- 
tributors of helpful literature, and 
nurses, women were to him a right 
hand and a left, but no more. 

Indeed, until accident led him to 

the house of Martha Miller, he had 
never met any woman whom liu cured 
to meet or know outside of profes- 
sional occupati(Ui. 
lie liked Martha. 

Tiiere was no nonsense abnut her. 
She was genuinely good, and al- 
though she had declined to take a 
class in his iSunday school, Mr. De- 
laney was more than gratiliyd at her 
common-sense way of calling on and 
helping sick people, and especially 
her hap|)y faculty of brightening up 
a home of gloom and disappointment. 
Ho met her frecpiently on her charit- 
able rounds, and had on one or two 
occasions partaken of her hospitality 
at her father's house, where he had 
become well actjuainted with her sister 
Mary, and had wondered where under 
heaven such a (pieer-looking felhnv as 
One-oyeil Charley had procured two 
such charming children. 

IJetween Martha Miller and her 
young j)astor no word of love had 
ever passed. 

And not only that, no word of 
sentiment or anything akin to sug- 
gestive remark had ever passed their 

Nevertheless — and it is queer how 
naturally that "nevertheless" follows 
— close observers were quite convinc- 
ed that there was an understanding 
between them, and in spite of the 
seeming contradiction, it is more than 
likely that there was a sort of un- 
written law, like a social code. 

The invitation to dinner had been 
gladly accepted by Mr. Delaney, and 
when his quick eye saw not only tlie 
Miller ladies but their queer old 
father in one of the front pew.s, ]io 
could not refrain from taking a mo- 
ment of his official hour for a pergonal 
wonder as to what the strange cir- 
cumstance could portend. 

Miller was delighted with the ser- 
mon, and more than pleased with the 



Ami as he bent his head when the 
final prayer was said, he almost rc- 
solvetl to give up Tsinpleton, and, 
"if convinced that the Delanoy of 
Chicago was th^ little Harry of 
Milwaukee, to aid Mr. Russell in 
finding a real rather than a bogus 

At the close of the services there 
was the usual hand-shaking of the 
members and the " buzzing " of the 
pastor, somewhat increased on this 
occasion by the peculiar circumstances 
attending the dedication, and then, 
accompanied by Miller and his daugh- 
ters, Mr. Delaney lei't the church. 

It so chanced that Mary walked at 
her father's side while Mr. Delaney 
escorted Martha, a circumstance that 
afforded Miller food for thought, and 
added some little weight to the idea 
which had forced itself upon him 
during the closing prayer. 

Nothing of special note o(;curred 
at the dinner table, except that the 
girls wondered why their fatlier had 
directed Templeton's dinner to be 
served in his room, until Miller said : 
" Mr. Delaney, you are a native of 
Chicago, are you not ? " 

The clergyman hesitated a moment 
and then replied, " T really don't 
know, Mr. Miller, whether T was born 
here or not. I have some reason for 
believing myself a native, and some 
for thinking I was bora in iNew York. 
My early life is largely shut out 
from my memory by reasoTi of a severe 
illness I had when quite a boy, the 
somewhat singular consequence of an 
accident which, though trifling in 
itself, gave my nervous system a shock 
and laid me up for months. From 
that, however, I (entirely recovered, 
and with the exception of rather an 
ungainly walk, I suppose I am as 
hearty anil rugged a man as we have. 
My father, I am ([uite pure, was 
English ; the name is English, and 
he had many habits which none but 

an Englishman could have. He was 
a buildei', and did a great deal of 
good work here. Poor man ! he was 
very kind to me ; and, having no 
mother, T was his entire family, ab- 
sorbing all his care and love. His 
death was sudden and terrible. Pos- 
sibly you recall it. Ho fell from a 
scaffolding on the Episcopal church 
near the post office, lingered uncon- 
scious but a few hours, and died with- 
out a word or sign of recognition. 
From that time I liad a hard row to 
hoe, but " 

"lint von hoed it," interrupted 

" Yes," continued . Mr. Delaney ; 
" yes, I did hoe it, and save the aid 
which I got from the All-Helper, I 
was literally my own guide, philoso- 
pher and friend. The war gave me 
an inspiration fur good. The physical 
suffering I witnessed in the hospitals 
and on the field led me by a natural 
process to regard the moral degrada- 
tion and distortion of the race, and I 
determined if my life was spared to 
devote myself to the regeneration of 
my fellows. I am free to say I enjoy 
my work and take genuine pleasure 
in its prosecution. I saw so much 
destitution and ilepravity result from 
what I believe to be the greatest curse 
of our day and generation, that I 
resolved to make 'ieniperance a dis- 
tinct and promiiKMit feature of my 
public teachings. Of course I en- 
countered great opposition, but that's 

" One glimpsi! of a rescued man's 
face is ample C()m[)en8ation, and one 
letter of gratitude from a reformed 
drunkard's wife or daughter is cheer 
enough to pay for the abuse of a 
thousand rumsellers. Hut you asked 
if I was a native of Chicago, and 
not for an autobiography. As I said, 
I don't know. Father lived in Cin- 
cinnati awhile and also in Kalamazoo, 
and I think in Milwaukee, but he 




;e a 

of my 
I en- 
Lit that's 

seemed more at home here than any- 
where. How long have you lived 
here, Mr. Miller 1" 

" Oh, I'm an old settler," said Mil- 
ler ; " both my girls were born here. 
I'm a western man myself and haven't 
been east of Illinois in forty years. 
And I haven't been inside of a church 
in twenty years that I know of ; not 
that I mean to brag of that before 
you, sir, but it's mei-oly a fact, that's 
pi] The girls attend to that branch 
of the business, and do it pretty well, 
too, I judge." 

" Yes, indeed they do," said the 
clergyman, and turning to Martha, 
who sat at the head of the table, he 
entered into a discussion about the 
church music, in which she was spe- 
cially interested. 

But Miller didn't care about the 
music. He had his thoughts concen- 
trated on Mr. Delanoy's foot. 

" Has he or has he not lost a little 
toe," thought he. And he thotight it 
till it seemed as if he should go wild. 

After dinner the ladies led the way 
to the drawing-room, their father 
walking slowly in the rear, with his 
one eye bent on Mr. Delaney's feet. 

The man certainly limped a little. 

But whether the lameness was in 
foot or leg, Miller could not deter- 

He wanted to ask his guest, but he 
did not dare. 

He thought of a hundred different 
ways of getting at it, but hesitated to 
put any one of them to the proof. 

Finally, in despair, he excused him- 
self, went to his room, took a razor 
from its case, put two handkerchiefs 
in his pocket, and then knocked at 
Tompleton's door. 

Entering, he found the ex-lieutenant 
at full length on his bed, reading an 
official gazette. 

Templeton bounded to his feet, ajid 
said : " For Heaven's sake. Miller, let 
me get out of this for an hour or two 

to-night. I really cannot stand such 
confinement. If Hardy is mashed, 
why need I be cooped in my room ? 
I need exercise, and must go out to- 
night for a walk, even if it be but for 
an hour. Come, now, what do you 
say ]" 

Miller eyed him curiously, and 
half-laughed to himself as he said : 
** Templeton, how many toes have 
you ]" 

Templeton looked at Miller in un- 
feigned amazement, but seeing no 
reason to doubt his sanity, and never 
having encountered in his host even 
the glimmer of a joke, answered as 
soberly as he could : "Ten, I believe. 
At all events I had ten this morning.' 

" I'm very sorry," said Miller ; 
" that's one too many." 

" Well, well," rejoined Templeton, 
" out with it, what's the joke." 

" There isn't much joke about it," 
said Milh^r ; ** I mean just what I 
said, and further, if you expect to 
prove that you are old Russell s boy, 
you've got to prove that you have 
only nine toes." 

" And one mast come off?" askod 

"And one must come oft',"answered 

" Good Heavens, I can never do 
that," said Templeton, as he pictured 
himself in pain, on crutches, lame, 
and perhaps distignred for life. 

" But I can," struck in Miller ; " it 
won't hurt. 1 can take off your little 
toe in a jiffy, and can dftiss it and 
tend it, and have you all right in two 
weeks, just as good as new. Seriously, 
I can. And equally as seriously, if 
you don't lose yjur toe you lose your 
fortune, and v.'o can't afford that, 
can we'?" 

Templeton said nothing. 

He was a handsome fellow with 
a swinging easy walk, a firm step 
and an elastic bearing, born of perfect 
health and his life upon the sea. He 

IS' , 





was not vain, but — well he knew 
how he looked, as every one does, 
and was not dissatisfied with himself 

He knew that the loss of a toe 
would certainly lame him some, and 
possibly cripple him more than he 
could endure. He knew, too, the 
danger of lockjaw, and he shrank 
from the mutilation also. 

" Well," m\d Miller, '• it takes 
you a long time t ) think of an answer. 
What do you say 1 shall it be fortune 
and no toe, or all toe and no fortune 1 " 

"Couldn't we get a surgeon?" re- 
plied Templeton, " I am afraid to risk 
your homemade skill." 

" Of courjse we can get a surgeon," 
said Miller; ''and if, when the world 
knows that Horace Russell, the mil- 
lionaire Englishman, has found bis 
long lost son and heir by means of a 
lost toe, this blessed surgeon wants 
to spoil the job, or halve the pro- 
ceeds, what's to prevent 1 Oh ! by 
all means let's call in a surgeon. Well, 
now I guess not. I tell you I can 
take that toe off just as easy as rolling 
off a log. It will smart some ; but a 
little healingsalveaud careful dressing 
will cure it up right off, and in ten 
days or a fortnight you'll be up and 
about, as lively as a cricket." 

* But you haven't told me lohy," 
said Templeton, who huted the idea 
of losing even a little toe. 

" Oh, I thought I had," said Miller ; 
" the ' why' is very simple. Rus- 
sell's boy's toe was chopped off with 
a chisel. Of course he never got 
another. If he lost his toe then he 
hasn't it now. And if you are to be 
the son, your toe is doomed." 

" All right," said Templeton, " get 
nie some whiskey to steady myself 
with and cut away. Ail I ask is that 
you are careful, and do unto others 
as you'd be done by." 

" Why, what's a toe more or less 
anyhow," muttered Miller. 

" Well, it doesn't amount to very 
much on another man's foot," an- 
swered the lieutenant, " but on one's 
own it's a very desirable feature. 
Now, you go and get the whiskey." 

Miller obtaiaed the whiskey and 
the salvo, and in less than five 
minutes the toe was off, the salve 
was on, and the wound was done up 
in rags and a compress. 

Templeton hire the mutilation 
bravely. Indeed, he acted better 
than Miller, who was keyed up only 
bv the necessities of the case, and was 
forced to steady his own nerves by 
thoughts of the game he was playing 
and of the stake he hoped to win. 

Templeton laid down to rest, and 
Miller, promising to send one of his 
daughters to read to his guest, and 
also to return as soob as Mr. Delaney 
should leave, went down stairs. 

But he had not reached the last 
step when, in perfect bewilderment, 
he exclaimed : " How in thunder do 
I know which was the foot 1" 

And then he re-entered the parlor 
where the young women were enter- 
taining Mr. Delaney or he was enter- 
taining them, and it made but little 
difference to him which was the case. 
If ho had known that Harry Russell 
had lost the little toe of the right 
foot, while Ml. Templeton had been 
despoiled of the toe of the left foot, 
Miller would probably have cursed 
his luck. 

But he did not know it, and, on 
the whole, ho was rather [deased with 
his success. 

While Miller and Templeton were 
going through thfeir amateur surgery 
up stairs, Mr. Delaney and the daugh- 
ter of the operator were enjoying 
themselves below. 

The preacher had a fine voice and 
sang well. 

And Martha had a sweet voice and 
sang very charmingly. 



it to very 
oot," an- 
it on one's 
Q feature, 

iskey and 
than five 
the salve 

IS (lone up 

ted Letter 
ed up only 
se, artd was 

nerves by 
^as playing 

to win. 
;o rest, and 

one of his 

guest, and 
Ar. Delaney 

ed the last 

thunder do 


the parlor 
were enter- 
was enter- 
e but little 
ras the case, 
irry Russell 
f the right 
had been 
e left foot, 
ave cursed 

it, and, on 
pleased with 

jleton were 

iur surgery 

the daugh- 

le enjoying 

voice and 

kt voice and 

Mary played and the others sang Delaney was singing : 

duets. •« Oh, a rare old plant is the ivy green.'' 

t. n^";- I^«l^"«y ^f f«".d of Russell's A^d^ tQ g^yg i^ig lifg^ ti^^ detective 

ballads and quite enjoyed singing could not help saying : 
" The Ivy Green," " The Erl King," f j »* 

aad other songs of that style,, and " ^^' " '"'^'•e "^^ plant is Templeto.i's toe." 

the girls were delighted to hear them. But he said it to himself, and laughed 

As Miller entered the room, Mr. at his own conceit. 




j^NE bright morning Maud Rus- 
sell said to her mother, as 
they were returning from a 
little shopping excursion : " Do you 
know, mamma, I feel quite ashamed 
that neither you nor I have seen Mr. 
Hardy since he was brought to town. 
It will be five weeks to-morrow silice 
he was hurt, and two weeks the day 
after since the doctor said papa 
might have him brought to the hos- 

" Well, dear, what do you want to 
do V replied Mrs. Russell. 

" I don't know tht.t / want to do 
anything that we all ought not to 
do," rejoined Maud ; " but you must 
retaember the poor fellow wouldn't 
have been so badly injured if he 
hadn't tried to save me, and I think 
we should do all we can to make his 
misfortune bearable. If you wait 
for me I'll buy some flowers and 
some fruit, and we can call at tlie 
hospital to leave our names with the 
flowers, if we cannot see him." 

" Why, my dear girl," eaid her 
mother, "your father and I have 
seen John Hardy e^ery day since he 


was brought up here. I have said 
nothing to you about my going, for 
the hospital, though clean, is a hos- 
pital, and you might have encoun- 
tered some unpleasant scene. Hardy 
is doing quite nicely. I doubt if he 
is ever perfectly well, and it will be 
several weeks before he can hope to 
walk. I have no objections to 
taking you with me this afternoon, 
but we must be sure to be back in 
time to jaeet papa on his return 
from Milwaukee." 

" Oh, thank you, mamma," said 
Maud ; " you always let me have my 
own way without coaxing, and are 
such a dear good friend. I'll keep 
right on and get the things, and you 
order a carriage at the office." 

Mrs. Russell went slowly to her 
rooms, wondering as she walked 
whether Templeton's singular absence 
and more strange silence were having 
their normal effect on her daughter's 
mind and heart. 

For a few days after the scene at 
the Everett House Maud was greatly 



She was never hysterical, but 
rather moody. 

If Mrs. Eussell alluded to Temple- 
ton, Maud roused herself and joined 
the conversation, wondering where 
he had gone and what had become 
of him. But both Mr. and Mrs. 
Kussell noticed with pleasure that 
Maud's prido was wounded and her 
self-respect hurt so seriously that her 
mourning for Templeton bade fair in 
time to be relegated to the back 

After their arrival at Chicago his 
name had not been mentioned but 
twice, and on each occasion Maud 
simply asked her father if he had 
seen any record of Templeton 's arrival 
at any of the hotels. 

Between semi-weekly trips to the 
ricene of the disaster, and daily con- 
ferences with Detective Miller, Mr. 
Eussell's time had been pretty well 
occupied, although he had not been 
unmindful of the social attentions 
extended him and his family by 
people to whom he bore letters of 

Mrs. Russell was very quiet in her 
tastes and domestic in her habits. 
So much so, in fact, that, were it not 
for Maud, it is doubtful if she would 
ever leave her hotel during her hus- 
band's absence. 

She knew, however, the necessity 
of keeping her daughter's mind busy, 
and never refused to go with her 
either to entertainment or for exer- 

Maud had made a good impression 
on the friends who had been civil to 
the RussoUs in Chicago, but no im- 
pression other than that of passing 
pleasure had touched her in head or 

Not that she mourned Templeton 
as a woman of deeper nature might, 
but she was worried mentally, and 
uncomfortable generally about her 
recreant lover. If she could have 

known that he was false, pride would 
have rescued her from grief, but she 
knew nothing. From the pinnacle 
of affectionate devotion her ardent 
admirer had plunged into hiding. 

Of coursa, then, she was annoyed 
and embarrassed as any other woman 
would be under similar circum- 

Mrs. Russell watched Maud's health 
anxiously, and was delighted to ob- 
serve her cheerfulness and content- 

Nothing now seemed to interfere 
with sleep or appetite. Her color 
was good and her spirits generally 
fine. She was amiability itself, and 
the brightness of her little circle. 

While the two ladies were busied 
in their social rounds, their shopping 
and driving, Mr. Russell, with char- 
actcristic conscientiousness, devoted 
himself to business. 

He had two branches to attend to 
— John Hardy and the search for his 

As already told, Hardy had so far 
recovered that he was taken by stages 
to Chicago, where Mr. Russell daily 
and Mrs. Russell often called to see 

The other branch was attended to 
with even greater assiduity and regu- 
larity. Mr. Russell had taken a 
liking to One-eyed Mille^, in spite of 
the first impressions, and after a series 
of adventures in Chicago, had gone 
with him to Milwaukee. 

There Mr. RusseU was bewildered. 

His old friends and neighbors had 
died or gone off. 

The town had become a glorious 

Nothing was as he left it. 

Even the place where once stood his 
modest shop and factory, had been 
merged into a public park or square, 
so that it was with difficulty he found 

Together they remained in Mil- 




B would 
but she 



's health 
d to ob- 

er color 
iself, and 
re busied 
ith char- 

attend to 
ch for his 

lad 80 far 

by stages 

sell daily 

ed to see 

tended to 
and regu- 

taken a 
n spite of 
er a series 

lad gone 

ibors had 


stood his 
had been 
or square, 
r he found 

1 in 


waukee several days, during which 
Miller pretended to gain information 
about Delaney and the little boy he 
had with him, and one mj/ning, with- 
flushed face and flashing eye, lie en- 
tered Mr. Russell's room, crying: 
" Good news, Mr. Russell, good news, 
sir ; I'm on the track at last — thank 
God, I've struck a trail." 

"Is it here?" said Mr. Russell, 
almost wild with excitement. 

" No, but it was," answered Miller, 
" and it led to New York. Sit down 
and I'll tell you all about it — unless 
you want to get back to the women 
folks to-night. If yor do, let's be 

" Why, of course I do," rejoined 
Mr. Ru .sell, and together they started 
for the depot, stopping on the way to 
telegraph Mr.s. Russell of their com- 

"Jliller," said Mr. Russell, sud- 
denly stopping in the street, " wait 
till we get to the hotel. Don't tell 
me a word till we are all together." 

