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NIR 174

TWENTY MINUTES
LATE

BY

PANSY

{^Isabella M. Alden)

Author of " John Remington, Martyr," " Aunt Hannah,

Martha and John," " Judge Burnham's Daughters,"

" Chrissy's Endeavor," " Mrs. Solomon Smith

Looking On," " Chautauqua Girls," Etc.

TORONTO:

WIIvLIAiVL BRIGGS.

MONTREAL: C. W. COAXES. HALIFAX: S. F. HUESTIS.

Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year
one thousand eight hundred and ninety-three, by William Briggs,
Toronto, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

PAGE

I.

Disappointment .... 7

II.

Clothes

20

III.

Something to Remember

29

IV.

" A Pretty State of Things"

41

V.

" What Could Happen ? "

64

VI.

A New Friend .

69

VII.

A Sunday in Philadelphia

86

VIII.

Night Work .

103

IX.

Waiting

119

X.

A Trying Position .

131

XI.

Dark Days

147

XII.

" So You Want to go Home ?

'

161

XIII.

The Unexpected Happens

179

XIV.

Conflicting Advice .

194

XV.

A Long, Wonderful Day

211

XVI.

Borrowed Trouble .

225

XVII.

Learning .

241

XVIII.

Machines and News

257

XIX.

Entertaining Company

271

XX.

Great Questions Settled

287

XXI.

"Merry Christmas"

305

XXII.

"Luck" .

322

XXIII.

Another " Side-Track"

343

XXIV.

At Last .

351)

TWENTY MINUTES LATE.

CHAPTER I.

DISAPPOINTMENT.

rpiHE autumn day was as beautiful as scar-
let and crimson and gold maple leaves
could make it. The air was a charming crisp.
The world looked lovely, and did its best
to make Caroline Bryant own it. But that
young woman's heart was sore and sad. She
tried her best to be cheerful, and succeeded so
well that her little sister Daisy confided to the
dolls that, "Sister Line took disappointments
in a lovely way." Caroline did laugh a little
when she heard this, but in a somewhat scorn-
ful way. It struck her as absurd that anybody
should call her trouble disappointment. " Be-
cause," she told herself philosophically, " I do
not suppose one can properly use that word
when there has never been the slightest hope
of having one's wish, and I am sure I have
7

8 DISAPPOINTMENT.

never for five seconds believed that I could go
away. It was out of the question, of course."

Despite which statement, and following the
smile so suddenly that it must almost have
startled it, a great tear plashed down into the
dishwater. Say what she might about never
having an idea of it, the fact remained that
when the letter was written and sealed and
dropped into the post-office, which said a very
grateful "No" to the invitation, an added
lump of pain seemed to rise up in the girl's
throat.

The invitation had been from Judge Dun-
more himself, heartily seconded by his wife, to
spend two beautiful weeks in their city home
and attend the Exposition, where so many won-
derful things were to be seen that the Judge
said it was really quite an education for a
young person with wide-open eyes.

The letter had further added that they would
be glad to include both Ben and Daisy in the
invitation, only they were well aware that the
little Daisy would be considered too young to
make a visit apart from her mother, and that
Ben, the care-taker, would be needed to look
after mother and sister ; so that Miss Caroline

DISAPPOINTMENT, 9

was the only person whom they could in hon-
esty be said to expect.

It would be difficult to describe the state of
excitement into which this letter threw Caroline
Bryant. She remembered taking a journey
with her mother on the cars when she was nine
years old — a journey of seven hours' duration
— and the marvelous experiences of that day
she sometimes went over, even now, for Daisy's
benefit. It was her one journey, and she had
all an intelligent girl's longing for travel and
the experiences to be gained by travel.

The very "toot-toot" of the engine, as it
halted for a few seconds at the depot around
the corner, and then hurried on with increased
speed, apparently sorry for having lost so much
time, made her cheek flush and her heart beat
faster. What joy it would have been to have
taken a journey all by herself — quite a long
journey too, nearly a hundred miles.

To be sure a gray-headed lawyer whom Judge
Dunmore knew would be on the same car with
her, and see that she stopped at the right sta-
tion. "Just as though she would not know
enough for that ! " she said to the dishes, with
a toss of the head. But then what was the

10 DISAPPOINTMENT.

use in talking about that? she couldn't do it.
It was quite impossible of course to think of
going, notwithstanding the fact that Judge
Dunmore had inclosed a pass for her over the
road. There was something very delightful to
her in the thought of traveling on a "pass."
" Only people of distinction have them," she
said to Daisy, and she could not help laughing
over the little girl's question :

" Then, Line, what right would you have to
use one ? I mean," she «added, when Caroline
laughed, " that although you are dear and pre-
cious, and are more to us than any one else in
the world, of course you are not what they
mean by a person of distinction ; are you ? "

"Not yet," her sister had answered gaily,
"but you wait, little Daisy, nobody knows what
I may do for the honor of the family some day.
The present beauty of it, though, is that Judge
Dunmore is a person of distinction, and he has
sent a little shadow of it to rest upon me.
What a wonderful thing it would be to visit at
his house. O, Daisy ! if I could only go."

"Of course I cannot think of going," she had
said to her mother, with a wild hope in her
heart that her mother would sav, "Of course

DISAPPOINTMENT. 11

you must go, dear ; such an opportunity is not
to be missed."

But instead the dear mother had smiled upon
her wistfully, tenderly, and shaken her head.

" It is not to be thought of, dear. You know-
how much mother wishes you could have such
a chance ; but your v/ardrobe, which is quite
respectable for home wear, would not do to
visit in a house like Judge Dunmore's. If
there were no other reason, that would be
sufficient."

" Why, I have my dark blue dress," Caroline
said wistfully, "and you said you were going
to make that brown skirt over for me, and my
gray flannel looks pretty well."

Mrs. Bryant smiled and hid a sigh, and still
shook her head. " Tlie gray flannel is too
short in both skirt and waist. Line dear," she
said, "and has very thin places in it beside.
It will do at home for a while, but could not be
depended upon for a day away from home ;
and the brown one will not make over into any-
thing but a second best, nor will it bear much
wear, so you see it narrows itself down to a
dark blue dress which has already been worn
one winter. It seems hard, daughter, but there

12 DISAPPOINTMENT.

are worse ills in the world. And there is the
school, you remember, to look forward to after
New Year's. You must feed your heart upon
that and let the Exposition wait another year."