"All right," returned the detective. 

At the time Mrs. Russell told 
Maud she expected her husband's 
return, there were several hours 
before the arrival of the Milwaukee 
train, and entering the carriage, 
mother and daughter were driven to 
the hospital. 

Mrs. Russell was so well known to 
the attendants that no passes were 
required, and they went at once to 
Hardy's room. 

Receiving permission to enter from 
the nurse, Mrs. Russell, followed 
closely by Maud, softly opened the 
door and stood at the side of the 
wounded man. 

He was sleeping. 

Maud approached witli her flowers 
an(. basket of fruit, and looked at the 
pale face of the brave fellow who had 
perilled his life for her safety, and 
was deeply impressed by the change. 

Hardy had grown thin and his lips 
were pinched. His curly black hair 
was pushed carelessly back from a 
smooth, clear forehc'ad, and his 
partially parted l^'ps disclosed two 
rows of teeth which a belle might 
well have envied. 

Maud was deeply touched. 

She had seen Hardy in the flush of 
strength, and had known him as a 
driving, energetic person, to whom 
physical oppositions were as play- 
things; and now to find him weak and 
helpless, asleep in broad daylight, on 
a hospital cot, was indeed a shock. 

Hardy opened his eyes. 

Before him stood, with undisguised 
pity and sympathy on her face, the 
woman of his inner adoration, to 
whom he would no more think of 
speaking tenderly than of flying, btjt 
for whom he gladly risked life, and 
health, and hope. 

Love cannot be analyzed. 

It defies rides, and ignores bounds. 

Whatever is most absurd, that Lovo 

That which is never- prophesied, is 
Love's certain doing. 

Grant but the " circumstances," 
and many " cases " would soon be 

Time and opportunity denied, are 
the obstacles to many a love match, 
and the spoilers of many a happy 

It may be that these young people 
did not then and there canvass the 
exact status of their feeling for each 

Most probably they did not. 

But however that may be, when 
Maud handed Hardy the bouquet she 
had tastefully arranged with her own 
fair hands, and smilingly said : " Dear 
Mr. Kavdy, I am so sorry for you, and 
I dn hope you will be well very soon," 
it seemed to the poor fellow as if he 
had inhaled several gallons of oxygen , 
and he had suddenly been transported 



froo;^ the cot of his ward to a bed of 
roses — from the hospital to heaven, 

" Now that I've found the way, L 
mean to come and see you every day," 
said Maud ; " and I'll read you to 
sleep if you'll let me." 

If he'd let her ! 

The ladies remained nearly an hour 
at the bedside of John Hardy, giving 
him such gossipy information as 
mfght tend to divert his mind from 
himself, and then Mrs. Eussell rose, 
saying : " Mr. Russell is expected 
back at half-past six, and we must go 
now, so as to meet him." 

Hardy turned a little in his bed. 

"You knew, did you not," con- 
tinued Mrs. Russell, " that Mr. Miller 
is quite confident that old Delaney's 
companion, 'little Bob,' was Mr. 
Russell's son 1 

" Yes," replied Hardy, " so Mr. 
Russell tells me, but until I see and 
hear Miller myself, I don't take much 
stock in that idea. I wish I was 
able to be out, or at all events to be 
up. Then I could judge for myself. 

Please ask Mr. Russell to see me as 
early as he can to-morrow. I believe 
I'll mnke an attempt to get up then, 
and if I cauj it won't be long till I 
can get my hand on the wheel." 

Hardy thanked Maud again and 
again for the flowers and fruit, 
choice in themselves but radiant as 
evidences of her kind thoughtfulness 
of him, and gratefully pressing her 
hand, he sank back to rest, as mother 
and daughter bade him "good-bye." 

" Handsome, isn't he V said Maud, 
as they stepped into their carriage. 

"Yes. I always liked Hardy's 
looks," said her mother. " He is not 
only handsome but good, which is 

As they drove to the hotel, Maud 
thought of all she could do for the 
young man who had saved her life, 
and who, when she began to thank 
him, had bef;ged her not to say one 
word about it, if she wished to please 
him ; and in her programme, Lieut. 
Templeton had neither place nor 




'ITH a quick, decided step, 
Hwriice Kuasell entered hia 
parlor at the hotel, followed 
by Miller. 

*' Well, daughter. Here I am," 
said he, and hardly had he spoken 
when two pairs of arras welcomed 
him, and two loving mouths saluted 

" Here's Miller," said he, when the 
greetings were done ; *' and I tell him 
he must dine with us. "We'll have 
the table spread here, so that we can 
be by ourselves. He has a story to 
tell, and I wouldn't allow him to 
speak of it till we were all together, 
so that we could all enjoy it. Isn't 
that so. Miller 1 Come, mother, Mr. 
Miller wants to refresh himself a bit 
after his ride ; and as for me — well, 
look at me, I'm nothing but dust and 
dirt. How's Hardy !" 

The ladies bustled about as re- 
quested, and in due time the travel- 
lers were made presentable ; dinner 
was served, the waiter dismissed, and 
Miller proceeded to lie. 

If ever a man had a hard task be- 
fore him. Miller had on this occasion, 
for it was absolutely necessary for 
him to concoct a report which would 
drive all interest away from Eobert 
Delaney, who, he believed, toas the 
Si^n of Mr. Kussell ; and to lead, in 
some way, the mind of his employer 
to the conviction that the little boy 
brought to the West by Delaney, the 
builder, was the son, in order that 
eventually he might produce Temple- 
ton as the man grown from "little 

And yet'^ was an easy task. 

"There was an anxious, eager father, 
looking and hoping for the <iesire of 
his heart. 

And by hia side were two trusting 
women, interested for the Bake of him 
whom they both loved better than all 
the world besides. 

It could not be very difficult to 
deceive that trio. 

At all events Miller was quite ready 
to try. 

He would have given five dollars 
for a pipe, but as Mr. Russell did not 
even use a cigar, his chance for a 
smoke was hopeless. 

In a moment he rallied, and 
plunged at once into his story. 

" I think," said he, " we're on the 
right track. Indeed, I'd almost swear 
it. When y ju first came here I didn't 
see any very great show in the job, 
but I've about concluded that I was 
wrong. I wasn't given any very re- 
markable clde, as you know very well. 
All I had to go on was a boy with 
nine toes, brought out here twenty 
years ago by a drunken fellow called 
Delaney. There ain't any Delaney, as 
I can find, except a Baptist preacher 
out here, and I know all about him, 
and have ever since he was born ; and 
besides he's got ten toes, so that 
doesn't count. One day, when I was 
just about discouraged, I ran across 
an old fellow — he's a janitor at the jail 
— who remembered a builder named 
Delaney, and said he had an idea he 
went to Milwaukee at least fifteen or 
twenty years ago. Well, I wrote over 
to a friend on the force, and found 
that there was no such person there 
now, but that the records of twenty 
years ago showed the name quite 
often. Then I propoccd to Mr. Rus- 
sell that he and I should go there. 
We went, and while you were being 
shaved, sir, I called on Billy Oake, 
my old chuin, and together we hunted 



out the facta. It seems that the very 
Delaney you heard of in the Tombs 
was sent out here by the New York 
authorities, and, although when he 
worked he was able to take care of 
himself, he wasn't much bolter than 
a common 'drunk.' Our folks warned 
him away ; he went to Milwaukee. 
"While he was there he led the same 
kitfd of life, but he was always very 
kind to ' little boy h ) had with him. 
That be aj,ht hare been his child 
and it il ^;,p^ Nobody seemed to 
know. At ' ev( n s, he got so outrag- 
eous there tuio the s \ rvisors shipped 
him back to New Yclk, and the gen- 
eral belief is he died there. Nothing 
definite is known about the boy, 
except that he had lost a toe from 
one of his feet, and took splendid 
care of his daddy when he was 

•'' Poor boy," interrupted Maud. 

Mr. Russell sat with his eyes wide 
open, but his lips were shut tight. 

A tliousand boys might have been 
in the charge of drunken men, but 
it was not likely that this was any 
but his lost or stolen son ; the missing 
toe was confirmation strong indeed. 

Miller went on. 

Every word he uttered was false. 

But every point made was strong 
for Templeton. 

" Well," said he, "nothing definite 
could be got at about either boy or 
man, except that Delaney is believed 
to be dead, and the boy was heard of 
a year or so after they went to New 
York, selling newspapers. The way 
that came about was rather queer. 
That is, I suppose, it would seem so 
to any man in ordinary life ; nothing 
looks queer to me. The keeper of 
our city prison was in New York 
with one of the Milwaukee officers, 
and this little chap was seen near the 
head of Wall Street, with a torn cap 
on the back of his head, yelling out 
his papers like a good one. I have 

an idea that I can get more about 
that before the week is over. But, 
further, I learn that the boy vva« 
tracked to a coaster which went to 
Boston. ' He shipped as ' Bill ' and 
was very sick when the vessrd reached 
port. That's all I've got as yet, 
but "— 

" Well, I should think that was 
considerable," said Mr. Russell, " for, 
of course, there is a regular system 
about such matters. If he was sick, 
he was taken to the hospital, and the 
records will tell what was done with 
him afterwards." 

" Yes," said Miller, " and that can 
be ascertained just as well by letter 
as in person. I propose having our 
chief write to the hospital an official 
letter. That will fetch the answer 
quicker than a private letter." 

"When can you. see the chief t" 
asked Mr. Russell. 

*' Well, I could see him to-night," 
replied Miller ; " but I thought per- 
haps it would help a little if you 
were to go with me." 

"All right," said Mr. Russell; 
" we'll go together in the morning. 
I congratulate you. Miller. I con- 
gratulate myself. I declare I begin 
to feel as if we were certain of success. 
Be here by ten in the morning, Miller. 
Don't fail, will you 1" 

Miller gave the promise and retired, 
chuckling as he went — for he saw his 
way to Templeton's triumph as clearly 
as he saw the moon in the sky. 

All he needed now was a letter 
from the Boston officials narrating 
the facts in relation to Templeton, 
who, it will be remembered, was 
known at the workhbuse as " Bill," 
and only assumed the name of Wil- 
liam Templeton when adopted by his 
Massachusetts friend. 

It seemed perfectly plain sailing to 
Miller, who had not yet been brought 
in contact with John Hardy, and had 
strangely enough forgotten that Tern- 



y was 
ent to 
11 ' and 
IS yet, 

lat was 
I, " for, 
as sick, 
ind the 
no with 

,hat can 
»y letter 
ing our 
1 olficial 

chief r 

ight per- 
> if you 

Rudsell ; 


I con- 

I begin 


, Miller. 

d retired, 
saw his 
as clearly 

a letter 
red, was 
" Bill," 
of WU- 
ed by his 

sailing to 
and had 

,hat Tem- 


pletoa had once broached his nefari- 
ous scheme to the New York detec- 
tive, and had been bluffed. How- 
ever, a3 matters were, ho was satis- 
fied ; and, as he thought they would 
be, he was content. 

He speedily gained his house, and 
after a brief chat with his daughters, 
v^ent with Templeton to his room, 
where they sat together until long 

after midnight, arranging and plan- 
ning for future success. 

■ The Rudsells sat up late also, but 
all their plans were born of love, and 
all their projects pointed in the '' 
rection of hope and happiness i r 
the objoct of their search, in w'l m 
the heart and soul of the entire family 
now seemed wrapped. 




MONG the letters on Mr. Rus- 
sel's table the following day 
was one which attracted 
Maud's attention the moment she en- 
tered the room. She took it up. It 
was addressed to Horace Russell, Esq., 
bat it bore no resomblance to an 
ordinary business letter. 

She wondered what it might be. 

Mr. Russell soon joined her, and 
she begged him to open it first of all. 

He did so, and found it to be an 
invitation for himself and ladies from 
a leading lawyer of the city, to meet 
a few friends at his house on the fol- 
lowing evening. 

Horace shook his head, but Maud 
coaxed so strenuously in favor of an 
acceptance that he agreed to leave it 
entirely to his wife. If she said "yes," 
he would go ; otherwise, he would 

When Mrs. Russell came in her 
husband placed the invitation in her 
hand without a word. She read it 
and glanced quickly at Maud. 

That settled it. 

i:. i saw that Maud wanted to go, 
and at once she said : " Well, father, 
[ suppose Maud would be glad of a 
little change. I think we will go if 
you can spare the evening." 

Horace laughed good-naturedly. 
The decision was in no sense a sur- 
prise to him. 

Had Maud expressed a wish for a 
four-yolked egg, her parents would 
have secured every hen in the west- 
ern country rather than appear averse 
to gratifying her desire. 

The evening came, and the Rus- 
sells drove to the residence of their 

The house was one of the finest in 
the city, the abode of culture and 
wealth, the favorite rendezvous of a 
circle of refinement and worth, where 
the best people of the city met and 
discussed and often decided plans 
aftecting the moral and physical pro- 
jects of the state. 

On this, occasion rather a notable 
gathering was assembled, and much 
interest was felt in the expected ap- 



pearanco of tlie millionaire English- 
man with the singular mission. 

Whatever may have been the 
opinion of the people present con- 
cerning Mr. Kussell, when he entered 
the room with wife and daughter on 
either arm, there was no division of 
sentiment about Maud. 

She was perfectly dressed, and 
looked like a picture. 

She was under rather than above 
the average height, very prettily 
formed, in perfect health, and flushed 
with happiness and anticipation. 

Her beautiful hair was neither 
"banged" nor "frizzled," nor tor- 
tured in any way. She wove it 
parted in the middle of her head, 
brushed simply back to her comb of 
shdl, about which it was coiled in 
thick and massive plaits. 

Her dress was white silk, rich but 
plain, and her only ornaments a pair 
of exquisite solitaire pearl ear-rings 
and cross of pearls. 

Maud knew her beauty, but it did 
, not make her vain. 

It pleased her father and delighted 
her mother — f(jr what else had she 
to cave ] 

Mrs. Russell was the recipient of 
much attention, which she received 
modestly and bore in a very ladylike 
way ; while her husband, manly out- 
side and in, was very soon engaged 
in earnest conversation with several 
*• solid men," who, like himself, were 
interested in the great problem of 
the day, and perplexed as all men 
are who try to solve the conundrum 
of Labor and Capital. 

** I daresay you think," said the 
host of the evening, " that our sys- 
tem of quadrennial elections, involv- 
ing frequent change of administration, 
has something to do with what you 
call our * unsettlement,' Mr. Eussell." 

" Yes, I do most certainly," an- 
swered the Englishman ; " it stands 
to reason that officials who are kept 

in place only by favor of party, can- 
not give their entire time, thought 
and energy to their duty. And 
without that devotion to duty, lio 
official can be competent. With ua 
a good clerk in the postal or customs 
service is certain of his position for 
life. Here he hardly gets warm in 
his seat before he has to make room 
for another." 

" I grant -^ m there is something 
in that," rejomed the gentleman, 
" but I was referring more especially 
to the President." 

" Well," said Mr. Russell, " you 
would hardly expect an Englishman 
to agree with the accepted American 
theory that constant change is as 
beneficial as permanence and solidity. 
I know you argue that the President 
always exists, and only the individ- 
ual changes. But I do not think 
facts warrant the assertion — when 
your 'man' changes, your whole gov- 
ernment changes, from cabinet offi- 
cers to customs searchers. We, on 
the outside, as friendly critics, see 
better than you do, if you will permit 
me, a gradual tendency to centraliza- 
tion, which we believe will in the 
end be of inestimable benefit to this 
nation. And, unless I greatly mis- 
judge your people, these constantly 
recurring excitements are more and 
more distasteful year after year." 

" You refer to the election excite- 
ments 1 " 

" Yes. You elected President 
Lincoln twice, and it M'as often re- 
marked at home that his re-election 
was but the entering wedge. His 
third election was quite prob^le ; 
his death removed the test. But you 
re-elected President Grant, and " — 

"Oh, Mr. Russell," broke in a 
jolly-faced party who had held a 
prominent judicial seat since his early 
manhood, and was as full of fun as 
ho was of experience, "that' won't 
do. No thiid-tcrm talk here to-night; 



youHl drive our Chicaj^o friends wild 
if you start on that." 

"Oh, no, he won't," chimed in the 
host ; •* Mr. Riiaaell is evidently a 
Grant man. Let's hear the rest ot 
your sentence, Mr. Kussell. Yon 
were saying that we had le-elocted 

" Yes," said Mr. Kussell ; " \ was 
simply 8howin>( that although Presi- 
dent Lincoln's death precluded the 
solution of the problem in his case, 
you had at the very first opportunity 
re-elected a president, and now as the 
next general election draws near, I 
find a decided feeling in favor of con- 
tinuing the incumbent a third time, 
and why not a fourth and a fifth ? " 

"Which of course you think would 
be a good idea ! " 

"Certainly it would. Not that this 
or that man is necessarily the best to 
be found for the position, but being 
there he retains subordinates who are 
familiar with their duty, and who are 
sure to be removed if a new chief is 

" Well, as the judge eayp, this 
third- term discussion is apt to be a 
long one," said the gentleman of the 
house ; " but it is certainly full of in- 
terest, especially if not discussed for 
or against any special person," 

" Certainly," said Mi-. Russell; "I 
was arguing for the principle, not at 
all in the interest of any individual. 
We think, from what we see and read, 
that President Grant, however, has a 
tremendous leverage. His sixty thou- 
sand office-holders are a great power. 
He ought to be able to control the 
convention, and doubtless his name is 
still potent with thousands of voters 
in the country, where all memories of 
the * bloody chasm ' are not yet forgot- 
ten, and where the ' red flag' argument 
is still very powerful. And then the 
capitalists must dread change. It 
really seems to me, you know, that if 
the present president were to use his 

power he could do pretty much as ho 

Mrs. Ku.'^sell had l)een leaning upon 
the arm of hor host during this con- 
versation, and several ladies had joined 
the group, evidently interested in the 
turn the discussion had ttiken. As 
Mr. Russ«dl closerl his last sentence a 
young gentlenum entered the room, 
and approaching the lady of the house, 
saluted her and her husband. Afti r 
a moment's conversation he was turn- 
ing away, when tke lady said : 

" Mr. Delaney, let me present you 
to Mrs. Russell of England, and Mr. 
Ru.ssell also." 

Horace started, looked quickly at 
the handsome face and sturdy figure, 
and then grasped the young clergy- 
man's hand with a marked and notice- 
able interest. 

Opport".nity was not afforded at the 
moment, but, in the course of the 
evening, Mr. Russell asked his host 
" what he knew about Mr. Delaney 1" 

He replied that he was a very popu- 
lar and much respected preacher of 
their city, a native and life-long resi- 
dent of Chicago, and a man not only 
of great force, but of great goodness 
of character as well. 