For at last, after two years of waiting, Caro-
line Bryant was going back to school. She had
expected to enter the fall term, but a slight
illness of her mother had alarmed them all, and
almost made the daughter determine she would
never leave her to toil alone even for school.
However, Mrs. Bryant had rallied rapidly, and
had at last assured her children that she really
felt better than she had for a long time before
she was sick ; so, though it was too late for the
fall term, plans for the one to open the day
after New Year's went forward joyfully. Life
had looked bright to Caroline until this letter
from Judge Dunmore had set her pulses to
throbbing wildly. Her neighbor and friend,
Fanny Kedwin, had not helped her much.

" Such luck ! " she said enviously, as they
discussed the invitation for the dozenth time.
" If I could get invited to a place like that you
may believe I would go if I had to sell my old
shoes to get the things I needed."

"I certainly should, too," answered Line,

DISAPPOINTMENT. 13

bursting into the first laugh that she had given
in several hours at the absurdity of the sug-
gestion. "The only trouble is that my old
shoes wouldn't furnish the money ; and yours
must look better than they did yesterday, if
they would."

Now Fanny Kedwin was the sort of girl who
could never endure to be laughed at, though
there was the utmost good nature in the laugh.
She answered with sharpness :

"Well, I don't care, my mother says if her
girl had such a chance to see the world she
would work her fingers to the bone but that
she should go. She says she should think you
earned enough to have a little pleasure, espe-
cially when it is fixed so it will not cost you
anything."

Poor Caroline was paying dearly for her
laugh ; her cheeks glowed and she held her
head high, and spoke stifily.

"I ought to be much obliged to your mother
for the interest she takes in me, I think. But
I can assure you that the last thing I want is
tc have my mother 'work her fingers to the
bone' to give me a chance to go away from
home for a few days. I do not have so hard a

14 DISAPPOINTMENT.

time at home as that would suggest; and I may
as well tell you in plain words, Fanny Kedwin,
that my mother and I understand each other,
and do not need any help from other people."

She was very angry ; in fact, had been grow-
ing more angry every moment since she com-
menced her reply.

Fanny Kedwin gazed at her in surprise.
Truth to tell, Caroline was not usually so quick
to take offense as this, and often bore plain
talk with good nature from this girl, not so
well brought up as herself. The unusual ex-
hibition seemed to fill her with curiosity instead
of anger.

" I declare, T believe it is true," she said, with
an air of conviction, and, not waiting for Caro-
line to decide whether she should lower her
dignity to ask what was true, proceeded to
explain. " The girls in school said to-day that
Ben was a great deal better than he used to
be ; that he didn't get mad half so quick, and
that he was unselfish too. Well, he was always
unselfish, but they said he kept getting more so
all the time, and that you were getting worse.
Lucy Ellis said you were getting to be a regular
spitfire ; that you as good as told her to mind

DISAPPOINTMENT, !«

her own business last night when she asked an
innocent question."

Caroline had no reply to make this time.
She was already ashamed of her outburst, and
that — even if she had not been conscious that,
as far as Lucy Ellis was concerned, the verdict
was true — would have held her silent.

She remembered the question well ; it had
been about this same visit.

"Say, Line," Lucy had said, "why do you
suppose they invited you? It seems kind of
queer, you know, when they haven't any girls
of your age to visit with. Don't you suppose
maybe they have a lot of company and want
you for a kind of extra help?"

Then had Caroline's face flushed. In a way
that would have grieved her mother — and per-
haps it was little wonder — she as good as told
Lucy it was none of her business why she was
invited.

All things considered, the invitation had cer-
tainly been productive of a good deal of un-
happiness to Caroline. She tried to think about
it seriously after Fanny Kedwin went home.
Was she growing worse daily, as they said?
She knew she was not so good as Ben, never

16 DISAPPOINTMENT.

had been ; indeed it was not likely she ever
would be. Ben was different in every way
from most boys. Miss Webster said he was a
rare boy ; so did Mr. Holden. But she did not
want to grow worse every day. Why did that
old invitation ever come, when it couldn't do
anything for her but make her cross ?

Caroline finished the day, as indeed she had
begun it, in a burst of tears. It was because
of this disappointment of Caroline's that a day
of pleasure was planned for Saturday. It is
true it had been talked of for a long time, but
Benjamin Bryant had not really roused himself
to action until it became certain that his sister
was not to go on the journey.

This same Benjamin deserves a few words on
his own account. A clear-eyed, pure-hearted,
manly-looking boy was Ben, a general favorite
at home and on the street. Fanny Kedwin had
correctly reported his classmates' idea of his
character. Indeed she might have said much
more, for Ben was often the subject of conver-
sation, especially among the younger scholars.

" There is not a selfish hair on his head," was
a favorite sentence often heard, as though sel-
fishness had had its favorite seat in the hair.

DISAPPOINTMENT. 17

"Nor a lazy one," some good-natured boy-
was always sure to add.

"I never saw Ben Bryant's beat for being
always at work, and I never saw anything like
his luck." This last contribution to his char-
acter was offered by Rufus Kedwin, who was
always talking about luck. "Why, he earns
lots of money. You've seen that little piping
machine of his, haven't you, which looks like a
doll's plaything, or something of that sort?
Well, sir, Ben makes it spin, I tell you ! And
the money he earns in a month with the thing
would scare you. He gets copying to do, you
know, and all sorts of jobs. I just wish I had
one of those machines, and you'd see me make
it go!"

" I thought Ben offered to let you learn on
his," said one of the older boys, with a signifi-
cant smile.

" So he did last winter, but now he is so busy
with it there is never time to learn it ; and when
he isn't using it Line is. She can run it as fast
as he can ; well, for that matter so can Daisy."

"Did you learn?" asked the older boy.
Thus pressed, Rufus answered that he did not ;
that he didn't see any use in learning a thing

18 DISAPPOINTMENT,

which couldn't be used after it was learned.
"If I only had a machine," he repeated, "it
would be different."

The boys within hearing laughed. They
were always amused when Rufus Kedwin got
off that "If I only had." It was a term so
constantly on his lips. There seemed no end
to his wants, nor the wonders he could do if
they were once supplied.

"What is the thing, anyhow?" one of the
new boys asked, and was informed that it was
a writing machine, and could "go like lightning
and do beautiful work."

" Ben is one of your goody-goody boys, isn't
he?" said this new-comer.

"Depends on what you mean by that," an-
swered Howard Benham. " If that means down-
right good, without any sham, and every time,
why, it describes Ben as well as any boy I know."

"Well, I meant he is one of the religious
kind ; goes to prayer meeting and Sunday-
school and that sort of thing, doesn't he?"

" I believe he does, and he doesn't go bird-
nesting on Sunday, nor get a demerit for it on
Monday, nor anything of that sort."

The sneering tone in which the new scholar

DISAPPOINTMENT. 10

had spoken had been too much for Ben's cham-
pion, who could not therefore resist the temp-
tation to turn the laugh upon him, he having
recently gone through the experience hinted at.
I am telling you these things in passing, only
to show you in what light Ben was regarded by
some of his schoolmates. We were going to talk
about the day of pleasure. Ben set himself at
working it up, but not until he had talked with
his mother about the matter.

I

CHAPTER II.

CLOTHES.

IS it entirely out of the question for Line
to go, mother ? "

"Entirely, I should say," Mrs. Bryant an-
swered, with a tone that had more sadness in
it than the boy realized.

She was a mother who would have so en-
joyed giving her children all they desired, if
she only could.

" Well, now, I don't see why," began Ben ;
"there's the fare provided for, and it is just in
the time when you are not hurried with work,
and long before the next term of school. What
is it that is in the way?"

" Clothes, my son."

"Clothes!" repeated Ben, stopping in his
work of skillfully laying the fire for morning to
give his mother an astonished look, "why,
mother, she wears clothes at home,"
20

CLOTHES. 21

" True, but there are clothes and clothes, ray
dear boy."

"But Line always looks nice. I was looking
at her last night at the lecture, and I made up
my mind she was the prettiest girl there."

His mother smiled fondly upon him. " I am
glad you are pleased with your sister's appear-
ance," she said. " She is a pretty girl, and is
always neat. But, my boy, what would be
suitable in our quiet home would be entirely
out of place at Judge Dunmore's, and your
sister is one to feel such things. If it were
your duty to go there with your best jacket a
little worn and your pantaloons a little shorter
than you like them and your neckties old fash-
ioned, T should know that you could forget
about them all, if you made up your mind to
do so, and have a pleasant time in spite of
them. But Caroline is not like you in this
respect. She would be miserable, I fear. She
wants so much to go, that she thinks she would
not mind these things, but I know her better
than that. She has never been away from
home, and does not realize the contrast there
would be between her and other girls of her
age. You need not wish her to goy Ben^ undvv

22 . CLOTHES.

present circumstances, for I know as well as
though I saw her undergoing it, that she would
be miserable."

Ben looked disappointed and troubled. "I
don't see what she is to do, then," he said ;
" she will be hindered from many places where
she might have opportunities, if she is to go on
nursing such a spirit."

" That is true, and if she were able to rise
above the question of dress so as to be happy
in a neat blue calico, when the dresses of all
about her were silks or cashmeres, I should be
glad ; but I assure you she could not be happy
so placed."

" But, mother, I don't quite understand you ;
if you don't think it right that Line should put
the question of dress so high, why do you en-
courage her in it ? I mean, why don't you ad-
vise her to go and see for herself what nice
times she could have in calico, if that is the
name of the stuff which ought not to be worn.
What is the matter with it, anyhow ? "

"That is a hard question to answer," his
mother said, smiling. " Nothing is the matter
with it, I suppose, except that it is not worn by
people of means, J 4o ^o^ won4er that jrou

CLOTHES. 23

are puzzled," she added, as she watched his dis-
turbed face. " It is a question that has per-
plexed wiser heads than yours or mine, this one
of dress and what to do about it. I was quite
enthusiastic over it once, and tried to get up a
society among the schoolgirls, get the M^ealthy
ones to join, pledging themselves to wear noth-
ing but calico for a term of years, so that the
people who were obliged to dress in calico
would feel comfortable wherever they went."

Ben's face brightened. "I think that was a
splendid idea," ho said eagerly. "Did you do
it — and if you did, why did not it last ? "

" It never began," his mother said, laughing ;
" I had a wise mother at home who jiricked my
bubble for me, and showed me that it was not
filled with material which would last."

" I don't see why," said Ben, disconcerted.

" Think, my boy ; suppose Miss Sutherland
and Miss Webster and Mrs. Judge Dunmore
and any other wealthy people whom we know,
as well as many whom we do not know, could
be induced to take such a pledge, and should
appear from this time dressed in calico, how
long would it be before the price of calico, or
gingham, for that matter, or any stuff which

24 CLOTHES.

they would make fashionable in that way, would
increase in price so that the hardest thing we
poor people could do would be to buy it ? "

"That is true,'' said Ben, thoughtfully and
somewhat sorrowfully, not so much over the
dress question as over the thought that there is
much to be learned in the world, and he was not
making as rapid progress as he could wish.

The truth is, Ben Bryant was doing well, and
was not far behind the boys who had been to
school steadily during his year of outside work ;
but he did not know it.

After this he gave up the idea of the visit,
and planned for the day of pleasure.

It was to be a nutting expedition away out
at the Beekman Grove. It was true there were
nuts nearer home, but none so nice; at least
that was the opinion of the Kedwins, who were
sure that if they could not go to just that spot
they did not care to go at all.

" It's too long a walk for Daisy," said Mrs.
Bryant, but Daisy was earnest in her protest.

"Why, mother, I am very strong; I could
walk six miles, I'm sure."

Rufus explained earnestly that on the return
trip they would need only to walk to the sta-

CLOTHES. 26

tion, half a mile from where they went into the
woods, and there they could get the express,
due at half -past five — just the time they would
want to go home. O, no indeed ! he and Fanny
would not think of going if they must walk
both ways.

"But to ride on the cars costs money," Ben
said at last, after looking at Line, who did
nothing but look at him. Ben thought there
were reasons why this remark would sound
better coming from her.