Mr, Russell brushed away from his 
imagination the dim outlines of a pic- 
ture there forming, but he could not 
efface the impression the young man 
had made upon his mind. 

As he looked about the spacious- 
apartment he saw Maud and the young 
clergyman in conversation. 

Excusing himself, he approached 
them as Maud«aid : ** I should be very 
happy to go, I assure you, and if you 
can call at the hotel, both papa and 
mamma will be pleased to see you." 

" Yes indeed we will, Mr, Dela- 
ney," said Mr, Russell ; " we shall 
doubtless be hero, three or four 
weeks longer, and if you can spare the 
time, we'll be heartily glad to see you. 
Where is it you want Maud to go i" 




" I had boon tolling her of my now 
cTiurch, sir," replied Mr. Dclaney ; 
" and of what wo consider a dolight- 
ful feature — an admirable choir, with 
a superb or>,'an, and your daughter 
was kind enough to say she should 
bo pleased to go to the church." 

" Of course she would," said Mr. 
Russell ; " of course she would — and 
«o would Mrs, Itusscll and myself. 
"We'll go noxtSunday. Why can't you 
dine with us on Sunday ? Oh, I beg 
pardon ; perhaps Mrs. ]3eluney " 

Mr. l)')lanoy laughed. " You need 
have no fear of that good woman, 
Mr. Russell. As yet she exists only 
iu imagination, and is as manageable 
as she is ethereal. I was trying to 
recall whether I had an engagement 
tc dine aL Mr. Miller's on Sunday. 
I think I have." 

Mr. Delanoy was a clergyman, to 
be sure, but clergymen are men, and 
men are apt to remember their en- 
gagements with the darlings of their 

It was theyoung preacher's custom, 
now, to dine every Sunday at Mr. 

On that day One-eyed Charley was 
rarely at home, as the dinner hour 
was at one instead of six o'clock, as 
usual. Not that ho would have ob- 
jected to Mr. Del.iney's visits. On 
the contrary, he liked the man, and, 
possibly, if he had kept his eye about 
him, he would have seen, what every- 
body else saw, that the clergyman 
was desperately in love with the 
pretty Martha. 

And if he had seen that, would 
he have done his best to keep Delaney 
and Russell apart, or would he have 
kicked Templeton's dirty money into 
the slrfet, and bid the schcener and 
his nine toes depart 1 

It was finally arranged that Mr. 

Russell would tako hi» wife and 
daughter to Mr. Delaney's church 
the following Sunday, and they all 
looked forward to the time with 

The evening passed agreeably. 

Maud was a favorite at once. She 
danced gracefully and was very fond 
of it. Her hand was in constant 
r«?qui*iition, and she enjoyed an ex- 
coedingly happy time. 

Mrs. Russell was well cared for, 
and Horace was the lion of the occa- 
sion. Every one knew that ho was 
a man of mark among his fellows at 
homo, that ho represented very large 
commercial interests, and that he was 
at present engaged in a search as 
romantic as it was creditable. He 
was not a brilliant man, but he had 
hard common sense, and like all 
sensible men, ho made himself felt 
wherever he went. 

It was quite late when Mr. Russell's 
carriage was announced ; then bidding 
his friends " good night," the good 
man, with his wife and daughter, 
returned to their hotel. 

There they found Miller. 

"Without a moment's delay, Miller 
took Mr. Russell by the arm, and 
leading toward the window, said : 
" Mr. Russell, keep calm, sir j I be- 
lieve we have a clue to your son. The 
chief has received a letter from Eos- 
ton, which says they have ascer- 
tained that a boy called ' Bill' was 
either adopted by a gentleman or 
bound out to a harness-maker, at the 
time referred to,, and they will spare 
no pains to ascertain th^ fads, and 
when we get them, the game is done." 

It would be idle to attempt to 
paint the delight and joy of Horace 
Russell and his wife and daughter. 

"Truly," said he, "my cup run- 
neth over," 





|N conversation with Toinploton, 
Miller had so thori)ii;^)ily con- 
vinced him that their detieption 
would succeed in the end, that all 
thought of marrying Maud had been 
driven from his mind. 
. Ho far as Tompleton knew, Maud 
was Mr. liussell's own daughttir. Mar- 
riage with her was, to hini, obviously 
impossible in the event of Mr. lius- 
seirs accepting him as Iuh lung-lost 
son. And beside, Templeton had 
foiind in Mary Miller a niuuh more 
congenial companion. 

It was now nearly throe months 
since he was first introduced to the 
Miller homo. 

A largo part of that time he had 
been f<irced into the society of Miller's 
daughters, and as Martha was de- 
voted to the humanitarian duties as- 
signed her by her jjastor, Templeton 
had no choice in the matter — he 
remained with Mary. 

Mary Miller was a good girl. 

She loved her sister and idolized 
her father. 

Outside of the church circle she 
had but few acquaintances and no 
near friends. 

The society of gentlemen was un- 
known to her. What wonder, then, 
that she became interested in this 
young friend of her father, who added 
to graces of person the charms of 
CL ture and the polish gained by 

They read and talked together. She 
sang to him, and he told her of all 
he had seen at home aud abroad. 

Insensibly she passed from interest 
to regard, and thence to love. 

In her eyes Templeton was a hero. 

No romance ever painted serener 
beauty than his. No fairy ever wove 

more exquisite garments tluti those 
in wliich Mary Millur's fancy invc-stcd 
h(!r lover. 

And he — well ho did not love her, 
for love was a feeling whoso de])ths 
he never sounded, but ho liked her, 
and was pleased at her attentions. 

Intentionally he never led her a 
step, but, for all that, the steps woro 
taken, and, before he really suspected 
it, Templeton found him.self the girl's 
idol, her all in all, the one thing 
needful for her heart's comfort and the 
delight of her soul. Mandiko he did 
nothing to stop it. 

Ho simply shrugged his shoulders 
and let her love him. 

When he one day was left by her 
for a few moments. Miller being about 
his duties out of town and Martha 
on her circuit, Templeton looked the 
matter squarely in the face. " If I 
permit this girl's love for mo to bo 
known to her father, will it help or 
mar my jjlans] Will Millur ct»n.Hent 
to hvY marriage with a man he tloes 
not IriiHl ? And if not, what becomes 
of her 1 If, again, I marry her un- 
known to lier father, am I not in 
position to turn his Hank when oc- 
casion requires, and, through his love 
for his daughter, hold him to any 
bargain and any secret, whether ho 
like it or not ?" 

Thus pondering, Templeton slowly 
walked the floor, supporting himself 
a little with his cane ; for although 
his foot had entirely healed, there 
was still a sensitiveness about it when 
pressed, that induced him to favor it 
in walking. 

The right or wrong of his ( nduct 
in noway troubled orinfliienc ;■ Tem- 

All he cared for was success. 




That, he bolicvtHl, would certainly 
be assured thnnif^h Miller, in whom 
he had iniidicit conliilonce ; i)ut into 
Miller's hands he did not care to trust 
everything — and because of that un- 
williiij^ness, he deliberately concluded 
to retain the affections of the detec- 
tive's daughter, and be guided by his 
necessities, when the question of ma- 
trinjony arose. 

Presently Mary returned, and said : 
" Oh, Mr. Russell, here is some new 
music we have just received ; wouldn't 
you like to come down stairs and hear 
me try ft 1 It's an arrangement of 
Aida, and they say it is perfectly 

Tenipleton acquiesced, and together 
they went to the parlor, but it was 
some time before the piano was open- 
ed, for, drawing Mary to a seat, the 
curious fellow said : " Mary, we have 
been thrown very strangely together. 
Why, of course, you do not know, 
nor is it necessary that you should. 
Sulfice it that hs'uvj; here, a happy 
fate has made me almost your con- 
stant companion. Before my acci- 
dent, you were kindness itself, but 
during the two weeks of my confine- 
ment to my roou), had you been my 
own sister, or my lover, I could not 
iiiive asked or looked for more at- 
tentive courtesy and help." 

" Oh, Mr. Russell, surely I did 
nothing more than was natural," said 

" That I grant," continued Teni- 
pleton ; " and the fact that it was so 
natural is all the more creditable to 
you, and perhaps more complimentary 
to me. I find our tastes are similar. 
You are fond of reading, and on your 
shelves are the books I prize the most. 
You are devoted to music, and how 
our likes and dislikes in that direc- 

tion harmonize, you know very well. 
On the whole, I think we are toler- 
ably good friends, Mary, and why not 
more than good friends'? Why not 
the hcd ol iViends ? " 

Tenipleton had gone further than 
he intended. 

Had he been talking to a woman 
of the world, he might have con- 
tinued in that strain indefinitely, 
satisfying himself aiid amusing her. 

Had he been practising his arts 
upon a rtirt, he might have met his 
match in retorc and repartee. 

But Mary was neither one nor the 

She was a genuine woman. 

To her a spade was a spade. 

She had no lovers. Her father 
and Mr. Delaney were the only men 
she had ever known intimately. Her 
only outside life liud been in the school- 
room. She was but eighteen years old. 
She never lied. She knew nothing 
of the world, its tricks, or its manners. 
She believed what she heard, and in- 
variably said precisely whatshe meant. 

She loved Terapleton. 

To be sure, he had never uttered a 
syllable which could be construed 
into a declaration or an invitation. 

But she loved him. 

Anil now that he had, with tender 
accent, respectfully, courteously and 
with apparent sincerity, asked if she 
knew any reason why they should 
not be the " best of friends," it seemed 
as if her dream of happiness had been 

Turning quickly to hin^ Mary 
looked at her lover full in the eye, 
with unmistakable meaning, and then 
as he pressed her closely to his heart, 
she whispeied her consent. 

If there /.s a devil, how happy such 
scenes must make him ! 

very well. 

are toler- 

d why not 

Why not 

rther thai) 

a woman 
have con- 
using hor. 
ig his arts 
re met his 
tne nor tl»e 


Her father 
e only men 
itely. Her 
ithe school- 
in years old. 
BW nothuig 
its manners, 
ard, and in- 
t she meant. 

ler uttered a 

Iwith tender 
tieously and 
isked if she 
ley should 
I," it seemed 
53 had been 

lum, Mary 
lin the eye, 
,g, and then 
lo his heart, 

Ihap'py such 





■^^OOR Hardy ! 

jj^ How ho chafed, and rolled, 

*^-^ and tumbled, in his bed ! 

Thf days were years, the weeks 
were ages. It seemed to him as if 
his life was a blank, and he a cipher. 

That is, it seemed so until Maud 
Russell's daily visits made his life a 
holiday, and his experience an intoxi- 

Probably many may regard Maud's 
every-day call with disfavor. 

That is their privilege. 

The fact is, she did go every day 
in every week, carrying flowers and 
fruits, and books and cheeriness of 
angelic type, making the sick cham- 
ber radiant with joy, and the sick 
man a convalescent speedily. 

Of all the men here told of, John 
Hardy was most liked by Horace 

He was a fine specimen of manhood 
— tall, straight and strong. 

His features were regular, buk not 
feminine. His eye and lip showed 
courage, and his manner, though not 
offensive, W6is aggressive rather than 

Mr. Russell had "taken to" him at 
the very first, and every interview 
increased his respect and estee:aa for 
him. He found him earnest, intel- 
ligent and truthf-I, and when, in a 
moment, the young man was reduced 
to a scarcely breathing mass of flesh 
and bones, the strong Englishman 
felt as if part of himself liad been 
broken away. 

"With Maud, Hardy had been 
thrown but very little until the trip 

She had seen him every day at the 
hotel in New York, and he had been 
one of the party of four on their 

excursions in and about the city ; 
still, until the memorable ride, which 
ended in disaster, Maud had really 
felt but little interest in the young 
man, on whose skill and service fo 
much of her father's future happiness 

Love of romance has a strong hold 
on a young girl's mind. 

Of late Hardy had seemed to Maud 
like a character in fiction, rather than 
a being of ordinary type. 

His personal history had interested 
her, as it had her parents. His 
chivalrous endeavor to preserve her 
life and shield her person inspired 
her with gratitude. His suft'ering 
and long confinement excited her 
sympathy. And now that he was 
slowly gaining, being permitted to sit 
in his chair several hours every day, 
his pale face and lustrous eyes, and 
evident delight at her attention, 
elicited an interest wliich strengthen- 
ed at every interview. 

Mrs. Russell and Maud always 
called together, but on several oc- 
casions Maud remained, while her 
mother drove elsewhere, and read to 
Hardy the news of 1 he day, or from 
such current literature as she thought 
would divert his mind. 

Insensibly they became well ac- 
quainted and thoroughly at homo in 
each other's presence. 

Hardy was ono of Nature's gentle- 
men— a much better article than that 
of the wcrld, although not so good a 

He would have died rather than 
say or do aught that could ofiend 
Maud Russell, and yet he loved her 
with all his heart, and worshipped her 
very shadow. 

While she was with him, he was 


. I 



in heaven ; and when she Mas gone, 
he counted the hours till she should 

By day, he thought of her; by 
nighc, he dreamed of her. 

And why not 1 

What insurmountable difference 
was there between them 1 

Money ! 

Nothing but money ! 

Not that John Hardy sneered at 
money. No sensible person does that. 
Money is a good friend, though a 
master. What a good man can do 
with money can never be exagger- 
ated. And the good men who insist 
that money is nothing to them, and 
proclaim that they are happier with- 
out it than they would be with it, 
are either liars or fools. 

The world never yet saw the sane 
man who would not gladly take all 
the money he could honestly get. 

One might as well decline to use 
his brains, or his hands, or his feet, 
or any other useful convenience, as 
to ridicule the usefulness and desira- 
bility of money — and the more the 

Still, as between John Hardy and 
Maud Eussell, money was the only 

Maud had none, but her father had 

" Suppose," thought Hardy, in one 
of his ten thousand dreams ; " sup- 
pose I could win Maud's heart, how 
could I gain her hand 1 I know her 
parents like me, but would they con- 
sent 1 These English people think 
so much of social position, and I am 
only a detective, the son of a scaven- 
ger !" 

Poor Hardy ! 

Over and over again he thought 
and thought the same old story, and 
it always ended the same way. He 
could not seem to bring it to any 
other clofie. " I am only a detective, 
the son of a scave ger." 

One day Maud came alone. 

Hardy was sitting up as usual, and 
had been felicitating himself on the 
progress which, enabled him, for the 
first time that morning, to walk un- 
aided from his bedside to the ad- 
joining room, when Maud Russell 

Something had happened. 

The girl was bewilderingly beauti- 

Her eyes were half filled with 
tears, and fairly bright with excite- 

Without stopping for explanation 
or query as to Hardy's condition, 
Maud broke out : " Oh, Mr. Hardy, 
what do you think, what do you 
think we've found 1 There's no 
doubt about it. Mr. Miller says so, 
and father says so, and father's 
almost wild with ho doesn't know 
what ;" and bursting into tears, the 
excited girl sat down, sobbing from 
the bottom of her heart. 

Hardy was alarmed. 

He had always seen Maud so quiet 
and composed, so perfect in deport- 
ment, so self-poised and gentle in her 
bearing, that this tiood of passion 
disconcerted him. 

His experience should have taught 
him that a calm and placid exterior 
is rarely an exponent of a womanly 

All he did or said was : ** Why, 
what's the matter 1" 

" A great deal's the matter," re- 
plied Maud, who threw back her veil, 
wiped her eyes, arranged her hat by 
the gla.=!S, and continuing, said: "You 
know papa and that horrid Miller 
have been trying to find that ' little 
Bob,' that ma and I never have be- 
lieved in, and they've been writing 
to Boston — but you know all about 
tuat, for papa told you. Well, they've 
found u-ho he is, but they don't know 
where he is. And who do you think 
he is 1 The last man on the face of 





asual, and 
ilf on tho 
n, for the 
walk un- 
) the ad- 
id Russell 


gly beauti- 

illed with 
ith excito- 

Mr. Hardy, 
lat do you 
There's no 
Her says so, 
id father's 
lesn't know 
3 tears, the 
ibbitig from 

lud so quiet 
in deport- 

|entle in her 
of passion 

lave taught 
Icid exterior 
a womanly 



[matter," re- 
ick her veil, 
her hat by 
Isaid: "You 
Irrid Miller 
that 'little 
|er have be- 
leen writing 
]w all about 
'ell, they've 
doTi't know 
\o you think 
the face of 

the earth that anybody would have 
dreamed of. Guess." 

" Why, bless your heart, I never 
could gues^. I might guess one man 
as well as another," said Hardy. 

" Well, it's Mr.. Lieutenant Wil- 
liam Templeton," cried Maud, spring- 
ing to her feet ; " that's who it is. 
Now, what do you think of that? " 

John Hardy looked like a ghost. 
He was as pale as a sheet, and about 
as stiff. 'Two thoughts presented 
themselves at once : 

Either Templeton was an infamous 
and a successful scoundrel ; or he 
was sincere and in earnest when he 
told Hardy that he was Russell's 
son, and wanted Hardy to help him 
prove it. 

If the former were the fact, how 
could Hardy bluff him 1 

If the latter, farewell to all hope 
of happiness with Maud. 

** Well, what do you mean by 
saying your father is almost wild 1 " 
asked Hardy, at last. 

'* Why, father hates Templeton. 
The very sight of the man used to 
make him cross and ugly. He for- 
bade us to speak to him. He actually 
hated him, and now to find out that 
he is his own son; that they have 
been rude to each other ; that — oh, I 
don't know ; it does seem to me as if 
everything and everybody was mad 
and out of sorts. Papa will be here 
by and by. Mamma told mo to drive 
down, and to tell you to be just as 
oocl and calm as you can be; for 
papa is dreadfully excited. And he 
trusts that old Miller almost as much 
as he does you; but we don't. Mam- 
ma and I never liked him. He rolls 
that wicked old eye all over the wall, 
and never looks at anybody. I hate 
him. But you'll be cool, won't you 1 " 

Hardy laughed in spite of himself. 

It seemed to him that Maud's en- 
deavors to keep him cool were ver- 
much like tho effort made to keep 

powder safe by stirring it with a red 
hot poker. 

He had no time to reply before the 
door opened, and Mr. and Mrs. Rus- 
sell entered. 

Horace Russell was getting on to- 
wards his fifty-tifth year, but he felt 
as if he were in his prime. 

He enjoyed perfect health, and 
this long rest from active and con- 
stant business life was doing him an 
immensity of good. 

He was handsome as a picture. 

His head was bald, but his eye was 
strong and clear. 'No beard obscured 
the perfect lines of face and mouth 
and chin. His body was erect and 
stalwart, and every action told of the 
manhood of the man. 

Although greatly excited, his strong 
common sense controlled an exhibi- 
tion of his feeling. Taking Hardy 
by the hand, he said : '* My dear 
boy, you cannot know, you never can, 
how perfectly delighted I am at your 
progress. I thank God day and 
nigiit for it. You look better, you 
are better, and the doctor tells me we 
can have you with us at the hotel 
next Sunday. Much as I want, yes, 
much as I need you, you know I am 
most glad for your own sake. Doesn't 
he look bright to-day, mother 'i " 

Maud and Hardy were deceived, 
but Mrs. Russell was not. 

She knew that her husband meant 
every word he said. 

But she also knew that his heart 
was crushed, and his soul in agony 
at tho news brought that morning by 
Miller's eastern mail. 

Sweetly smiling, Mrs. Russell, who 
was the embodiment of all good old- 
fashioned ideas of raotherliness. took 
Hardy's hand in hers, and turning to 
her husband, said : " Mr. Hardy is 
doing so well, dear, that he will for- 
give you for being selfish to-day. Sit 
down and tell him just how you feel, 
and what vou have heard." 



"J ?eo Maud has told you the 
news," spid Mv. Russeli. 

** Only a little, papa," said Maud. 
"You had better coinmenco at the 
beginning and tell him all." 

Mrs. Eussell handed her husband 
a chair, and he proceeded with his 

" T told you that Miller had heard 
froui the Boston people the bare fact 
of 'Bob' Delaney's leaving the work- 
house hospital, and being adopted by 
some unknown party, didn't I '» " 

" Yes, sir," said Hardy, " that was 
the last I heard." 

" Well, I told Miller to send $100 
to his friend, and direct him to follow 
that clue. He did so, and last night 
Miller received this lette:, which he 
brought to me this morning. I'll 
read it to you, if I can, for I declare, 
it has almost taken my pluck and 
strength away. I'll tell you why 
afterwards. Hert?, mother, you read 
it. Oh, you haven't brought your 
glasses. Daughter, you read it, I — 
upon my word, I dislike even to look 
at it." 

Maud read the letter as follows, 
and Hardy listened as if to a choir 
of angels : 

Boston, Ocfooer 22nd, 1S74 

Mr. Charles Miller, 

Police Headquarters, Chicago. 

** Sir, — Your favor of the 18th was 
duly received, and requests noted. 
I am pleased to reply that without 
much trouble I can satisfy your bill of 
inquiry. It seems that the boy 
' Bob' was entered on the books as 
* Bill,' and when taken to the hos- 
"Mtal that was all tlio name he had. I 
viiS in some doubt as to his being 
the boy, but I have found a sister of 
th'> man who ad' pted him, a maiden 
lady living ia (^helsea, who 'satisfied 
me on that point. She went with 

her brother to go:: the j.y while 
he was tioif, and v 'iOij i:Ci brother 
brought him Iionie, she heard him 
ask the boy whether he preferred to 
be called by his old name or take a 
new one. ^nd she tells how pleased 
her brother was when the little chap 
said : ' I'll take your name if you'll 
let me.' So I am confident on that 
point. The rest is simple The boy 
was thenceforth known as "William 
Terapletou. He went into the navy, 
and now he is a lieutenant in the 

" If I can be of any further use, 
command me, and it shall be done. 

" James Howes, 

" State Constabulary." 

" What do you think of that V' 
said Mr. Russell. 

" Where is Tenpleton 1" asked 
Hardy, without noticing the question. 

"We don't know," replied Mr. 
Russell. " lie left New York very 
suddenly, and bar never been heard 
of since." 

"Does Miller know him 1 " 

" I think not ; he said he must try 
to hunt him up." 

" The doctor says I can go out on 
Sunday, does he?" said Hardy. 
" Well, that's day after to-morrow. I 
think when I join you at the hotel, 
I must meet Miller. You know he 
has never seen me. I'll meet him in 
your parlor as an English friend just 
arrived, and perhaps lean judge him 
better there th^n I could if he were on 
his guard against a fellow officer. 
Meanwhile let him talk and plan, and 
report. It may be he is perfectly hon- 
est, and Templeton is your' son ; it 
may not be. I feel that there is some 
tricker}', but" 

"Ob, my God," said Mr. Russell. 
" I tliank you, Hardy. Much as I 
love my boy, much as I long, yes 




I .V while 
oi" brother 
iieard him 
referred to 
) or take a 

)W plP'4Serl 

little chap 
ic if you'll 
nt on that 
The boy 
IS William 
) the navy, 
ant in the 

iirther use, 

II be done. 


: of that I" 

3n 1" asked 

he question, 

replied l\Ir. 

York very 

been heard 


he must try 

n go out on 
lid Hardy. 
)-morrow. I 
t the hotel, 
u know he 
noet him in 
friend just 
judge him 
he were on 
ow officer, 
id plan, and 
irfectly hon- 
rour' son ; it 
here is some 

Vir. Russell. 
Much as I 
I long, yes 

hunger for him, I '•auiot believe that 
raan to be my ii\. Hardy, my boy, 
I won't insult you by talking of 
money. I trust you, my dear fellow, 
absolutely. We all do. Mother 
will tell you how perfectly I trust 
you. Now, don't let me weary you, 
but for Heaven's sake put your wits 
to work. If there is any trickery 
here let's have it out. If not — well, 
Heaven's will, not mine, bo done." 

Hardy grasped the poor man by 
the hand, but he could not speak. 

He saw the c'ief and the wrack, 
but ho dared not teli his suspicions. 

If Tompleton really were the son, 
it would only make matters worse to 
expose his meanness and craft. 

If he were not the son, time and 
circumstances would doubtless estab- 
lish the fact. 

But Miller was now in Hardy's 

And, sharp and shrewd, and hard 
as Miller undeniably was, it was a 
bad place for Miller to be. 



ACT is often quite as strange 
as fiction, and, odd as it may 
seem, although the Russells 
had been several times to hear Mr. 
jDelaney preach, and on one occasion 
the young clergyman had passed an 
evening with the ladies — Mr. Russell 
having an engagement elsewhere — 
the fact that his name was *' Robert " 
had never been made known. 

Indeed, if it had been, it is doubt- 
ful if they would have thought any- 
thing of it, for their confidence in 
Miller had not been shaken, although 
Maud disliked him from the first. 

And yet the simple fact remained 
that Mr. Russell was spending money 
like water, hoping to find a " Bob " 
Delaney, and was now confronted 
with one who had changed his name 
to " William Templeton," while in 
his own parlor his wife and daughter 
were entertaining the " Bob " of his 

Of this Miller had satisfied himsell 
beyond a doubt. 

He knew perfectly well ti: ^t old 
Delaney, the builder, the " fathrr " 
of Robert Delaney, had ne . '''* re- 
turned to New York ; that had 
never left Chicago at all. He k".ev*r 
when and how he died ; and he kitew 
the young man at whose churoii hi^ 
daughter atti ded, and who vi-'ted 
at his house, was the identical "Bob* 
for whom his employer searched. 

As yet he did not kno'v that h« 
was also the son whom Mr. Russell 

But h ■ was in dread of such a 
revelation, and feared every day of 
his life that some accident would 
confirm his suspicions. 

Neither did lie know that Mr. 
Russell had met Mr. Delaney, much 
less that th" clergyman was an occa- 
sional caller ut his rooms. 

Judge then his surprise when, on 




Saturday afternoon, prior to the anti- 
cipated Sunday of Hardy's emancipa- 
tion, Miller came face to face with 
Mr. Russell and Mr. Delaney in the 
corridor of the hotel. 

Mr. Delaney'a greeting wns cordial 
and 8traightfor>vard, but it was really 
a test of Miller's admirable training. 
He controlled himself perfectly, and 
when Mr. Russell said : " Ah, you 
know Mr. Miller, do you, Mr. De- 
laney f both men smiled, and with 
some iiffirmatory remark, the thice 
passed up stairs to Mr. Russell's 

" Anything new. Miller 1" asked 
Mr. Russell. 

" Yes, a little," said the detective. 
" I find that our bird took passage 
for Nassau about tho time you say he 
left New York. His resignation 
from the service was dated the day 
before ho sailed. I have sent a let- 
tor, or rather the chief nas, to the 
consul there, with instructions upon 
two points only. They are, first: 
' Has Templeton lost a little toe V 
and becond, ' When is he coming 
back to the United States 1' " 

" Very important that," broke in 
Mr. Russell ; "I declare Miller, you 
g,ive me new life. That man never 
lost a toe ; I. know he never did. 
His walk is perfect. Bless my soul ! 
do you know I never thought of thati 
Of course he never lost a toe." 

** Rue, mj dear sir," said Miller, 
"what am I to understand? Do 
j(/U war>t to find your man or don't 
you 1 '•' 

Mr. Ruse. 11 looked at Miller sharply. 

He rp'^ioti^ered what Hardy had 
said, aau hev-^. at the very first inter- 
view, he was disclosing to Miller his 
feelings and his fears. 

"Why- should T distrust this man?" 
thought ho. "He is recommended 
to mo by his chief. Ho stands at the 
head of his follows. He has been 
kind and industrious. I pay him well. 

What can he gain by being false. 
What will he not gain, if succeasfull 
I'll tell him all." 

Thus resolving, Mr. Russell drew 
Miller away from the group, and put- 
ting his honest hand on the old ras- 
cal's shoulder, said : " Miller, I know 
this man Templeton. He was a fol- 
low-pasHonger of our.s. I disliked 
him exceedingly. He was attentive 
to my daughter, and although that is 
generally an open door to a father's 
heart, I disliked him all tho more. 
And besides, I am not Maud's father. 
She was Mrs. Russell's child by a 
former husband." 

Miller's red hair wanted to stand 
up, but Miller's detective nerve kept 
his red hair down. 

" Not his daughter," thought he ; 
" what then might become of Mary, 
his own daughter, whose affections 
he saw plainly were twined and in- 
terlaced with Templeton's very life. 
If Templeton could be proved Mr. 
Russell's son — he thought — of course 
he could not marry Russell's daughter: 
and if he married Miller's daughter, 
there was another bond between the 
father and the conspirator." But thig 
revelation opened a way by which 
Templeton might play Miller false. 

Once let it be shown that Temple- 
ton was Russell's son, and that Maud 
was not Russell's daughter, what 
could bar their marriage t 

Meanwhile Mr. Russell, all uncon- 
scious of the hubbub he had caused 
in Miller's mind, proceeded : 

" She was Mrs. Russell's child by 
a former husband, but I love her as 
my own. She was passionately fond 
of Lieut. Templeton, but I would not 
permit her to see him. After the fire, 
the dear child seeimed to droop, and 
reluctantly we consented that Temple- 
ton should call. A note was sent in- 
viting him to do so, but it was un- 
answered. He never sent a word of 
apology or regret, or explanation ; 



and I had hoped we should never 
hear his cursed name again. Judge 
then, Miller, how utterly unprepared 
I was for such an astounding revela- 
tion as yours. I feel that there is 
no truth in it. And yet — do not 
misunderstand me, I do not doubt 
you — the trace seems clear, and I see 
that your mind is settled " — 

" Hold on, Mr. Russell," said Mil- 
ler, with well assumed warmth ; " if 
you were to say to me, ' Miller, I 
don't want this followed up,' that 
would end it. But don't make any 
mistake. I'm by no manner of means 
settled in my mind. No. sir. "What 
I want is, first of all to see that toe ! 
Or, rather nut to see that toe. And 
after tliat I want to see the rest of 
him. I think we must both own up 
that the clue so far is a strong one. 
But suppose he has never lost a toe — 
that settles it, doesn't iti Well, then. 
But if, on the other hand, his toe is 
gone, we must admit again that the 
clue is all the stronger. And then if, 
on acquaintance and careful examin-^ 
ation, we find he is the boy, why it 
seems to me, as honest men, we must 
say so, 

" If you don't like the fellow you 
needn't have anything to do with 
him. He can't prove himself your 
son unless you help him, can hel 
Well, then. Now you just leave 
this to me. If you don't want an- 
other step taken, the job stops right 
here. If you do, on it goes. Verj 
much depends on the toe, and after 
all he may be a nicer fellow than you 

Mr. Russell was impressed by Mil- 
ler's manner, and had it not been for 
a recollection of John Hardy's advice, 
would very likely have yielded then 
and there. 

As it was, he simply said, ** Come 
and see me to-morrow evening. I'll 
think it all over, and by that time 
wo will come to some conclusion." 

Miller bowed himself out without 
much formality, and Mr. Russell 
turned to Mr. Delaney, who, with the 
ladies, was looking at the sunset from 
the window. 

"That's a queer character, Mr. 
Delaney," said Mr. Russell. 

" Oh, Miller ? Yes, indeed. I can 
never make out whether he is in fun 
or in earnest," said Mr. Delaney ; 
" his daughters attend my church 
and are among my warmest friends. 
I have visited at the house a great 
deal, though I see but little of the 
father. He is certainly a very strange 
man to have such charming daughters. 
One of them, by the way, is betroth- 
ed to a gentleman of your name, Mr. 

" Do you know him 1" asked Maud. 

" No. I have never met him, but 
he is well spoken of, naturally, by 
the young ladies, and I judge, from 
all I hear, he is quite accomplished. 
He lives in Now York, I believe ; 
but really I don't know anything 
about it." 

" It seems strange that Miller 
should have two daughters and never 
allude to them," said Maud. 

" Oh, I don't know," said her 
father ; " we have had nothing to do 
with him outside of business ; al- 
though, come to think of it, all the 
time we were in Milwaukee he re- 
ceived no letters, and never spoke of 
home at all." 

" I suppose men in his position 
sink their individuality in their busi- 
ness," suggested tItS clergyman. 

" Yes, and they are naturally chary 
of their confidence," said Mr. Rus- 
sell ; " but I have met one officer of 
whose friendship and regard I shall 
always bo proud. When we left 
New York a young man named 
Hardy, John Hardy, was assigned to 
aid u'e in my search, and, as doubt- 
less you remember, he was very seri- 
ously injured in the accident from 



\?hich we so providoutially escaped. 
I think I never met a young man so 
prudent, ho clear-headed, bo honest. 
I declare I feel toward hiiu as if ho 
were my own son. He has won my 
heart completely, and as for mother 
here, she thinks there never was such 
a man." 

" Oh, father, that's rather strong," 
said Mrs. Russell ; " but we certainly 
have cause to bo grateful to Mr. 
Hardy, and, as Mr. llussell says, he 
seems honesty and goodness itself." 

" I'm sure / like him," said Maud; 
" I always did like him. He was so 
respectful and kind to papa, and then 
he saved my life, you know, Mr. De- 
laney ; and" 

" And so you chant his praises," 
laughingly said Mr. Delanoy ; " that 
is right, perfectly right. And where 
is Mr. Hardy 1 " 

" He is still at the hospital," said 
Mr. Russell ; " but he will be here to- 
morrow, and before we leave town, I 
hope you will meet him. You will 
take to each other, I know." 

In some way the conversation turn- 

ed. Mr. Russell and his wife, anx- 
ious and ill at ease about Temploton, 
while Maud and Mr. Didanoy, after 
talking about some new music Maud 
had bought, went to the piano, where, 
for a long time, the petted girl enter- 
tained the visitor, and cheered the 
sorrowing hearts of her troubled 

How or why, wo never know and 
can never explain, but, at times, that 
which on other occasions would seem 
offensive and intrusive, becomes most 
natural and welcome. 

And so it was that Mr. Delaney, 
who felt, without knowing, that 
something had disturbed the comfort 
of his hosts, cemented the regard 
already existing as a bond between 
his new friends and himself, by say- 
ing : " Before I go, let us ask the 
direction and blessing of our Father," 
and, kneeling at his chair, he uttered 
a tender, honest petition for protec- 
tion, guidance and forgiveness, to 
which, with one accord, they said : 
" Amen." 



Ilia wife, anx- 
t Teuiploton, 
)i'lanoy, nfter 
music Maud 
)itin(), wliero, 
ted girl onter- 
I cheerod the 
lior troubled 

■er know and 
at times, that 
3 would seem 
becomes most 

Mr. Deliiney, 
lowing, that 
d the comfort 
1 the regard 
ond between 
nself, by say- 
it us ask the 
' our Father," 
■ir, ho uttered 
>n for protec- 
rgivenoss, to 
i, they said : 



-HEN Miller left Mr-RusHell's 
^\^ hotel, ho pulled his hat hard 

•^ and far down over his eye. 

Every word ho had told his em- 
ployer was false. 

It had not been received as he had 

Templeton had indeed informed 
him of Mr. Kussell's dislike, but 
Miller had detected a much deeper 
feeling than simple dislike. 

Ho saw that the very name of Tem- 
pleton was distasteful to the entire 
family, and that Maud, instead of 
hailing the news with joy and hope, 
shared her father's annoyance and re- 

And then, too, I)elan»^y's presence 
troubled the detective. 

" How came he there ? What is 
he there fori Is it possible that other 
trails are being followed 1" These 
and kindred queries thrust themselves 
upon Miller's perplexed mind, and 
insisted upon solution. 

Since undertaking this search, Mil- 
ler had not touched a drop of liquor. 
Now and then he took a pint of ale 
or a glass of beer, but nothing 
stronger. He had deliberately chosen 
Templeton as against Russell, and 
having laid out his programme, pur- 
sued it with absolute loyalty. He 
had given time and money and 
thought to the prosecution of his 
plan. He had kept Templeton at his 
own house, had compelled him to 
sacritice his toe, had gone oft' on long 
trips, apparently on Mr. Russell's 
business, but in reality to further Mr. 
Russell's deception, and had gradually 
worked up his case so that it was now 
susceptible almost of exact demon- 
stration that Templeton, lif'ie "Bob," 

and the lost Harry Russell were one 
and the same person. 

Miller had done all this, but with 
a detective's intuition ho felt that 
something was wrong. 

Whether it was Delanoy or Temple- 
ton upon whom his plan would 
wreck, he could not determine. 

In his heart he believed Robert 
Delaney was Mr. Russell's son. 

He had devoted days to the invea- 
ti^'ation, and had clearly proven to 
himself that the clergyman was not 
the son of the old builder, that he was 
the boy who was sent with Delaney 
from the Tombs, and that he was 

But the toe 1 

Miller had done his best to ascer- 
tain if Mr. Delaney had lost a toe, 
but without success. He had in- 
geniously pumped his bootmaker and 
tailor. He had talked with the men 
who were in Delaney's regiment. He 
had followed him for hours in the 

And he was as ignorant now as at 
the first. 