" O, money ! " said Rufus, as loftily as though
he were a millionaire ; " why, it costs only ten
cents apiece. If we can't afford that much for
a three-mile ride — almost four miles — we must
be hard up."

" I've walked three miles more than once to
save ten cents," said Ben, with a cheerful laugh.
"On a pleasant day, when you have plenty of
time, it is as nice a way of saving money as I
know. However, this is an especial occasion,"
and again he looked at Caroline.

Mrs. Bryant came to the rescue; she was
interested in this holiday. " Yes," she said
briskly, " it's a very special occasion ; my young
people do not often spen'd money for pleasure.

26 CLOTHES.

I fully agree with Ben that ten cent pieces are
worth saving — in fact those who do not save
them will never, as a rule, have much else to
save ; but then, sometimes they have to be
spent. I vote for this as one of the times. I
suppose the nuts are nicer in tlie Beekman
woods than anywhere else ; they used to be
when I was a girl ; and it is too far to walk
both ways ; I don't know about Daisy, but the
others could manage one way nicely, and have
a pleasant time doing it, I should say, and I'll
put you up a nice lunch."

Ben " knew about Daisy " if his mother did
not ; he resolved that she should go if he could
compass the matter. He came one morning in
high glee, and drew a faint squeal from Daisy
in his effort to seat her upon his head before he
explained; "Daisylinda, I have fixed it. Mr.
Brownlow's wagon is going out to his farm on
Saturday after a load — going out empty — and
I know a little woman who can ride almost to
the trees where the nuts grow, sitting upon a
beautiful cushion of hay."

" The wood wagon ? " echoed Caroline, in a
dismayed voice, " girls of my age do not go out
riding on a great clumsy wagon of that kind."

CLOTHES. 27

Ben looked at his mother, who smiled, but
said not a word.

"I was speaking of a girl of Daisy's age,"
he said, rather dryly; "I didn't speak for a
chance to ride for any one but her, though Miss
Webster said she should think we would all
like to ride in a wood wagon. She said when
she was a girl nothing pleased her more than a
ride out to the farm on the hay-rack."

"O, well!" said Caroline, "the hay-rack is a
very different thing. I have read stories about
girls riding on loads of hay, but never of climb-
ing into a great lumber wagon, like that on
which they carry wood."

" Then I suppose if I ever need to have you
take a ride on such an affair I shall have to
hire some one to write a story about it first,"
said Ben again, half in fun and half in vex-
ation. His sister Caroline's lately acquired
ideas in regard to being a young lady were
somewhat trying and rather puzzling to him.

Saturday came, as bright as an autumn day
could be, and just cold enough for enjoyment.
The walking party started on ahead. Mrs.
Bryant herself tucked Daisy into the great
wagon, and gave Jack, the gray-haired driver,

38 CLOTHES,

a good old man, and a warm friend of Daisy's,
many directions touching her comfort. The ride
was one long delight to the little girl. She was
surprised and half-sorry when they came to a
turn in the road and saw the walking party com-
fortably seated on a rail fence waiting for them.

"How could we have got here so quick?"
asked Daisy.

" Quick ! " said Jack, shaking his sides with
quiet laughter, " why, we've come powerful
slow ; it's up hill all the way, and the horses
worked hard yesterday and will have a tremen-
dous load to bring back, so I let 'em take it
easy ; besides, you entertained the old man 90
well he forgot to drive."

He lifted her out as if she had been a rare
bit of china which might get broken if he were
not very careful, and drove slowly on, looking
back with a half-regretful air at her as he said,
" She's one of the Lord's little white lilies, and
no mistake." Then, to comfort himself, old
Jack fell to singing in a loud, strong voice :

" The Lord into his garden comes;
The spices yield a rich perfume ;
The lilies grow and thrive."

CHAPTER III.

SOMETHING TO REMEMBER.

TTTHAT a day that was for the woods!
' ' what a delicious piney, nutty smell
there was to the air! Caroline Bryant stood
just at the edge of the wood lot and looked
over on the distant hills — on the tall trees in
their autumn dress of many colors, up to the
blue sky, took long draughts of air into her
lungs, and said, " Oh ! how beautiful every-
thing is. I wish we could come oftener. I
wish mother was here. Let us come next
week, Ben, and get mother to come along.
How she would like this view of the hills."

But they didn't come "next week." It was
a day to remember for many reasons. Long
afterwards the sights and sounds and smells be-
longing to the woods gave to both Caroline and
Ben Bryant peculiar sensations.
29

30 SOMt:THI!VG TO REMEMBER.

One episode to remember happened about the
middle of the afternoon. The nutting party
had worked industriously for several hours, had
roved through the woods gathering other treas-
ures than nuts, had found a sunny slope where
only trees enough stood to make it pleasant for
a camping ground that bright day, and had
spread out their dinner of bread and butter,
cold meat, rice pudding with raisins in it, and
a cake which Fanny Kedwin had assured them
was " really pound cake," made by her mother
for this occasion.

Never lunch tasted better than did this.
When Daisy, rummaging in the basket, brought
out a lovely little tart apiece — Mrs. Bryant's
surprise for them — their satisfaction reached
its climax.

It was after they had all agreed that it would
not be possible to take home any more nuts
than were gathered, that they resolved on fol-
lowing the merry little brook which gurgled
through the edge of the woods, a little further
up the stream, to see if they could find any late
berries. They were rewarded, not by berries,
but by the growing beauty of the stream and
the wood, and mosses and lichens, which were

SOMETHING TO REMEMBER. 31

more to both Caroline and Daisy than berries
would have been.

Fanny did not share their tastes. She ad-
mitted that she saw no beauty in the rough-
Jooking lichen, and said that tlie moss had ugly
gray streaks through it. But the Bryant bas-
ket was filled with some that had the most
streaks of any, to the exquisite joy of Daisy.

Meantime Rufus found a new enjoyment in
sailing small boats made of the largest leaves
from the trees, and seeing them rush down the
stream, only to make shipwreck on the gnarled
trunk of an old tree which lay in the bend of
the stream a few rods below.

"Come down here," he called to the girls,
" and see my boat. It is nice here ; the brook
has grown into a river."