Dreading the possibilities of confi- 
dence between Mr. Russell and his 
new friend, Miller determined to 
bring the Templeton development to 
an immediate issue, and went directly 

He found Templeton sitting with 
Mary in the dimly lighted parlor, and 
greeted them both cheerily. 

His daughter welcomed him with a 
loving embrace, and hastened to order 

Templeton and Miller were alone 

The old man placetl one hand on 
the knee of the handsome youth be- 



fiidw him, and said vory qiiiotly : " No 
nonscjtiHo, young man ; no noiisenso 
there. If you don't lovo that girl, 
don't protond to." 

Templciton colored up and began 
to speak, but Miller interrupted him 
and simply aaid : *' There now, that'll 
do, 1 know you pretty well, and you 
know me. All I say is, no nonsense ; 
and that enda it. After ilinntT I 
want to see you alone. You propose 
a walk or a game of backgammon 
up stairs, and what ever you say, I'll 
agree to." 

T(!niph'tiin saw that Miller meant 
all lie said, and inwardly resolved to 
back out of his pleasantry with Mary 
before the father's ire had good cause 
to rise. 

And poor Mary t Oh ! he didn't 
think of her at all. He cared for 
Templeton, not for Mary. 

At the dinner table sat two scoun- 
drels and two innocents. The scoun- 
drels were quiet and thoughtful. So 
were the innocents. 

Miller was completing his plans. 

Tompleton was seeking a way out 
of his social embarrassment. 

Martha had received a long, loving 
letter from Mr. Delaney, and was ex- 
pecting a call from him in the morn- 

And Mary's heart was filled with 
love and admiration for the only man 
she had ever really known, and for 
whom she was willing to give up all 
else that made home happy and life 

Each was so occupied that the 
other's occupation was not noticed, 
until Miller saw the absurdity of a 
Quaker meeting then and there, and 
twinkling his eye at Martha, said: 
" Well, baby, how goes our parish 1 
Anybody dead, anybody born ? " 

Quick to appreciate her father's in- 
tent, Martha laughed and said : " Oh, 
yes. We are to give Mr. Delaney a 
house-warming on Monday night. He 

goes itjto the parsonage to-day, and 
the church people liavo arrange<l a 
surprise party there on Monday night. 
I want you to go with us, Mr. Rus- 
sell, won't you ? " 

" Ho would if ho could, 1 have no 
doubt," said Miller, " l)ut lie won't be 
in town on Monday." 

As he spoke, ^lillcr pressed Teni- 
pleton's foot under the table, and 
taking the hint, he said : " I am nally 
very worry. I would go with pleas- 
ure. Hut, as your father says, I sliall 
probably be away. I don't douhi you 
will have a jolly time. iJut bo care- 
ful. Don't nionopolizu the pasior. 
You'll make all the others jealous if 
you do." 

Templeton uttered his protest jok- 
ingly, but he unwittingly hit a naU 
squarely on the head. 

Mr. Delaney 's respect for Martha 
Miller had grown into friendship, 
thence to regard, and finally to un- 
spoken love. 

His attentions attracted observation 
and remark, until it was necessary for 
him to stop or go on. 

Ho preferred to go on, and to that 
end wrote hisfair parishioner a letter, 
in which he, in a very manly and 
characteristic way, laid his circum- 
stances and plans before her, told her 
that he loved her, and asked her to be 
his wife, promising to call early the 
next day for an answer. 

Martha had, of course, told her 
sister of Mr. Delaney 's proposal, but 
had as yet found no opportunity of 
speaking to her father. Her heart had 
answered " yes " almost before the 
question had been put in form, and 
she knew her father so M'ell that his 
acquiescence in aught that could con- 
tribute to her happiness was sure to 
bo given. 

Rising from her chair, Martha went 
to her father and, placing her arm 
aliout his neck, kissed him tenderly 
on the forehead. '' I want to see you 


f(o to-day, and 
ivo arraiiyed a 
Mi)nd)iy iii^ht. 
'1 "S Mr. Ki 


"J<1, I liavo no 
)ut he won't be 

pressed Teni- 
lie taWo, and 
: "I am re, illy 
[O with pleas- 
cr says, I shall 

)ll't (loul)! VOII 

l^ut bo caro- 
" the i)a'Uor. 
era jealous if 

s protest jok- 
'y liit a nail 

fc for Martha 
3 friendship, 
inally to un- 

1 observation 
necessary for 

and to that 
»ner a letter, 

manly and 
his circum- 
her, told her 
ed her to be 

I early the 

Q, told her 
'oposal, but 
ortunity of 
ir heart had 
before the 
fornj, and 

II that his 
could con- 
as sure to 

artha went 
g her arm 
1 tenderly 
to see you 

alone, papa," hIio whisporod, and with 
another kiss loft the room. 

As Miller prepared to follow his 
daughter, Templeton said : "I haven't 
been out of the to-day, Mr. 
Miller ; what do you say to a little 
tramj) down to the lake. (Jan you 
spare the tiniel" 

" Yes, ol' course I can. Wait till 
I speak with Martha a moment. Then 
I'll take a pipe and join you," said 
Miller, and off ho went. 

Templeton and Mary were left to 
themselves and withdrew to the par- 
lor, where Mary took her seat at the 
piano and sang. 

Hor voice was very sweet and true. 

She was especially fond of singing 
"The Wanderer," and Templeton was 
especially fond of hearing it. 

Ho ratlier liked tho girl. 

She was pretty, graceful, good. 

yho made no concealment of her 
regard for him, and ho know ho had 
but to say tho word, and she would 
go or stay, lly to tlio end of the world 
with him or wait his time for au 
honorable and happy union. 

But thttt word ho had never si)oken, 
and Miller's warning hud convinced 
him tliat to speak it and not m(>an 
it woujd involve him in a (piarrol 
with a man who would butclier him 
as readily and unconcernedly as lie 
would an ox. 80 he determined not 
to speak i^ 

And tho poor girl gave her heart 
to a man wUo not only did not want 
it, but was afraid'to take it. 





7i^/il II-'^^I^ rejoined Templeton 
JJlvVtlL after half an hour's absence, 
and together they walked to- 
wards the lake. Miller puffed vigor- 
ously at his pipe, but did not speak ; 
and Templeton, who was greatly em- 
barrassed by his equivocal position 
with Mary, limped very gingerly, as 
he blew great smoky rings from un- 
derneath bis long moustache. 

Martha had shown Mr. Delaney's 
letter to her father, and read it to him 
as she sat upon his knee. 

The old fellow had a soft heart for 
his children, and he assented at once 
to her desire. 

But what a vision rose up before 

His own daughter cheated by him- 
self ! 

Her huiband, the real Harry Eus- 
sell, swindled out of home and pro- 
perty and love by the rascality of her 
own fath^ ! 

A liar and pretender seated in the 
chair which of riglit belon};3 to 
Martha's liusbaad ! and ho the instru- 
ment by which the ii foiiy viis done 1 

Even ^liih'r was discoucerte 1. Ho 
had no fe.'.v of T'Mupleton, but he had 
given his\ lo accomplish u cer- 
tain end, — had taken pay for it. Ho 






..v .^ 










IL25 i 1.4 



'^ ^^^ 










(716) 173-4303 













was not responsible for the curious 
combination of circumstances attend- 
ing the case. But— • 

Oh, those "buta." 

"What shall I dol" thought 

" Martha loves and will marry Mr. 
Delaney. It is only necessary now, 
to complete the extraordinary drama, 
for Mtiry to love and marry Temple- 

" Sooner or later it will all come 

•• Well, what if it does 1 

" The girls love each other, and the 
lucky one will take care of the other." 

But the more Miller thought, the 
more complicated matters became. 

The entanglements seemed endless. 
He could get no aid from Templeton. 
H« had tried him before. Whatever 
Miller suggested, Templeton would 
carry into effect ; but his mind was 
not fertile and his inventive faculty 
was undeveloped. 

Finally, Miller knocked the ashes 
out of his pipe, filled up, lighted, 
puffed, and then said : " Templeton, 
we're in a bad box ; but it's a wise 
father who knows his own son, and 
I ?iope for the best. You knew I 
have all along had my fears that 
Delaney wotild be in our way, so I 
investigated him. I believe, as firmly 
as I believe wo live, that Delaney is 
Kussell's son." 

"The devil!" said Templeton. 

" Yes, and all his angels," said 
Miller ; " and if I only knew for cer- 
tain that he had lost his toe, I'd 
swear that he is Harry Eussell. But, 
as you know, I have been busy in our 
matter, and this afternoon I followed 
up my Templeton suggestion, by giv- 
ing Mr. Russell a report of your hav- 
ing gone to Nassau, of our chief's 
writing to the consul there, and so 
on. He took it hard. He doesn't 
like you. His wife doesn't like you. 
And the daughter is worse than either 

of 'em. Still he seems to be a square 
kind of a man, and if it turns out to 
his satisfaction, toe and all, that you 
are his son, in you go, and time must 
take care of the rest." 

" Well, I don't see any very ' bad 
box ' so far," s^id Templeton. 

"Of course you don't, because I 
haven't shown it to you yet. The 
' bad box ' is made up of two impor- 
tant facts ; their dislike of yon, and 
their acquaintance with Robert De- 

" Whew ! I see," said Templeton. 
"And if to that," continued Miller^ 
" they should in any particular dis- 
trust me, why up goes the sponge 
and the jig is over." 

" Well, what's to be done 1" asked 

" My idea is this. You go to New 
York, and stay there for about a week. 
On the arrival of a steamer from Nas- 
sau, have the papers announce the 
arrival of Lieut. William Templeton, 
U.S.N., at SQme first class hotel. 
I'll show that to Mr. Russell, and 
at the same time I'll have a copy of 
a letter from the consul to our chief 
giving a good account of you, and 
telling all we want to know, except 
the toe. That we'll keep for a grand 
sensation. You can take the Pacific 
express to-morrow morning at ten, 
and from that on we must trust to 
luck, and stare fate in the face." 

"All right. Miller," said Temple- 
ton ; " you are a ' brick,' and ten to 
one we'll come out ahead in this mat- 
ter yet. But how about Hardy 1 I 
understood from a paragraph in last 
night's paper that he was not doing 
well, — had had a relapse or some- 

" I don't know," replied Miller, 
"about that. I do know, however, 
that it's a mighty fortunate thing for 
us that we have not had another 
smart fellow to bother. Why, he 
might have upset the whole affair if 




he hail been with me all the time. 
As it is, I never hear him men- 
tioned without a shudder." 

And so talking, these two worthies 
gradually neared the house, and were 
about entering when suddenly Miller 

Catching his companion by the 
arm, he said: "Terapleton, you know 
I like you, but, I don't value your 
whole carcase, soul included, as much 
as the least of the hairs of Mary's 
head. I have seen with some dread 
her regard for you ; for I know you, 
root and branch. Still, if you are 
•eiious and the girl insists upon it I 

won't stand in your way. But" — 
and here Miller drew nearer to Tera- 
pleton's ear, " if you are not serious, 
and aught of harm befalls my girl, 
expect no mercy from me. I'd shoot 
you like a dog." 

Templeton endeavored to laugh and 
speak freely, but he failed. 

He knew it, and Miller knew it. 

The rest of the evening was passed 
pleasantly in the parlor, but Tem- 
pleton retired first, instead of wait- 
ing as his custom was until Miller 
and Martha had gone, that he might 
steal a farewell kiss from Mary. 



OHN HARDY'S arrival was an 
event in the hotel life of the 
Russell family. 

Though not entirely strong, the 
young man was able to walk from 
the hospital duor to the carriage, and 
when Mr. Russell offered assistance 
to help him up stairs at the hotel, it 
was declined as unnecessary. 

A pleasant room adjoining Mr 
Russell's 87ute had been en(:;aged for 
Hardy under the name of Wilson, by 
which name he was to make the ac- 
quaintance of Miller. 

Mrs. Russell and Maud had placed 
flowers on the table, and given to 
the room as home-like an air as was 
possible J but Hardy needed no other 
charm than that of the kindly grasp 
of the hand and the undisguised de- 

light in the countenance of every 
member of the little family, of whom 
for a brief period he was now to be 

Hardy's mind -was active, and 
worked rapidly. He had devoted 
much thought to the complication a» 
reported by Mr. Russell at their last 
interview, and confessed himself em- 

"If it can be proven that William 
Templeton was the identical Bob De- 
laney, what right," thought Hardy, 
" have I to throw discredit upon 
him V 

"And if detective Miller has really 
done a good piece of work while I 
was laid up at the hospital, what 
right have I to appear as a marplot 
and upset all his operations 1" 



John Hardy was honest as well as 
clever, but in this it would seem as 
if hb were more honest than bright. 

"What if Templeton was Delaney 1 

Did that necessarily establish him 
MB Harry RusselU 

Old Miller thought further ahead 
than Hardy in this matter, although it 
will be remembered that as yet Hardy 
had never heard anvthing about an 
identification by means of the loss of 
a toe. 

"Now, Hardy," began Mr. Eussell, 
after they had talked over the hos- 
pital lor the hundredth time, "Miller 
"will bo h«ro this evening, and he ex- 
pects mo to give him my conclusion 
about Templeton. I will introduce 
you as my friend from Liverpool, Mr. 
George Wilson, button-maker, and as 
Miller goes on, you make up your 
mind. All you have to do is to indi- 
cate your ideas, and I'll follow them 
out to the letter. Mind you, I want 
to do the correct thing by every one. 
If I have wronged Templeton, I'll 
make ameniis — but I haven't." 

Not long after this Miller was an- 
nounced. Mr. liussell introduced 
Hardy as an intimate friend from Liv- 
erpool, who being familiar with the 
whole story, would make one of the 
council on the occasion. 

The two detectives looked at each 
other well. 

Hardy was rather pleased with Mil- 
ler's off-hand way, and Miller saw 
awiftly a handsome - featured, well 
built, honest- appearing youth, who 
looked straight out of his eyes, evi- 
,<iently afraid of nothing. 

*' Mr. Russell has been telling me of 
your success, Mr. Miller," said Hardy, 
*' in tracing up little Bob Delaney, 
and of the most extraordinary coinci- 
dence that ho should prove, probably, 
to be Mr. Templeton, a former fellow- 
passenger of his. Would you mind 
giving me, in detail, the plan you 
pursued 1 It must be very interest- 

ing, and I am sure it is most credit- 
able to your ingenuity and skill as 
an officer." 

Miller longed for his pipe. . 

It was difficult for him to think 
clearly without a pipe, and his lies 
were halting unless his head was en- 
veloped in smoke. 

But he was an experienced sinner. 

A shrewd old fellow, whose game 
was honesty. 

Looking from Hardy to the ladies, 
and then at Mr. Russell, Miller said : 
" Oh, I don't know about the in- 
genuity, Mr. Wilson. It didn'* re- 
quire such an awful amount of head- 
work to find out that old Delaney 
had moved away. Then by tracking 
his old companions, and mine, I heard 
he was sent back to New York. Good 
luck helped me to the fact that the 
boy he had with him was shipped on 
an eaet ward -bound vessel, and the 
hospital record told the rest. It is a 
simple matter of fact, sir. We can't 
prove it by seeing the boy grow, but 
we can do what is just as good. We 
trace him by means of official docu- 
ments to the date of his adoption, and 
from that moment the high school, 
college, and the navy stand as unim- 
peachable witnesses." 

" Have you kept any memorandum 
of dates 1" asked Hardy. 

" Only in my head," replied Miller. 

" Then this boy's name was" — 

" Mr. Robert Delaney is below, sir, 
and asks if you are engaged," said a 
servant at the door. 

" Mr. Robert Delaney?" said Hardy, 
springing to his feet ; " surely not 
Templeton 1" 

Miller felt as if the floor was sink- 
ing from under his feet. 

And Mr. Russell for the first time 
thought of the identity of the nan)es 
of his young clerical friend, and the 
little Bob Delaney of his search. 

For a moment there v/as danger of 
a scene, but Hardy recovered himself 

Mr. F 
«I tl 
stay 1 
I wis 



almost iramediatel}', as dil Miller! 
Mr. Russell turniiiR to his wife, said : 
" I think yoti had heller see Mr. 
Delaney in the parlor helow, mother. 
Tell him wo are very husy. He won't 
stay long, for he has a service, I am 
quite sure, athalf-]>ast seven." 

" Excuse me, Mr. Russell," said 
Hardy; "why not ask Mr. Delaney 
here ? If his name is Robert 1 'elaney 
perhaps he can tell us something 
about Bob Delaney — and at all events 
I wish you would ask him up." 

Miller said nothing, but he thought 
a great deal. 

As yet he had no suspicion of 
Hardy's raal bu-^inesa. 
- But he was fast growing to dislike 
him and to desire to avoid him. 

Mr. Russell directed the waiter to 
show Mr. Delaney to their parlor, 
and presently the young clergyman 
appeared, bright-faced and cordial in 
his bearing. 

He was glad to see the Russells 
and showed it. 

He was surprised, however, tx> sep 
Miller, and he showed that. 

Mr. Russell, it will be remembered, 
had spoken ot Hardy to Mr. Delaney 
and had promised himself mtich pleas- 
ure in bringing the young men to- 
gether. But it was obviously impos- 
sible for him to present Hardy by 
his own name to Mr. Delauev while 
Miller waa in the room ; so he simply 
introduced the two, Hardy respond- 
ing to the name of Wilson. 

All they needed to complete the 
party was Templeton — but he was on 
his wav to New York as fast as steam 
and wheels could take him. 

While Mr. Russell was for a few 
moments engaged in welcoming Mr. 
Delaney, and with the ladies formed 
» temporary graup in the centre of 
the room, Miller occupied himself in 
preparing for a retreat; and Hardy, 
from his vantage ground, made an 
estimate of his Chicago comrade. 

Miller s.-iw the dangerous grinind 
on which he stood, and deterniiued 
to hold it only so long as it was wise 
to do so ; resolving, if any exposure 
should suddenly he made, to altVet as 
great surprise as any, and to be as 
profoundly indignant as ihe hi«st of 

Hardy was troubled. 

He felt distrust of Miller without 
knowing why, and believing Temple- 
ton to be a schemer and an adven- 
turer, was resolved to trust him in 
nothing that was not proved to a 
mathematical certainty. 

When they were all seated, Mr. 
Russell said : " Do you know, Mr. 
Delaney, we were just talking about 
* Bob Delaney ' when the servant an- 
nounced your name." 

The clergyman looked astonished 
at what appeared a rather pronounced 
and unaccustomed liberty with his 
name, and smilingly replied : " Well, 
sir, I hope Bob Delaney was treated 
with all due respect. Tou mustn't 
forget that I am in my new house now, 
with at least a full cubit added to my 

This pleasantry did not meet with 
the expected recognition, and Mr. 
Delaney became so evidently con- 
fused, thfit Hardy, with his character- 
istic disregard of conventionalisms, 
said : " Excuse me, Mr. Delaney, if 
at the risk of seeming over-curious, I 
ask you a question or two, bearing 
directly on the happiness of Mr. 

Mr. Delaney bowed. 

Miller .sat as quiet as a cat. 

*• Your name is Robert Delaney. 
Has it always been sol" 

" Certainly," replied the clergy- 

" Are you a native of Chicago?" 

" That I cannot answer, but 1 have 
lived here since I was a boy. My 
history is well known to my fellow- 



" Is there nny uncertainty or mys- 
tery about your birth or early child- 

" None that i am aware of." 

" Is your father living 1" 

"No. Ho died here many years 
aince. He was a builder, and foil" — 

•♦ A what ?" shouted Hardy ; " a 
builds t Mr. Russell, do you hear 
thati A buillerl And his name, 
what was that 1" 

"Jumes Delaney," answered the 
clergyman, half bewildered and 
wholly surprised. 

"Thank God ! thank God !" said 
Hanly. "Why, Mr. Miller, your 
man Templeton is a liar, and a fraud 
and a scoundrel, sir. 1 know it. I 
con prove it. I have felt it in ray 
bones from the first. Now I know 

" And you," said Miller utterly 
disconcerted ; " for Heaven's pake, 
who and what are you ? " 

"I," rejoined Hardy; "I am John 
Hanly of the New York office, at 
your service, Mr. Miller, and I only 
hope J shall find in you as square a 
man as I try to be." 

Words fail in the attempt to pic- 
ture the overwhelming gratification 
of Mr. KusF^dl, the sympathizing and 
admiring gltsnces of Mrs. Russell and 
Maud, the helpless curiosity of Mr. 
Delaney, and the consternation of 

"I hope," stammered out Miller, 
"you don't for a moment imagine 
that r— 

" Oh, I don't imagine anything," 
interrupted Hardy ; " imagination is 
very well in its way, but what we 
want is facts. I know this fellow 
Templeton, root and branch. He 
tried to bribe me in New York, and 
I expected to cross his trail here. I 
must say he played a pretty bold 
game, and if he deceived you, he is 
a clover fellow indeed. But how 

is it that you never heard of Mr. 
Delaney 3 " 

"Well, that is good," said Mr. 
Delaney, who was still in the dark. 
" Mr. Miller has known me, and of 
me, these twenty years, and his home 
is one of my resorts. And by the 
way, Mr. Miller, this coincidence of 
names is strange, is it uott I was 
telling the ladies the other evening, 
that your pretty Mary is betrothed 
to a gentleman by the name of Rus- 
sell, Harry Russell is it notf And 
here I am " — 

Hardy could keep quiet no longer. 
Impetuously he broke in on the un- 
finished sentence with " Mr. Miller, 
you are an older man than I, and 
possibly a better officer, but my posi- 
tion in this matter ranks yours. 
You may consider yourself relieved 
until I have seen your chief. I will 
call on him to-morrow, and I promise 
you then a full investigation of this 
.■»iost extraordinary case. If the re- 
st It is satisfactory, I will apologize 
to you for my suspicion ; as it is 
now, J cannot advise Mr. Russell to 
treat you with further confidence." 

Miller was a man of the world, 
hardened, callous, and indifferent to 
opinion, but the fiery indignation of 
the young officer cut him tc the 

But he showed no feeling what- 
ever. Taking his hat, he said : " [ 
will see you, Mr. Wilson, or Hardy, 
or whatever your name may be, at 
the office to-morrow ; and if you 
think you have seen and heard the 
last of * One-eyed Charley,' you mis- 
take your man." 

As Miller went out Hardy stepped 
up to him and quietly said : " Take 
my advice, and make a clean breast 
ot it I know Templeton, and I 
know you. Good- night." 

After Miller's departure, explana- 
tions were made, and Mr. Delaney 
repeated the story of his boyhood, 



hia father's habits and terrible death, 
and his general life as known to the 

The early hours of the following 
day found the three men still in con- 
sultation, and when they separated 
it was understood : 

That Mr. Dolaney was little " Bob" 
grown up ; 

That he was undeniably the son 
of James Delaney, the builder. 

That therefore little Bob and Harry 
Russell were not identical. 

That Mr. Delaney's love for Mar- 
tha Miller should screen the lady's 
father from exposure and disgrace, on 
condition that he laid bare Temple- 
ton's programme ; for although there 
"was no proof as yet ihat Miller had 
ever seen Tcmpleton, it voaa evident 

that the two were working together 
to establish the lieutenant ait little 
Bob, and doubtless to continue the 
deception down to the very door of 
the Russell home. 

Mr. Delaney left Mr. Russell and 
Hardy together, the one down- 
hearted because his time was wasted 
and nothing gained ; the latter weary 
and fatigued, but thankful that he 
had been the means of breaking up 
what he believed to be an atrocious 
conspiracy ; and happy too in the 
belief that he was not indifferent to 
Maud, or her parents. 

It would be difficult to say what 
Mr. Russell dreamed of that night. 

But Hardy dreamed of fairy land, 
with Maud as queen. 



' ARLY on the following morn- 
ing, Monday, Maud, who was 
a perfect kitten with her 
mother, drew a small footstool near 
M*^. Russell's chair in their parlor, 
and resting her folded hands upon that 
good lady's knee, looked up in her 
face and said : "Mamma, papa is very 
angry with Miller, isn't he 1" 

" Yes, dear, I think he is ; why 
not t " 

"And is he angry at Templeton, 

" That depends. Mr. Hardy inti- 
mates that he has reason to believe 
Templeton to be not only an unprin- 
cipled person, but a plotter against 

your father of the meanest descrip- 
tion. After retiring last night father 
was very nervous. He could not 
sleep, and seeing how excited he was, 
I canvassed the whole affair with 
him. He trusts, as I do, everything 
to Hardy, and will undoubtedly be 
guided entirely by him. It now looks 
as if we should all go back to New 
York immediately. This time is all 
lost, and instead of gaining any good, 
we seem to have had simply annoy- 
ance and distress." 

" You surely do not regret meeting 
Mr. Delaney," said Maud, " and one 
would think Hardy was one of us, I 
am sure. I declare he is like aa own 



brother to me, — only more respectful. 
But do you think Mr. Hardy will do 
anything dreadful to Temploton ? " 

** You silly girl," replied Mrs. 
Russell ; ** you surely cannot have a 
particle of feeling for a man who" — 
Maud stoud straight up. 
" Yes, mamma, I have a feeling. 
I have just this feeling, that I should 
hate above all thing.s to have William 
Templeton imagine for one single 
moment that anything he might do 
could cause my father one Bccond's 
annoyance. I would have him treat- 
ed with absolute contempt." 

Mrs. Russell looked long and loving- 
ly at her excited daughter, and then 
taking her hand, said : " My darling, 
I thing we can safely leave all this 
dreadful business to your father and 
his adviser ; but I promise you, dear, 
that before any harsh proceedings are 
inaugurated, you shall know of them, 
and nothing shall be don&whtRi can 
in thoremotest degree affect you or put 
it in Templeton's power to think hi.s 
treatment of you is the slightest 
motive in his disgrace." 

Mr. Russell and. John Havdy had 
been for some time in the reading- 
room, where Hardy had gone for 
the purpose of communicating with 
his headquarters in New York. 

As they entered, Mr. Russell no- 
ticed Maud's flushed face, and, with 
Bomo anxiety, asked if she were not 
feeling well. 

The young girl kissed away her 
father's fear, and extending her hand 
to Hardy said : " Oh, Mr. Hardy, 
what an angel yc are ! A perfect 
angel of ueliverance. How stupid we 
all are. Papa is just as bad a.") the 
rest of us. Why, do you know, we 
met Mr. Delaney at a party, and he 
talked and walked with me a long 
time. We have boen to his church, 
and his card, with that very name 
printed on it, has been in my hands 
half a dozen times at least And yet, 

till you fired it out at us like a cannon 
ball, not one of us even dreamed that 
there was the very roan we wanted." 

" And now we find he is the very 
man wo don't want," laughed H^rdy. 

" But a very tine fellow, for all 
that," said Mr. Russell. 

" Yeti indeed he is," said Maud ; 
" and a lovely preacher. You ought 
to hear him. Ho never writes a ser- 
mon. All he has is on a little bit of 
paper. But ho knows what to say, 
and how to say it." 

" I was a little staggered, wasn't 
you, Mr. Russell," asked Hardy, 
" when he tcld us ho was engaged to 
one of old Miller's daughters, and 
thought he should be married in a 
short time 1 " 

*' Yes, I was," replied Mr. Russell ; 
" and it bothers me now." 

"Why, father 1" said his wife. 

" Why, if Miller has been playing 
us false — as he has — he deserves to be 
broken and punished. I trusted him. 
I turned myself inside out before 
him. I made him welcome. I paid 
him well, and if he cheated me — and 
he has — he has been not only wicked 
but mean. Of course he should be 
exposed. Exposure means disgrav.3 
and ruin." 

" Well," said Hardy. 

•' Well, his daughters are good 
girls, I am told. You know what 
Delaney says of them. And you 
know what we all think of Delaney. 
Whatever hurts Miller, hurts his 
children. And whatever hurts them, 
hurts Delaney. And what hurts De- 
laney, hurts me." 

** Oh, father, dear, dear father ! 
Who wouldn't be fond of such a 
father," said Maud, and the impulsive 
girl threw her arms about him, and 
kissed him again and again. 

Hardy looked on with interest. Ev- 
erything about Maud Russell charmed 
him. The affection she manifested 
for her parents was simple and genu- 



ine. Her kindliness was always ap- 
parent. Her thoughtfulness of other's 
comfort and happiness and ease never 

Happy to bo of service to her, he 
said : " I think, Miss Russell, it will 
be easy to manage Miller, so that, 
while hi8 daughters shall be spared 
all mortification, he can be useful to 
your father. I gave him an intination 
last night, on which I think he will 
act. If he thoflght fighting would bring 
him and his man Templeton safely 
through, he would fight ; but he must 
see (and if he doesn't he will before 
we get through with him) that he has 
lost the game, and, granting that, he 
will be very apt to make terms as 
best he can. I propose to say to him 
that if he will disclose the entire 
scheme, of which ho is part, for his 
daughter's sake, Mr. Russell will for- 
give his ojSence." 

"But how about Templeton 1" 
asked Mrs. Russell. 

" Well, Templeton has no daughter 
that I know of, and he's nut only 
bad, but a sneak," said Hardy. 

" But what is gained by following 
these wretches 1" said Maud. 

" Why, daughter, " said Mr. Rus- 
sell, "are vra still tender on the 
lieutenant ; mustn't we punish any- 

Mrs. Russell caught her husband's 
eye, and with a glance delivered a 

protest more eloquent than words 
could express ; and, like a model man, 
he changed his tactics at onco. 

*' Hardy," said he, " we will send 
for Miller and compromise on your 
terms. To-night we will go to Par- 
son Delaney's house-warming, and 
see his pretty bride that is to be, 
and to-morrow start for New York. 
' Little Bob ' we have found. * Littia 
Harry ' is still to he found. We 
drop old Miller, push Templeton 
from our thoughts, and make one 
final effort for my boy. If we find 
him you shall go home with us, to 
see the royal welcome he will have. 
And if we fail, why then you mtiat 
go home with us, to rest yourself a 
while and to comfort me." 

Mrs. Russell and Maud went out 
to make some purchases, their dona- 
tions to the young pastor; Hardy 
wrote «nd sent a note to Miller, 
reqUeei^^ his presence at the hotel ; 
and Mr. RuAu busied himself with 
his correspondence. 

As Hardy, having dispatched his 
message, turned to go to his own 
room to rest, Mr. Russell rose, and 
taking him by the hand said : "Hardy, 
my boy, don't think I'm unmindful 
of your solicitude and helpfulness. I 
am not a talker. I feel your kindness, 
and am grateful for it. Be assured, 
young man, I shall not forget it." 





y.. ONDAY evening wan nietn- 
i4|L urablu in the life of the Rev. 
liobort Dolancy. 

Hia^ parishioners liad arranged a 
" surprise donation party " for him, 
but, as is always tlie case, the fact 
leaked out, and being something of a 
wag, the young parson thought he 
would meet his people on their own 
ground, and beat thorn at their own 

The only invitations Mr. Delaney 
issued were to the Kussell family 
and John Hardy, a clerical friend, 
and Charles Miller, the detective. 

Each of thuse he asked, lagging 
them on no account to be \tim than 
nine o'clock, and if poi^||jle to reach 
the house half an hour earlier. 

At eight o'clock the good folks 
began to arrive, bearing gifts of every 
eort and name, from the ponderous 
barrel of flour in an express waggon 
to the delicate Parian vase in the 
fair hands of the giver. Eatables 
sufficient to " keep " a moderate- 
sized family an entire season were 
left at the basement door. Articles 
of chamber utility and of par 'or 
adornment were handed in in mar- 
vellous abundance, while the study 
and the bookcase were liberally re- 

Mr. Russell and his party arrived 
early, and were especially pleased at 
the unmistakable earnestness and 
cordiality of the greetings between 
pastor and people. " I tell you, 
mother," said Mr. Russell, " that's 
the kind of a minister for me. He 
knows every one of these people, and 
they love him like a brother. No 
question about it, that young man 

will do a power of good here. ] 
wonder if he wouldn't like to spend 
a few months with us." 

The rooms were full, and Hardy 
was looking, with Maud, at a beauti- 
ful edition of iJo Quincey, wlien Mr. 
Delaney approached them, and said : 
" Mr. Hardy, I undordtand you had 
a long and satisfactory talk with Mr. 
Miller this afternoon." 

" Yes, sir," leplied Hardy ; " and 
the old rayeal owned up like a brick. 
Mind you, I don't mean anything 
disrespectful to you in what I say 
about Miller. Miller isn't his daugh- 
ter by a long way. Yes, Miller gave 
me some very important assistance, 
and I must say I like the way he 
acted about Tompleton. He owned 
up that he and Templeton put up 
this Bob Delaney job, and said if 
it hadn't been for my noticing the 
similarity of the name with yours, 
he would have convinced not only 
Mr. Russell, but the ladies and per- 
haps myself, that Templeton really 
was little Bob. Beyond that con- 
fession he insisted it was not fair to 
expect him to go. I am convinced 
that in some way he expected to con- 
nect little Bob with the lost Harry ; 
b':t Low I could not divine. For the 
sake of Martha Miller, indeed I may 
say for your sake, sir. Miller is r^s 
free to-day as you are. "We will do 
him no harm. And not only that, 
but I volunteered the promise that if 
he would write such a letter to Tem- 
pleton as would scare the iigoundrel 
from New York, I would neVfet men- 
tion to the chief of police here our 
dissatisfaction or Miller's infidelity." 

" I am very thankful to you, I am 

snd for 
I hope 
to both 
join Mr. 
tunity o 
Of CO 
as they 
very \\v 

laney to 
but he 
her sistf 



•uro," sa ' Mr, Dolanoy. " I hava 
prepared a little surprise for Miller 
and for all my ^^ueittit to ni^ht, which 
I hope will not be diHploii8in<{ to you, 
to both of you. and if you will kindly 
join Mr. and Mra. liuHHe!! in the front 
parlor, you will have a bottur oppor- 
tunity of undnrstandin^ ino." 

Of counie they went, Muud saying 
as they passed throu^^h the crowd of 
friends: " I think Mr. Dulaney is a 
very nice person, don't you 1 I am sorry he is not our Jiarry, after 

Mrs. Kuasoll had afiiked Mr. Do- 
laney to present hor to Martha Miller, 
but he replied that neither she nor 
her sister had arrived. Later in the 
evening Mrs. Kusaell reminded her 
host of her request, an<l he made the 
same reply. 

When Hardy and Maud joined Mr. 
and Mrs. Russell, the .attor said to 
Hardy : " Have you seen either of 
Miller's daughters, Mr. Hardy 1 I 
want very much to meet t)iem, and 
especially Miss Martha. She is Mr. 
Deloney's betrothed, yoa know, am! 
he seems very proud of her." 

"Well, yes, I should say I do 
know it," said Hardy, "considering i 
has altered all my plans, saved Miller, 
and kept Templeton out of jail. I am 
free to confess I would like to see 
what kind of a daughter such a father 
can have." 

Mr. Russell kept suspiciously quiet. 
He had had a long conversation with 
Mr. Delaney quite early in the even- 
ing, and had been very thoughtful 
ever since ; so much so that both 
Maud and her mother rallied him on 
his absent-mindedness. * 

Precisely at nine o'clock the door 
opeping into the hall near the front 
door swung on its hinges, and four 
beautiful girls, of whom Mary Miller 
vas one, entered, separating two by 
two, as they semi-circled at the end 

of the room, while Martha Milltr, 
leaning on the arm of Robert De- 
laney, took her place in tho contre. 

Ho complete wan the nurpiiso of 
everybody in the room, that no one 
noticed the ontraiicu of iho brother 
minister, nor of old Miller, who 
quietly took a position nt>ar the dtior. 

Mr. Russell enjoyed the Hccne im- 
mensely. To him alone the secret 
had been contiJud, and only to him 
on Miller's account. 

Well, a bride is a bride, even if 
she weds a clergyman. 

And a wedding U a wedding, be 
it in a garret or in a castle. 

It was soon over. 

Uiit the niglit was far spout (!n* the 
congratidations were over, aiuL ihe 
house was emptied of all btit the 
bride and groom, their i<ister Mary, 
and old Miller. 

The old man was rather out of his 
elemeiJkbut as Mary and he rose to 
bid Deimeji|^d his wife good-night. 
Miller swun^is hat in his hand, and 
said : " Robert, from thin hour yoa 
shall have no cause for uneasiness 
about me or mine. I shall resign my 
ition to-morrow. Mary tells me 
mu«t have a change uf scone. So 
1 1. Thepo girls are all I cared 
for in life. To them I now add you. 
God bless you. In a little while, a 
few days at most, Mary and I go 
west for a tramp. I don't know but 
we'll take in California and the Sand- 
wich Islands — anywhere and any- 
thing to please her and change myself. 
So don't worry, Martha ; you've got 
a good husband. Good-iii;rht, and 
God bless you." 

The girls hung about their father's 
neck and kissed him, while Robert 
Delaney grasped his hand, and bade 
him always be sure of a hearty wel- 
come in the home of his son and 






^jlIE liuMells ]iad returned to 
Now York Rome two weeks, 
when John Hardy, who had 
left them nt ('hiciigo for a few days' 
vinit in Milwtuktu, again rejoined 
t 'Mn. 