" I can't go down any more hills," said Caro-
line ; " I believe I am tired," and she threw
herself upon the bank,

"I am tired, too," Fanny said, dropping be-
side her, " and I don't want to see any old boat
either. Rufus is just wild over the water. If
it were the ocean there would be some sense in
it, but a little brook I am tired of."

♦*Poft't go dpwp there, Daisy," called out

32 SOMETHING TO REMEMBER,

Caroline, as the little girl was taking careful
steps down the hill in answer to Kufus's call.;
She stopped at Caroline's word, but looked
wistfully down on the bright stream, that had
become "almost a river." She was fond of
water. " I would not go, dear ; I am too tired
to go another step, and it looks there as though
the water was deep."

"Nonsense!" said Rufus, who had come half-
way up the bank to see why his call was not
answered, and heard the words, "if you and
Fanny are too lazy to come, that is no reason
why Daisy should not see the fish ; they are
darting about there like everything. I have a
line and hook in my pocket, and I should not
wonder if she could catch one. Let her come,
Line ; I'll take care of her. Where is Ben ? "

"He went to cut some canes for us to walk
home with. Do you want very much to go,
Daisy? Well, Rufus, you keep watch of her,
won't you? She isn't used to water, you
know."

"'Course," said Rufus indifferently, "there is
no danger, not the least in the world. She
couldn't drown herself if she should try."

"I should not like to have her try^" said

SOMETHING TO BEMEMBEB, 33

Caroline, with a shiver ; " she would get a wet-
ting at least, and take cold."

Then they went down the hill together.
Caroline changed her position to get a view of
the little girl established on the bank with a
fish-line, standing very still, with a look of in-
tense interest on her face. If she should catch
a fish what an event it would be !

There really seemed to be no danger what-
ever, as Rufus had said, and Caroline allowed
her mind to wander away from her little sister,
and only half listened to a long story Fanny
was telling, because her thoughts went forward
to that city home which she so longed to visit,
and for the hundredth time she began to picture
to herself the delights that would have been
hers if she had gone.

Suddenly a faint little scream made her turn
quickly in that direction. Rufus was nowhere
to be se*en, and the brown head of the little
fisher was trying to* struggle up from the water.
With a few great bounds Caroline Bryant was
at the foot of the hill, followed by the fright-
ened Fanny.

" For mercy's sake what has happened ? " she
called ; then, taking in the situation^ she added

S4 SOMETHING TO REMEMBER.

her cry to the excitement. "Rufus, O, Rufus!
where are you ? Daisy is drowning ! "

It really seemed as though she were. Rufus
had been mistaken when he said she could not
drown if she tried ; nothing would have been
easier for a frightened little girl who could not
stand on the slip])ery stones.

Caroline waited for no Rufus, gave no thought
to herself, nor indeed to what was best to be
done, but made a spring into the swift-flowing
water and grasped for her sister's dress, but
the stream was deep at that point and the cur-
rent swift, and Caroline unused to the water.
The utmost she could do was to grasp the
branch of a fallen tree which hung low over
the brook, and hold to it with one hand, while
she held Daisy firmly under the other arm.

As for Fanny Kedwin, her screams did good
service. Rufus appeared at last from behind a
tree further down the road, but not before Ben
Bryant had come with great bounds, throwing
off his jacket as he |:an, and by the time Rufus,
pale and ashamed, had reached the water's
edge, Ben had Daisy in his arms, and was call-
ing out, " Give Line your hand, quick."

♦*I dpp't want Ids hand," paid Caroline.

SOMETHING TO REMEMBER. 35

marching proudly out of the stream and up the
hill, the water dripping from her clothes.

" Where is Daisy? give her to me. O, Ben!
is she hurt?"

" Not a bit," said Ben cheerfully, though his
Usually ruddy cheeks were pale, and he held his
limp little sister in a very close embrace, having
already seized his coat and wrapped it around
her. " She will be all right as soon as she can
have something dry on. How shall we manage
it. Line?"

"Give her to me," said Caroline, holding out
her arms. " Gather some sticks and start a fire
as soon as you can. I must get her clothes off
and dry them. What can I wrap her in while
they are drying ? If my cloths were not wet ! "

" Here," said Rufus, stripping off his jacket
in haste, " put this around her, it will help
some. O, Line ! I am so sorry. I didn't think
there was the least danger of her tumbling in.
I had just gone a little way up the road to hunt
a squirrel I saw go by. I can't imagine how it
happened."

" The fish-pole slipped into the water," ex-
plained the quivering lips of Daisy, "and J
tried to get it, and X\\qx\ \ slipped,"

36 SOMETHING TO REMEMBER.

Caroline's first impulse had been to haughtily
refuse the jacket, but a glance at Rufus's trou-
bled face, together with a warning look from
Ben, saved her from this bit of rudeness ; be-
sides, the jacket was a thick one, and added
quite a little to Daisy's comfort.

In a very short space of time a fire was burn-
ing brightly, and a fireplace of stones hastily
set up, a sheltered spot having been found.
Both boys worked with a will.

"What shall we do for a match?" Ben asked,
pausing in dismay, just as the fire was ready to
be lighted.

"I have one," said Rufus, producing a tin
box filled with those useful articles. Ben bent
over with a grave face ; he was glad to have the
match, but the fact that Rufus had them in his
pocket made him think of the news he had
heard but the day before, that Rufus was learn-
ing to smoke.

Work went forward rapidly now. Fanny Ked-
win, not to be behind the others in her quick-
witted helpfulness, went behind the branches of
a gnarled tree and slipped off a bright red flan-
nel petticoat, which she proposed should enwrap
the little <^rowne(^ nif^^den while her clothes

SOMETHING TO REMEMBER. 37

were being dried. This, with the addition of
Rufus's jacket, which was not so large nor so
wet as Ben's, soon made for her a picturesque
costume ; her own garments meanwhile were
hung upon sticks hastily cut and driven into
the ground about the fire.

It was really a pretty sight when all was
done, and the spirits of the boys rose rapidly.
Even Fanny declared that, since no one was
hurt, it was great fun. But Daisy was very
quiet. The chill of the water was too recent
upon her shrinking flesh, and her terror had
been too real, to rally so rapidly. She found
opportunity for a word in private with Caro-
line, who would not allow her out of her sight.

"Line, dear, I want to ask you something.
Before you came down to the water I thought
nobody saw me, and I thought I should drown,
and I did not want to ; I felt afraid."

"Of course you did not want to drown, dar-
ling," said Line, giving her some vigorous kisses
and hugging her closer. "Line was a naughty
sister to let you go down there with that heed-
less boy. I will never trust you with him
again, if he lives to be a hundred."

^'Q, I^iqel hp didp't pie^n to do any harm.

38 SOMETHING TO REMEMBER.

He thought I knew enough to stand still on the
bank. But I did not think I would be afraid
to drown."

" Don't," said Caroline, almost sharply, shiv-
ering as though a north wind had struck her,
" I cannot bear to hear you talk about it. Of
course you would be afraid to drown. It's not
natural for little girls to feel any other way."

" But little girls die," said Daisy thoughtfully.

" You shall not," declared Caroline, with an-
other embrace that was almost fierce.

Daisy gave over any further attempt to get
any knowledge on this subject from Caroline,
and decided it was not wise to talk to her about
such things.

A little later in the day, when the brisk fire
and brisk wind had done their duty with the
wet clothes, and Daisy was arrayed in her own
garments once more — " They would be as good
as new if they had only been ironed," Line
told her — Daisy sought a convenient moment
to slip her hand into Ben's and draw him aside
to say, " Ben, I want to ask you something, and
I don't want the others to hear, because they
do not seem to understand. When I was down
tihere in the w^ter, apd fto ^R9 <5aqie, for Just ^

SOMETHING TO REMEMBER. 39

little minute — it seemed longer than that, you
know — I thought you could not hear me, and
would never come, and I should drown to death.
I was afraid, and did not want to. Line says
of course not, that little girls always feel so.
But little girls die. I do not want to be afraid
to die. I did not think I would be. Ben, why
do you think Jesus let me feel so?"

Ben's nerves were stronger than Caroline's.
He controlled the inward shudder, and only
pressed the small dear hand closer, as he said,
after a thoughtful moment, "Little Daisy, I
do not understand those things very well.
I have had no chance to study them, and I
may teach you wrong; but I will tell you how it
seems to me — you did not drown, you know?"

"O, no!" said Daisy gratefully, "Line came
very quick, and so did you; but I thought I
was going to."

" But Jesus knew you were not going to,
Daisy, and that is the reason he did not come
to whisper to you not to be afraid, that he was
going to take you home to Heaven. Tf the time
had come for you to go, I do not think you
would have been afraid. Do you understand
what I mean ? "

40 SOMETHING TO REMEMBER.

A radiant smile broke over the grave little
face. " O, yes ! I do," she said eagerly ; " you
mean He did not make me want to die, because
He did not mean to let me die yet, and it was
so I would not be disappointed when you brought
me back. You know He is very thoughtful of
little girls."

" Yes," said Ben, then bent down and kissed
the fair face, which was paler than usual this
afternoon, and thpught how easily she took up
his half-expressed notion and made it clear for
him ; and thought also that " He " was " very
good" to the brothers of little girls, for how
could they have lived without Daisy?

CHAPTER TV.

*'A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS."

"OUT berries and squirrels and bright leaves
-*-^ had some way lost their charm for the
entire party.

"Let us go away as soon as we can," Rufus
said. "I don't believe I ever want to come
to these woods again."

" I shouldn't think you would," said Caroline
significantly. She could not help this one refer-
ence to his unfaithfulness. However, once away
from that particular spot, Rufus proved to be
not so much i;i a hurry. He roved off after a
squirrel or a bird, or sometimes only a queer-
looking flying bug; also he climbed a tree in
search of a deserted bird's nest, and dashed
into a thicket after a peculiar kind of walking-
stick, getting himself entangled in such a way
that Ben had to go to his rescue, and it was a
41

42 ''A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS:'

work of time to release his jacket without leav-
ing a piece of it on the thorn bush.

"Do come on!" said Caroline, at last, losing
patience entirely ; " we shall be late for the
train, and I'm sure I cannot walk home to-night
if I never reach there. '

"Are you very tired?" Ben asked, looking
anxiously at her. The truth was, he was not
accustomed to hearing his sister speak in that
manner.

" My head aches a little," she said evasively.
This was a mild statement of the truth ; as a
matter of fact her head ached so badly it seemed
to her she could not get home.

The fright about Daisy and the anxiety after-
ward lest the frail little girl should take cold,
had reacted upon her in this manner, and as she
was unused to headache, it was all the harder
to bear.

" This last has been too much for you," said
Ben. Then, raising his voice, he spoke with
authority. "Come, Rufus, you must not hinder
us any longer. If we miss that train I don't
know how Line will get home. She certainly
cannot walk."

" Miss the train ! " said Rufus, in contempt,

*'A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS.'' 43

" more likely we shall have to sit in that old
shed at the junction and wait for half an hour.
It isn't near train time. Look at the sun. I
should think it would be a great deal better to
take it slowly and use up the time on tlie road."
Nevertheless he left off chasing the last squirrel
and walked quietly along toward the junction.

But squirrels and other creatures had taken
more time than they had planned. Arrived at
the junction Ben went at once to make in-
quiries, and returned with a disturbed face.
" Here is a pretty state of things," he said ;
" that train has been gone twenty minutes."

"Gone!" echoed Rufus ; "what does that
mean ? They have changed their time."

*"• No, they haven't changed their time. We
have wasted our time over squirrels and things,"
said Ben, in a greater state of vexation than he
often allowed himself to exhibit.

Caroline, as soon as she heard the news, had
dropped in a dismayed heap on the ground, as
if to say that to take another step was out of
the question.

"What is to be done, I should like to know?"
said Ben. "It will not be possible for these
girls to walk home."

44 ''A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS.''

"They won't have to walk," answered Rufiis,
in a vexed tone, "nor we either. There's no
need of being so cross about it. All we have
to do is to wait half an hour or so for the freight.
It takes on an accommodation car here that
folks can ride on. There it stands now, and all
that we have to do is to sit here and wait till
the train comes. Why, we need not do that;
we can go right into the car and seat ourselves;
it will be a comfortable place to wait in."