* Well,- Hardy," said Mr. Russell, 
nltt r a fuw moments natural inquiry, 
" what of the Millers, and how it* my 
friend Robert 1" 

*• I called on Mr. Delancy the day 
I left," ri'plied Hanly, " and told him 
what you said about his goin^ over to 
your place for a month, and he prom- 
ised tu lay the matter bui'ore his peo- 
ple. If they consent, he will go ; 
hia church is out of debt, aqd he re- 
ceived your generous otter Jj^ pay all 
expenses in prociscljl^e nf^irit you 
made it. lie is a a{)lendid fellow I 
think, and that wife of his is just as 
nice as she can be." 

"And how about Mary Miller," said 
Mrs. Russell. 

"Well, she's in trouble," Hardy 
said. " I don't understand exactly 
what it i». I only know that she is 
iiow living with the Delaneys, and 
old Miller is fairly wild about some- 
thing of which ho won't speak. He 
wrote to Templeton the day after the 
wedding, gave him all the points, and 
advised him to leave the country un- 
til your departure rendered it safe to 
return. Mdlcr had a terrible time 
with Mary, and Delaney tells me the 
poor girl was frantic with grief when 
her father told her of her lover's per- 
fidy. I imagine he only told her 
part of it at that time. Templeton 
has gone to South America, but be- 
fore he went, he wrote Mary a pretty 
rough kind of a letter : not ugly, as 
men look at such things, but killui^; 

to a woman. She drooped and fa l>i], 
and was very sick, and while she w .m 
hanging between life and de^th, shn 
told Mrx. Delaney something or other 
that stirred old Miller up fearfully, 
and when I got back to Chicago, the 
old man came to mo with fire in his 
eye and said he would come on with 
me, as ho had business with Temple- 
ton. I was rather surprised at that 
and sm.l, * Why, he's gone to South 
America ;' to which ho replied, * Ho 
8(11(1 he was going, but I would not 
believe the scoundrel under oath. It's 
lucky for him if he has gone.' So T 
infer that something pretty bad has 

"Oh, I am ttoHorry," said Maud. 

" Yes, indeed," echoed her mother. 

" Well, go on, go on," said Mr. 
Ru&sell ; " where is Miller now 1" 

" 1 sent him to French's Hotel, 
down by the City Hall," said Hardy. 
"He wanted to bo at some central 
point, and handy to the wharver.. I 
don't know what to do with him. 1 
don't liko him, but it doesn't seoni 
exactly fair to bnub him. And tlr i 
if I could do anything for his daugh- 
ter, I should be very glad." 

"Yes, and we too," said Mrs. Rus- 
sell. " I suppose you wouldn't caio 
to see him, would you, father 1 " 

"No. That is, unless Hardy 
thought I could be of service to tli« 
girl. I can't say I regard a man who 
conspired against my be^ and pro- 
perty with any special liJBtog. You 
do what's best. Hardy, aim I'll back 
you. Now, my hoy, I have written 
to my people, that I shall leave th<^ 
States six weeks from^day. Until 
then, we must strain ^^ nerve f<<r 
the accomplishment df our purp< ^>-- 



And then — well, if then there ia no 
clue and no hopo, I shall at all ovontR 
bo rulievo<l of a burden I havo carried 
thewi lung, lon^^ yenrn. I hnvn done 
my duty. Would that I hud ruc- 
ceeded. And 1 have a little project 
in my head about you, of which we 
will Rp(>ak another time. Ity the 
way, Hardy, tion't you think it would 
bo well fur mo to cull on the Mayor, 
and thank him for his courtesy ami 
letters 1 I haven't seen him since 
the first week of my arrival." 

•*flu«t as you please about that," 
said Hurdy ; •' ho'«* a nice old gentle- 
man, very kitul-hcarted, and ono of 
Iho regular olil school." 

" I suppose it will bo necessory to 
send word several days in advance." 

"Oh, no," said Hanly; "we'll jump 
on a car any day and go right in. His 
offico hours aro supposed to bo from 
ten to three. There's no trouble about 
seeing him yourself." 

"Why can't wo go somowhoro this 
oveninu, papa," asked Muuil. 

" Whero do you want to go, dear 1 " 

" Oh, any where. What is going on, 
Mr. Hardy?" 

Hardy looked at the paper, and 
after scanning its amusementcolumns, 
said : " I see they are playing ' Led 
Astray' at tho Union Square Theatre, 
right at tho foot of tho square here. 
How would you like thati" 

" Well, I'm sure we have been led 
astray," said Mrs. Kussell ; " suppose 
wo go and see others in the samo 

" Will you geti seats, Hardy 1" said 
Mr. Ilusscll. 

"Tickets for four, Mr. Hardy," said 

Hardy looked quickly at Mr. 
Kussell, who simply smiled and said : 
" You did not suppose he would get 
a dozen, did you, dear?" 

" Why, no ; but you know what 
I mean, papa," she answered. 

Mr. Russell thought he did know, 

but he held his own counsel and said 

Arranging to join the paKy at 
dinner, Ilnnly, who had become one 
of the family in tho estimation of all, 
bade them good morning, and inti- 
mating to Mr. RuHxell to join him, 
left the room. 

Mr. RusHoU followed, and together 
they wulked down to the theatre. 
There were no seats, and they were 
compelled to take a box or nothing. 

" Of all places in these New York 
theatres," said Mr. Kussell, " tho 
boxes are most uncomfortable. Two 
people can see about two-thinis of the 
stage ; and tho others aro lucky if 
they sec a quarter." 

" Well, I suppose people who ait 
in boxes, as a general rule, care more 
fur the audience than the actors," 
Ruggestetl Hardy. 

" Whi^n idea," said Mr. Kussell ; 
" what do yo# suppose I caro about 
the audience?" 

" The ladies might, if you didn't." 

" Nonsense. If I thought my wife 
or Maud went to the theatre to look 
at tho people, I'll" — 

" You'd let them do just what they 
wanted," laughed Hardy. 

" Yes, I daresay I would," said Mr. 

•• Where are yon going now 1 " 

" I was going down to tho Central 
Office," said Hardy ; " but if you 
would like to call on the Mayor now, 
I'll take you there." 

'AH right," said Mr. Kussell ; "but 
why not go down Broadway instead 
of by the cars. I would very much 
like to. walk down part of tho way at 

Taking tho west side of New 
York's greatest highway, the two 
friends, arm in arm, proceeded down, 
meeting scores of tliousands of busy, 
bustling people, rich and poor, wise 
and foolish, like the rest of the 



Hardy knew all the notableH, and 
as they paasod puinttui thuiu out to 
bis companion. 

*' Hero conies one of our Congress- 
men," sail ho : ** he's a ganjhler now, 
and urhI ti h>. a prizc-lighti-r, but he's 
one of our politiciil powers to-<li\y." 

" You surely do not moan that a 
man can be in (Jnn;^i' und be a 
gamblev at the same tiiui'," said Mr. 


** Why, certainly," replied Hanly ; 
** why not 1 You see, our city poli- 
tics are curiously managed. We have 
two great parties, the Republican and 
the Democratic. All the foreigners 
are ' taken ' with the name of the 
latter, and make haste to join it. 
Some of them are so delighted that 
they liot onlj' join the party, but 
vote at the polls before they've been 
twelve months in the country." 

" Bless my soul," said >^r. liussell. 
** But they rarely hold office, I imag- 
ine, do they 1" 

" Your imagination does you dis- 
credit," said Hardy ; " they hold it 
all the time. Look at the policemen 
we meet between this and the City 
Hall. Here come three now. What 
are they ?" 

'* Evidently Irishmen," said Mr. 

" Precisely. All Irish. We have 
hosts of Irishmen on the force." 

" Do they make good officers." 

" That depends. During the war 
riots the police acted nobly. It was 
feared that their sympathies for the 
poor devils who were dragg«?d off to 
the war would affect thcni in the 
performance of their duty. But not 
at all. They obeyed orders like sol- 
diers. The city was saved by their 
heroism." t 

" But your aldermen and so on, of 
course, as a rule, they are natives." 

" Not at all. As a rule they are 
adopted citizens. Aldermen, as a 
general thing, are not remarkable for 

wit or honesty. . Their stupidity is 
proverbial, (jur filKU'ilf is an Irish- 
man. The county clerk is a Ce.rman. 
Three of the coroners are Geiinan, 
and in all our local boards— nuch as 
Rchool trustees, c',\ci.'*e commissioners, 
ward officers unvl so on — the foreign 
element is largely represented." 

** How d(» you account for ihatl" 
said Mr. Kussell. '* II seems very 
strange to me." 

" Oh, easily," answered Hardy ; 
" the party in power has all the 
' patronage,' as it is called. Patron- 
age here means public employment. 
The police, the tire department, the 
parks, the public works, the court 
officers, all are cursed by the same 
complaint. The party in power 
wants all the places to pay for services 
rendered at the polls. Thou.sands of 
laborers are paid two dollars a day 
on the boulevards, for instance, and 
every man of them has his work be- 
cause som? politician asked it. Why, 
even the policemen don't know from 
day to day how long tliey ar« secure 
in their places." 

" But d«)e6n't the Mayor attend 

" The Mayor," said Hardy ; " the 
Mayor has just about as much to do 
with it as you have. He can't make 
nor break a single employed of the 
entire city government ; uot one of 
them, outside his individual otUce, 
is at his disposal." 

" But surely he controls the linan- 
ces, and the man who does tinil iu in 
the seat of power t " 

"Just so. If he controllcti the 
finances. But he controls notliing. 
Our financial chief is\vell called the 
comptroller. When he is notified that 
bills are to be paid or money ex- 
pended, he makes out a warrant and 
signs it. The Mayor countertjigna it 
as a matter of form. He. km^ws 
nothing about it. If he refuses to 
sign it the courts will compel hiui. 



I tell yuu the Mayor is a perfect 
cipher. AH he can do is to receive 
peopii>, review processions, respond to 
toasts, and be a respectable dummy 
figure head. Do you see lat man, 
the tall one, on the coriioi 1 That's 
Loster Walluck." 

" Who is he 1" 

" Well, he owns the theatre I 
showed you on the corner of 13th 
Street. He is considered our best 
American comedian, and is a great 
favorite in society, as well as on the 

" He looks a manly fellow," said 
Mr. Russell ; " is he a New Yorker 1 " 

" Oh, no. He's an Englishman, 
son of the great Wallack, and a very 
tine man." 

"What a solid, respectable-looking 
edifice that is ! What is it t" asked 
Mr. Russell. 

" That's Stewart's retail store. H« 
has another about as large further 
down town." 

" Rich man, I suppose 1" 

" Well, I sliould say so. Ho is re- 
ported as having about $75,000,000." 

" Bless my soul. Did he make or 
inherit it r' 

" Made every dollar ^^{ it." 

"Born here 1" 

" No. He's Irish, or Scotch Irish 
I boliere." 

"It seems to me everything and 
everybody has a touch of Irish or 
English in this town. Hardy." 

" It does look so, I declare. Let's 
see ; they are playing either French, 
English or Irish pieces at all the 
theatres. Nearly all our loading ac- 
tors are foreign. A majority of our 
politicians came from County Cork, 
and nearly ever beggar one meets has 
a brogue on his tongue, or has left his 
h's at 'ome." 

"Those are fine photographs, Mr. 
ILardy. Let mo take the number of 
the place. Maud was saying last 
night she must have some pictures 

taken. Suppose we step in a mo- 

They looked at the collection, in 
which Hardy pointed out Edwin 
Booth, President Grant, Governor 
Dix, Mayor Havemeyer, Mrs. Scott 
Sidilf)n«, Miss Rose Eytinge, Rev. 
H. W. Beecher, Miss Charlotte Cush- 
man, P.T. Barnum, General Sherman, 
James Fi8k,Jr., and other well known 
people, after which Mr. Russell en- 
gaged an hour for Mrs. Russell and 
daughter the following day. 

As they regained tlie street Hardy 
noticed the time and said he feared 
it would be too late to fimi the Mayor 
at his office. 

Mr. Russell was about replying 
when his eye caijght the figure of 
One-eyed Charley Miller. 

Miller was walking rapidly on the 
opposite side of the street. 

His hut wjis pulled well down over 
his forehead, but his figure and gait 
were unmistakable. 

Hardy, without a word to Mr. Rus- 
sell, ran after Miller, and surprised 
him before he had time to think or 

" Hallo, old man, where are yon 
going in such a hurry 1" paid Hardy. 

Miller stopped short. 

His hair was disordered, his eye 
was bloodshot, his face unshaven, his 
linen soiled, his clothing untidy. 

He was drunk. 

" Hardy," said he ; " damn you, 
Haniy, old fel ; I like you. Say, 
Hardy, I want to get my flippers on 
that Templeton. Hardy, I'm drunk; 
and when I'm drnnk I know it. I 
don't stagger outside, and I don't 
stagger inside. Where's Russell, 
Hiirdy 1 I like Russell. Let's get a 

Mr. Russell crossed the street and 
was approaching the two, but Hardy 
motioned him away and he retired to 
a doorwav, where he could see what 



Hardy was very anxious to get man to drive to police headquarters, 

from MiJler the whole of Tcmp]eton's and jumped in himself And so, for 

plan, and this he believed to be a a second time, Mr. RuRsell was uu- 

good time to do so. He hailed a ceremoniously left to find his way 

coupS, and pulling Miller in, told the home alone. 




T the dinner table, Mr. Rus- 
sell complained of headache, 
and told hia wife he would 
have to be excused from going with 
her to the theatre, and that she and 
Maud must depend on H-iidy for an 

Wliilo they were discussing the 
nistter, Hardy came in, uiul Mrs. 
Russell said : ** Mr. Hardy, we old 
folks will stay at home together to- 
night. You take Maud to the tliea- 
tre ; «ho is very anxious to go, and I 
am very glad I have so trusty a friend 
to send hfir witli." 

" I shall be very glad to escort 
Miss Maud, I am sure," asiul Hardy, 
" but 1 think you make a mistake in 
not going." 

•' Oh, I have a bad headache, 
Hardy," said Mr. Russell, " and I'm 
not going. So you just take good 
oare of Maud, and be sure to let me 
see you early in the morning. Where 
dill you leave your friend 1 " 

"Oh, he's all right," replied Hardy; 
" I left him fast asleep at headquar- 
ters in the matron's apartments. He 
will be brought to my room in the 
morning ; ajid, by the way, suppose 
you look in about noon. You know 
the way, don't you 1 " 

" All right, I will," eaid Mr. Rus- 
sell, as they rose from the table, and 
Maud retired to dress. 

Presently returning, the pride and 
pet of the happy pair, Maud kissed 
her father and mother good-bye, and 
gay as a lark, st/xrted off with the 
l.ajtpiest and jiroudest of them all — 
John Hardy, her lover yet unan- 

The beautiful theatie was crowded, 
every seat being taken, and the audi- 
ence peculiarly bright and gay. In 
the orchestra stalls sat many people 
of repute, known personally or by 
sight to Hardy, and the time passed 
quickly as they waited for the rising 
of the curtain. 

The play was full of suggestive 
points, all of which Hardy felt; some 
of which made Maud wonder. 

At the close of the second acti 
Maud was in ecstasies. She had not 
often attended theatrical representa- 
tions, atul the excitement told upon 
her. She was bewilderingly beauti- 
ful, and many a glass was turned full 
upon her flushed and innocent face, 
as, unconscious of the attention, she 
looked out uj)on the people. 

'• Your father asked me to engage 



rooms on the steamer to-day," said 

"I know it," said Maud ; " I am 
very sorry. A month will give us 
very little time here. I am just 
beginning to know New York, and 
I wanted to see Niagara before we 
went home. You don't know how 
pleasant it is to huva you with us, 
Mr. Hardy. Mamma said to-day she 
should miss you awfully when we 


"Oh, VH : I now I shall. I am 
sure you li. •. been better to me than 
any brother: From the dreadful hour 
when you saved me from injury, if not 
from death, you have been even more 
than a brother could be." 

" I wish I might. That is, I wish 
it were possible for me to be where I 
might always be of service to you. 
Miss Maud. The kindness and sym- 
pathy shown me by your father touch 
me very nearly, I assure you, and 
when he goes, I shall feel as if the 
world were dark indeed." 

" But papa says you are going over 
with us," said Maud. " He says you 
need rest, and he's going to get it for 
you. You won't spoil all our plans, 
will you ] Say you won't, plcuso." 

Hardy said nothing. He loved 
the girl devotedly, but ho loved her 
honorably. He would have given 
ten years of his life to feel that he 
had the right to woo her, but ho 
feared it would not bo fair towards 
the parents who trusted him. 

'• Well, I declare, Mr. Haidy," saiii 
Maud, "you are as sober as a judge. 
Why don't you answer uie?" 

" Eeally, I cannot. 1 don't know 
that I can get leave of absence, and 
besides, 1" — 

"You what 1 I believe in ray soul 
there's something romantic in all this. 
It isn't pretty Mary Miller, is it 1 " 

And Maud laughed merrily as she 
asked the question. 

" Come, come, Mr. Hardy, I'll tell 
papa if you don't entertain me. I« 
there a lady in the case ? " 

" Yea, a dear sweet lady, the dear- 
est and sweetest in the world." 

" And won't she let you go to 

Hardy looked at her. 

He loved her, and ho hoped she 
knew it, although he had never said it. 

He was sitting at her side, but back 
60 that he neither saw the audience 
nor could be seen by it. 

Maud turned toward Hardy, and 
he, impulsive in spite of his caution, 
took her hand firmly in his and, with 
an earnestness too marked to bo tritied 
with, said : "Maud, you are that lady. 
For you I have perilled life, but it 
was as nothing. I have loved you 
since We met. I hated and pursued 
that scoundrel because he was play- 
ing with your love. I begKn to take 
a deep intei-est in serving your father 
because I loved you, though in the 
service I grew to love him. To please 
you is my ambition, to win you 
would be a reward of which at least 
I have a right to think, if not, to 
hope for. You are dearer to me than 
life. Your love I would prize above 
all earthly blessings. Am I rash in 
telling you this? Do I offend] I 
would not have s|)oken had I coun- 
selled of my pride, but asking Love, 
I dared to spoak. May I have hope V 

Maud's color came and died away. 
She knew that Hardy's manliness naa 
as honest and trustworthy as that of 
her father. 

She respected, esteemed, admired 
him, but did she love him 1 

She allowed her hand to remain in 
his for a moment. 