"When is the train due?" asked Caroline.

" Oh ! about six o'clock or so."

"O, dear! mother will be so frightened,"
murmured Caroline. "Wouldn't it be better
to walk?"

"Walk!" echoed Rufus, in disdain; "you
just said you couldn't take another step, and
I'm sure I'm tired enough to drop. You don't
catch me walking home to-night if I wait till
midnight for a train. Six o'clock isn't late, I'm
sure."

"You ought not to walk," said Ben anxiously,
"but I might, and let mother know what has
happened, only of course I shoujd not get there
much before the train will."

"Of course you wouldn't," Rufus said

"^ PRETTY STATE OF THINGS:' 46

promptly, "not as soon as the train, I dare say.
How long does it take a steam car to run three
miles?"

Just then a horse came dashing down the
road drawing a single carriage with a lady and
gentleman in.

" Whoa ! " said Mr. Holden sharply, to the
horse. " Why, here is a troop of our friends.
Have you missed the train? That is bad.. What
is to be done ? "

Ben explained, while the lady called Caroline
to her side and heard part of the story.

"We might take Daisy between us," said Mr.
Holden, in reply to Ben's anxiety about her.
" We have room for a small mouse of that size,
have we not, Alice?"

" O, yes, indeed ! " his sister said ; she could
ride between them as well as not, and they were
going directly home now. All their calls were
made. " Then Daisy can report for your house
and we will call at Mrs. Kedwin's to let her
know that her young people are all right."

So Daisy was cuddled into the carriage, the
gay robe tucked carefully about her, Caroline
explaining anxiously meanwhile to the lady
what a narrow escape the child had had and

46 ''A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS.'*

how much afraid they were of her taking
cold.

"She will be as warm as a kitten behind tlie
stove," said Miss Alice, kissing her charge and
snugging her closer. "I shall keep her care-
fully covered, and we shall be home before it is
much colder."

Then they drove away, and Caroline drew a
long sigh of relief. " I am bo glad that Daisy
does not have to wait in the cold till after six
o'clock," she said. "Mother will know what
to do to keep her from taking cold."

For some reason Rufus did not like to hear
any reference to the accident, and he muttered
that they ought not to have taken such a little
"Mollie Coddle" as that on a day's tramp.

"The tramp was all right," said Ben, "but
the wetting was pretty hard on a little girl.
We know you meant no harm, Rufus, but the
trouble we have had was not Daisy's fault."

When Ben spoke in that tone Rufus always
wished he had kept still.

" O, well ! there was no harm done," he said
crossly. "I don't think you need to keep harp-
ing on it all the while. Come on, Fanny, let us
get into the car."

''A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS.'' 47

But just then came a pair of fine horses pranc-
ing down the road.

"Hold on," said Rufus, "let us first see who
is in this carriage. What a splendid carriage
it is. Only look at those horses ; that old nag
Mr. Hoiden drives is only a bundle of bones
beside them. That's Mr. Staunton; he's a
great railroad man, you know."

As he spoke the carriage drew up in front of
the station.

" Briggs," said a gentleman, putting his head
out of the carriagis and speaking to one of the
railroad men in front of the switch, " have you
a boy about here that I can get to take a pack-
age out to the Brooks farm?"

"There's not a boy about, sir, to-night, but
myself, and I'm on duty."

"That's bad," said the gentleman; "I haven't
time to drive there. I'm due at home this mo-
ment," and he looked at his watch. Then his
eye fell upon Ben and Rufus. " Here are boys,"
he said ; " which of you two wants to earn a
dollar ? I'll pay that to the one who will carry
this small package to the Brooks farm for me
at once."

Pen looked ?^t Rufus, bi\t ^^i^^ sJioqI^ }i}^

48 ''A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS.'*

head. " I'm not your boy," he said promptly.
" The Brooks farm's as good as two miles from
here, and I've tramped all day and am tired;
besides, I should miss the train and have to foot
it home, three miles more."

"I'll go, sir," said Ben, speaking briskly as
soon as he discovered that Rufus did not want
the job.

"Why, Ben," said Caroline, in a low voice,
"can you?"

"Of course I can. I'd walk more than five
miles to-night to earn a dollar. It is a good,
cool, moonlight evening, and I'd as lives take
the tramp as not. I'm not so very tired."

" Then you are my man," said Mr. Staunton
heartily. " You are the Widow Bryant's boy,
are you not ? I thought so. I can trust you.
The package is rather valuable."

" Now," said Ben, when the carriage rolled
away, " I'll leave Line in your care, Rufus ; see
that you get her home all right, old fellow."

" It's a wonder you will trust me," said Rufus,
half sulkily.

If you have heard of the "dog in the manger"
you will understand Rufus's state of mind. He
^id npt ws^pt- tP t^He tl^e trouble to earn thp

''A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS^ 49

dollar himself, and at the same time he did not
want Ben to have it.

" Just his luck," he could not help muttering,
as he turned away to pick up the lunch basket.
" If there is any money errand he is sure to get
it, and if there is a fellow in the world who
needs money it is I." He was so used to that
kind of muttering that positively his own folly
did not occur to him.

Ben laughed good-naturedly. "You can't do
anything very dangerous to Line, I guess. You
see I trust her where I won't you or myself
either. Now I'm off. You are sure that is the
car, are you ? Wouldn't you better ask before
you take seats in it ? "

"No, I wouldn't," said Rufus. "Of course
it is the car. Didn't I come up in it last week
from that same Brook farm ? And I wish you
joy of your journey there ; it is the roughest
road a fellow ever walked. You'll earn your
dollar, I can tell you."

" All right," said Ben ; "I want to earn it, of
course. All the same, I call it capital pay for
taking a walk on a pleasant evening. I wish
you were right side up. Line, and mother knew
it, you'd like no better fun than to go with we,"

50 ''A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS.''

"It would be very nice," said Line, vainly
trying to smile, but feeling that her head ached
so that it was hard to answer.

"You are used up," said Ben, pausing long
enough to give her an anxious look. " I don't
believe mother will approve of pleasure excur-
sions when she hears Daisy's story, and sees
you."

"I shall be all right as soon as I get to bed,"
said Caroline bravely. " It is only a headache,
you know, on account of the fright."