Then smiling sweetly she withdrew 
it, and said : " Thank you, Mr. 
Hardy. I thank you. You have 
neither annoyed nor offended me. I 
will tell you more when wo leavo 
this place." 



" But may I liope 1 " 
"Yes, hope." 

" I will Bpeak to your father to- 
morrow. 1 will tell him of niy love 

and when the curtain fell on the 
final scene, so near as we can judge, 
the dramatic unities both in front 
and behind the footlights were in a 

for you. I will beg him to lay aside remarkable state of harmony. 

his prc'jiulicc. I will" — Maud and Hardy walked slowly 

" Will you go lujuie with us ? " back to the hotel — he an accepted 

" Yes, to the end of the earth." lover, she a hopeful, happy girl. 
The play proceeded on the stage, 




HE next morning Hardy was 

uj) bright and early, at peace 
^"^^"^ with himself and all the world. 

He was in love with Maud, and 
■he with him. 

What more could man desire 1 

What more 1 

Oh, ihut it was that made him 
ponder the past, consider the present, 
and forecast the future. 

In the past he saw the son of a 

In the present he beheld a de- 
tective police oHtcer. 

And in the future — what? 

Would Mr. Kussell, rich, influen- 
tial, stern and proud, give the hand 
of his daughter to a man whose 
hundred.s of dollars numbered less 
than his own scores of thousands ? 

And Mrs. Russell, kind and in- 
dulgent as she always was, would it 
be possible to induce her to so great 
a sacrifice ) 

These and kindred questions 
sobered his elated heart and toned 
down his buoyant spirit, until appre- 
hension took the place of peace, and 

doubt reigned supreme in the young 
man's mind. 

He had no fear as to Maud. 

Before he parted from her at the 
hotel she had given him ample 
assurance of her love, and together 
they had planned that the best way 
to approach Mr. Russell was through 
his wife. 

That Maud undertook to do. 

The dear girl knew that her 
mother's heart was bound up in her 
happiness, and that once a party to 
her daughter's project, nothing could 
turn or swerve her from her purpose. 

Hardy lived in lodgings, and took 
his meals at an adjacent restaurant. 
On this occasion he breakfasted un- 
usually early, so that when old Miller 
was brought to his rooms he would 
be sure to be at home. 

Having read the papers. Hardy 
naturally thojight about Maud. 

And that led him to think of hia 
mother and of a picture he had of 
her, which he had promised to show 
to Maud. 

He took the fading dafruerreotyp© 



from its place on the mantel, and 
looked long and lovingly at the seam- 
ed and wrinkled face disclosed. It 
was not n handsome face, but it was 
his mother's. How well ho remem- 
bered her kind care and thoughtful 
ways. She was always very fond of 
him, and shared her husband's pride 
in all his progress at school. And 
when ho grew tall and manly, and 
began to bring home the fruits of his 
industry, her old eyes often tilled 
with tears of gratitude, and her trem- 
bling lips uttered many prayers of 
thanks that the boy of her love was 
not like the rude and reckless com- 
panions of his age. 

Her old fashioned, nail studded, 
hair-covered trunk stood in one cor- 
ner of Hardy's room. 

Years ago ho nad opened it once 
and saw bundles and books, and 
papers and letters, none of which he 
looked at. 

Miller had not yet arrived, and the 
thought occurred to Hardy that this 
was a good time for him to empty 
tiie trunk, examine its contents, 
throw away the useless matter, and 
rearrange the rest. 

Suiting the action to the thought, 
he hauled the trunk from its corner, 
opened it, and turned its contents on 
the bed. 

As he did so a knock was hoard at 
the door. 

" Come in," said Hardy. 

" All right," said a voice, and in 
walked " One-eyed Miller." 

" They were going to send round a 
*cop' with me," said he ; " but when 
they told me the way, 1 found it 
myself; and here I am as straight as 
a ruler, but I want a pipe." 

" I am glad to see you, Miller," said 
Hardy ; " you were seedy enough 
yesterday. Why, how nice you look. 
Been to a barber's 1 " 

" Yes," said Miller, as he puffed 
fast and strong. *' Yes, I wanted to 

see the old man, an I make it all 
right. 1 don't worry much about my 
con^ience, you know, but Mnry and 
Martha have been at mo about it, till 
it fieemed as if there was a little hell 
inside of me. I can't find that infer- 
nal sconndad of a Templeton, with 
his black eye and curly hair. I'd 
Templeton him so quick he wouldn't 
know whicli end he stood on, if I had 
a chance at him. What are you doing 
with that kit of papers 1 Heavens, 
what a lot of letters ! I hate letters — 
that is, all but the girls' letters. Every 
letter my girls ever wrote to me I've 
got, and some of them are very good, 
I teU you." 

If Miller had blustered. Hardy 
would have met him. 

I^he had commenced to lie, Hardy 
would have humored him. 

As it was, Miller was fast making 
a conquest. Hardy knew enough of 
Miller's daughters to convince him 
that, prior to Templeton's advent, 
their home was happy and they con- 
tented. And he now knew that in 
some way Templeton had not only 
endeavored to deceive and practise 
fraud on Mr. Kuesell, but had done, 
through Mary, a great wrong to old 
Miller himself. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, 
while Miller took a chair. Hardy said : 
" Miller, if I had gone into this job 
for money, and had been successful, 
I would have made a fortune. As it 
is, if my own interest was all I 
thought of, I might haul in a very big 
pile. You know enough of men in 
general, and of Mr. llussell especially, 
to see that. And you have done 
enough business with mo to know 
that I am a man who deals on the 
square, and tells the truth. I not 
only haven't made a dollar out of this, 
but I don't intend to. Mr. Eussell 
was not sanguine at the fii-st ; and, to 
do him justice, he always agreed with 
me that the Bob Delaney boy wa» 



much more likely to be Bob Delaney 
than Harry Russell. Still, the search 
has done the old man a benefit : it 
has relieved his mind. He has done 
all he could ; and that's all any man 
can be asked to do. / had a chance 
to go in with Templeton ; the same 
you had. I didn't bluff him at first. 
I let him go on ; and if I hadn't 
found him at the Tombs, trying to 
honeyfugle Mother Foster, I think I 
should bavo given him just rope 
enough 4)o hang himself with. Then 
he tried it nn you, and I make no 
bones of telling you, you played a 
deuccdly dirty trick on one of the 
best men living. And besides — but, 
never mind, we won't go into that." 
" No," said Miller. " You're right. 
It Tms a mean game, but let bygones 
be bygones ; I'm willing." 

Hardy laughed, and went on : 

" Of course you are. Now, you 
have done the square thing by ua 
because you had to, and you must 
admit that you've only done it as far 
as you were forced to ; don't you 
think you would do a better thing if 
you were to tell mo the whole plot 
from end to endl It won't harm you ; 
it may lead to the punishment of 

As Hardy finished the sentence he 
Tose from the bed on which he was 
sitting, intending to lower the cur- 
tain so as to shut out the sun, which 
shone directly on his face. As he 
did so his foot tripped on the top of 
the trunk, as it lay on the floor, and 
to save himself he caught quickly at 
the coverlid of the bed. This disar- 
jrangcd the bundles and papers, some 
■of which were thrown upon the floor. 

Miller assisted Hardy in picking 
them up, and as he did so said : 
" Hallo, Hardy, what's thisi Here's 
a bundle all tied up and sealed up as 
if it was a mummy. I declare, I 
haven't seen so much scaling wax 

since I was a boy. 8f cms to me you're 
not over careful ot your jewelry." 

Miller pitchni the package to 
Hardy, who was about to place it 
with the rest, when lie saw, in his 
mother's cramped and awkward hand, 
his own name written on the paper. 

The bundle was soft, and appar- 
ently contained clothing. 

Miller eyed him curiously. 

" Why don't you open ilV' eeid he. 

Hardy said nothing, but felt of the 
package from end to end. 

Then taking his knife from his 
pocket, he cut the string. 

Inside the paper was a roll of 
clothing, and a letter addressed 

"John Hardy, 

"New York. 

" If dead, destroy this." 

Hardy was astounded. 

For years that trunk had been 
ui.der his very eye. 

He had opened it but twice since 
it came in his possession. 

Its contents he had never looked 
at nor cared for, although he had 
now and then thought he would at 
some time clean out u^ rubbish and 
preserve whatever was worth keeping. 

Yet in that trunk was a I'^tter from 
the dearest mother man ever had. 

He loved her living, and he loved 
her dead. 

She had been eo much to him that 
he never thought of her without a 
smile or a tear; and yet for years, 
within reach of his hand, had been 
this letter. 

" Why, Miller," said he; " this is 
mother's. This letter's from mother. 
What can it bo 1 Why have I never 
seen it before ? I want to road it, 
yet I do not. Here, you read it 
No, give it to me. What an idea I 
Bless her heart ! That's her picture, 
Miller. Bless her heart ! She was 



just the best mother boy or man ever 
had. I'll read the letter." 

Forgetting Miller and all el»o be- 
sides, Hardy opened the carefully 
sealed envelope, and read aloud as 
follows : 

" Mt own Dkar Jack — 

*' God grant you u vy never see 
these lines. Your mot ler lovea you, 
Jacky, my boy ; love i you, loves 
you. I am going to write some- 
thing because I ou^ht to, and not 
because I want to. I am getting old, 
and it won't be long before I go to 
meet him you used to call your 
daddy. My conscience is heavy, 
Jacky. My conscience makes mo do 
this. I don't write it for you, 1 only 
write it because my conscience makes 
me. Don't think your old mother 
doesn't love you, boy. Don't think 
your daddy didn't. You know we 
did, and this minute, Jacky, you are 
sleeping where I hear you breathe; 
and this minute I kissed your fore- 
head as you slept. Jacky, you are 
not my son. Don't be angry, dear. 
You aro my own dear boy all the 
same, and I love you just the same. 
But you are not my son. We had a 
little fellow, too sweet to stay here 
long; and one day, these many, many 
years ago, your father brought you 
home. ' Here, dear,' said he, ' I've 
found another for you,' and you came 
right in my heart at once. He found 
you in the sewer, dear. He wa>j out 
with his bag, and as he looked in the 
great hole at the foot of the City 
Hall Park, he heard a cry. He was 
a good man. Ho got you out. He 
brought you home. You cried for 
'mamma,' and you called for ' papa,' 
but you were young, Jacky, drar, 
and such a pretty boy, I could not 
let you go. Next day, dear, we 
dressed you in our little Jacky's 
clothes, and tried to coax and ques- 
tion you. But it was all ' mamma ' 

and ' papa ' with you. Your clothes 
were spoiled, and you were sick. 
You only kept up a few hours, when 
fever set in. The doctor gave no 
hope, but I nursed you through, my 
boy, and in about a month you sat 
up straight in bed, for all the world 
like a beautiful star. But you knew 
nothing. We tried very hard, but 
could get nothing from you. I wai 
sorry and glad. I wanted to keep 
you. Wo called you after my dead 
darling, and I hugged you in my 
arms for him. That's all. Jack, my 
boy. Let me call you Jack, my son. 
I shall do these clothes up in a bun- 
dle, and put this letter with 'em. 
You won't be likely to see it. Jack. 
If yon don't, I shall be thankful. If 
you do, my boy, remember how your 
daddy loved you and how your 
mother loves you, and forgive us if 
we have done wrong. Heaven pre- 
serve and protect you, Jack, my boy, 
my son, my darling. 

" Mother." 

" Forgive you 1" said Hardy. " For-- 
give you 1 Bless you, God bless you, 
you dear, honest, loving mother;" and 
he kissed the picture ayain and again. 

"But who, then, am IT' said he. 
" Let's look at the clothes." 


Tliere was a little jacket with but- 
tons all over it, and a jolly little pair 
of trowsers with a pocket on one side, 
and a make-believe pocket on the 

But no mark of any kind. 

Hardy's face was red with excite- 

Milkn- pufted quietly on. 

A rap at the door, followed by 
Hardy's "tome in," disclosed Mr. 
Russell, wlio looked at the two men 
and the disordered apartment in un- 
disguised astonishment. 

" Ah, come in, Mr. Russell, come 
in," said Hardy. " Excuse my lack 



of ceretnony, ami my excess of con- 
fusiuii. It 'luesn't look like mo, I 
confuBs ; but inasmuch as I don't 
kijow wjjo I am, it mutters very little. 
Sit down, plt*ase." 

Mr. Kustscll was ho taken aback 
by tliiH unusual reception, that he 
hardly knew what to do. 

He had always found Harily res- 
pectful and considerate ; now he 
found him brusque and almost rude. 

He looked at him closelv, and see- 
Ing tears in the young man's eyes, 
pushed away the chair Miller had 
offered him, and laying his hand on 
Hardy's shoulder, said, as a father 
might to a son whom he loved: "Tell 
n:.*, Hardy, what troubles you. Sure- 
ly I have the right to ask, and you 
know, my boy, that you have no 
right to conceal aught from me. Has 
Miller annoyed youl" 

Miller looked up quickly, and said : 
"Mr. liussoll, Mr. Hardy is your 
agent. We have buried the past 
between us. I have confessed my 
fault and the truce is declared. I now 
ask your pardon, sir, and as I do so, 
let me couple my petition with a de- 
claration of regard and esteem for 
this young man, for whom I would 
do anything in my power. No, sir, 
Miller| has not annoyed him, but 
Miller will help him, and op that you 
may bet your bottom dollar." 

Miller spoke slowly as was his 
habit, but he also spoke earnestly, 
and there was something so tender in 
his manner and .expression, that Mr. 
Eussell, whose heart was big and gen- 
erous, extended his hand, and with 
a cordial grasp, said : "As you say, 
Mr. Miller ; as you say. Bygones 
«?iall bo bygones. Now tell me what 
under the sun is the matter with 
John Hardy 1' 

" Read this letter, sir," said Hardy ; 
" that will tell you. I have lost my 
motlier, sir , ana my dear oM father, 
too, who used to be so proud of his 

boy, is mine no longer. O why did 
I open that infernal trunk 1" 

Mr. Kussell read the letter through 
before h«? spoke. 

Then wiping his eyes, he turned to 
Hardy and said : " Well, Hardy, this 
is rather rough. I know what it is 
to hmo father and mother, by death. 
But I confess this is a touch beyond 
that. But those clothes. Is there 
nothing on them to indicate a rlae V 

" Nothing, nothing at all," replied 

" Nothing but thi^" cried Miller, 
who had been tur.iing the suit over 
and over; "nothing but this" — 

Mr. Russell literally snatched the 
little jacket fvom the old man's hands. 

On the loop placed there for con- 
venience of hanging the garment on 
a hook or nail, was a small sales 
ticket, on which wa» printed 

"Hall, Milwaukee." 

He could scarce believe his eyes. 

" Hall. Milraukee," cried he. " It 
cannot bo. Oh, Hardy, speak. Mil- 
ler, speak ! Great Heavens, can this 
be so ! Hardy, Hardy, you are my 
son ! I bought this suit myself. You 
wore it to New York when you were 
lost. Hardy ! Hardy ! For God's 
sake, hel^ me, Miller. His foot ! his 
foo! \" 

Quicker than a flash, old Miller 
pushed the half stupefied Hardy to a 
seat, drew oif his gaiter, pulled off 
his sock — but no, they were all there ! 

" The other, man ; the other. I 
told you the other," shouted Mr. 

And there, sure enough, was tLo 
mutilated foot, kissed by the father, 
shook by old Miller, and kissed and 
shook again, until, in an ecstasy of 
joy, a perfect whirlwind of conflicting 
emotions, fatlier and son held each 
other tight in a long and loving em- 



Miller tcratuhed his head. 

" And now for home," said Mr. 
Russell ; "how Maud's eyes will open, 

Maud ! 

Groat Heavens ! Hardy had not 
thought of that, and burying his head 
in his pillow, ho sobbed uloud. 

Miller beckoned Mr. UiissoU to 
the window. 

Placing hiH pipe on the sill, he took 
theuHtunishtd father by the hand. 

" Mr. Russell, this is a matter of 
life or death, r.d you can alone de- 
cide it. Your am loves your daugh- 
ter. He has found a father, but he 
loses a wife." 

" Nonsense. Not at all, sir ; not ai 
all. Hardy, old fellow, Hardy, my 
darling, look up ! Dress yourself and 
come with me. Your mother will want 
to see you. Ay, my boy, and your 
sweetheart will want to be the first to 
congratulate us both." 

'* What do you mean, sir T " said 

•• What do 1 mean t Great Heaven, 
what do I not mean ? Maud is not 
my child. Maud is not your si^r. 
Pier mother brought the dear giil with 
her when we were married. You shall 
wear her as you have won her, my 
son. Now, will you comel" 




there's no PLACE LIKE HOME. 

'HREE weeks from t ><py 

day a jolly party stood upon 
thu deck of an outward-bound 
steamer, and Horace Russell was cry- 
infi like a child. 

Perhaps you think a strong man 
should nut cry. 

Well, let us see. 

Just beyond him was a firoup, 
laughing, crying, shaking hands, and 
kissing : 

Old Miller and Mary, Robert De- 
laney and Martha, John Hardy, or, 
as he was then, Harry Russell, and 
Maud, his bride, with Mrs. Russell at 
their side. 

Mr. Delaney and Martha were part 
of the travelling company, and Miller 
with Mary had come to bid them 

Mr. Russell had arranged it all. 

He had pent a check for $1,500 to 
the trustees of Mr^ Delaney's church, 
with which to supply the pulpit for 
a year, and the young couple gladly 
availed themselves of the cordial in- 
vitation of their friend to pass that 
year abroad. 

Maud had told her mother of 
Hardy's declaration, and they were 

discussing it, when Mr. Russell and 
his new found Harry made their ap- 
pearance and disclosure. 

AVords cannot describe the sceno 
that followed. 

Suffice it that the lovers were mar- 
rie<l by the Rev. Robert Delaney, and 
that at the wedding breakfast the 
entire Miller family were honored 

" Homo again," was now the cry of 
Horace Russell. 

His uiTairs needed him. 

Yes, but it was not for that he 

He hid found his son. 

Twenty years' lost time roust ba 
made up. 

The sooner he began the better. 

"With wife and son and daughter, 
he craved his native air. He longed 
to present his boy, his son and heir, 
to his workmen and his friends. 

Thefuture beckoned him with wide 
ambitions, in all of which John Hardy 
— Harry Russell — was an element. 

How happy ho was ! 

How happy they all were I 

No wonder that the strong man 


tie their ap- 

} the scene 

* were mar- 
ehiiioy, and 
eakfast the 
"6 honored 

^ the cry of 

Jr that he 

must ba 

3e Jonged 
and heir, 

*ith wide 
in Ifardy 

3ng man