"What a set of grannies!" Rufus said in
confidence to his sister. " I don't believe there
was the least mite of danger. If Daisy hadn't
been a little goose she would have scrambled
out of there in no time."

" O, no, Rufus Kedwin ! " said Fanny ; " you
needn't say that, you know you were scared
about her yourself; your face looked white
when you saw where she was."

"Pooh!" said Rufus, "you go to making a
fuss about nothing, now. I never did see such
a set!" And for fully five minutes after
they had taken their seats in the car silence
reigned.

Qaroline at onp^ laid her aching head upoi^

''A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS.*' 61

the seat and was glad to be still, and Fanny
considered herself ill-treated, and was silent,
while Rufus nursed his ill-humor; only, how-
ever, until a new thought struck him. " I say,
Fanny," he began, forgetting his vexation in
the new idea, *' this would be a good time to go
over to Auntie Brockway's and get some of
those apples she promised us."

"We couldn't walk over there," said Fanny
doubtfully.

"I should like to know why we couldn't?
Don't you go to being a ' Mollie Coddle,' " said
this consistent young gentleman, forgetting en-
tirely that he was, a few minutes ago, "too tired
to take an extra step," " It is not a bit over a
quarter of a mile from the switch. We would
just have time to get there and back. It would
be ever so much less stupid than staying here
doing nothing."

"But we couldn't leave Caroline."

" Well, I should think she could sit still on
the seat until we get back, or lie still ; who do
you suppose would come in and try to carry
her off?"

Fanny looked over at her thoughtfully. " I
believe she is asleep," she said. " I thought

62 "^ PRETTY STATE OF THINGS.''

Line was stronger than that. But, Ruf us, Ben
put her in our care."

" No, he didn't ; he said he would trust her
where he wouldn't me. He thinks he knows
everything and she knows the rest. Fanny
Kedwin, I'm going after apples ; are you com-
ing or not ? "

"Maybe we will miss the train," his sister
said, still hesitating.

"Maybe the moon is made of green cheese,"
Rufus said indignantly. "Can you think of
anything else to hinder us ? Once for all, I say
I'm going ; you can come or not, just as you
please." Saying which, he began to dispose of
the few dishes and napkins left in the lunch
basket by making a package of them to put in
Caroline's seat.

Fanny turned to Line. " Say, Line, we are
going to run over to Auntie Brockway's. We'll
be back in a few minutes."

Caroline made no reply, and her regular
breathing told plainly that if she heard them
at all she wove their words in as part of her
dream.

" She's asleep," said Rufus, " and will stay so
till we get back. Come on, we won't have more

"A PRETTY STATE OF THINGS:' 53

than time to get there and back." He seized
the empty basket and started, dumping the bun-
dle he had made at Caroline's side as he passed.
Fanny gave a lingering look at the sleeping girl
and followed her brother out of the car.

"I hope she won't wake up while we are
gone," she said. " She will be scared to find
herself alone."

"Not she," said Rufus, taking long strides
down the road in the direction of Auntie Brock-
way's, "she isn't one of the scared kind except
where Daisy is concerned. They do make such
a little baby of her, it does put me out of all
patience ; but I'll risk Line waking up before
we get back. She looked as though she had
started out for an all night job."

CHAPTER V.

"what could happen?"

A N hour afterwards the shrill whistle
of the "freight and accommodation"
quickened the footsteps of the two on their
return trip. Both weie loaded with apples as
many as they could carry, and it was not easy
to hasten.

"Hurry up," said Rufus, looking back with a
frown at Fanny's lingering footsteps, " we shall
miss the train the next thing and have to foot
it. Don't you hear the whistle?"

" I'm hurrying as fast as I can," said Fanny.
"I'm just as tired as I can be. You ought
not to have dragged me off, Rufus Kedwin,
and you'll find mother will think so too."

The simple truth is, both those young people
were not only tired but cross. At the last min-
ute tbey reached the train and fairly scrambled
54

''WHAT COULD HAPPEN?'' 55

in, with apples tumbling from them in every
direction.

" Stupid ! " muttered Ruf us, still with a frown,
as he saw a large one roll from Fanny's grasp.

" You'd better say that to yourself," retorted
Fanny, " I'm sure you dropped two."

With most unamiable speed they made their
way along the narrow-aisled, tobacco-stained
floor and bumped into a hard seat. It took
Fanny a little time to recover from the first
feeling of utter weariness with which she had
thrown herself down; as the car bumped and
rattled itself over the road toward home, she
roused herself and began to look about for
Caroline. The result was that Rufus, who had
spread himself out in a seat in front of her, his
hat drawn over his eyes, and his hands stuffed
in his pockets, felt himself not gently nudged,
and a shiill voice called into his ear, "Where's
Line?"

" How should I know ? " he said angrily ;
" where we left her, I suppose, curled up in a
heap. I wish you wouldn't yell into my ear,
Fanny Kedwin."

I must do Rufus justice, and tell you that he
was not always in such ill-humor as on this

66 ''WHAT COULD HAPPEN?''

particular day. The truth was, certain matters
troubled his conscience, and gave an undertone
of unhappiness to all his thoughts.

"She isn't either," was Fanny's apparently
irrelevant reply to his last remark. " I've looked
at every seat in this car.'''

"That's a likely story!'' t?aid Rufus. "There
isn't another passenger car en this train."

" I can't help i*^ if there isn't. You can see
for yourself that she is not here. Say, Rufus,
I'm afraid she woke up and was scared to find
herself alone, and got out and walked home,
because where would she be r "

" Pooh ! " said Rufus, nevertheless he roused
himself and staggered through the car, which
was not an easy thing to do, for the train was
running even more irregularly than heavily-
laden freight trains usually do.

"She isn't here," he said, when he at last
succeeded in getting back to his seat. "I sup-
pose she decided to walk home. She took the
bundle I laid in her seat. What a goose ! we
will get home long before she can, and it is
pretty dark too."

" O, dear ! " said Fanny uneasily, " I'm afraid
Ben will blame us, and his mother too."

''WHAT COULD HAPPEN?'' 67

Fanny Kedwin, you may have observed, paid
very little attention to the construction of her
sentences; so that she understood what she
meant herself, she seemed to consider it of no
consequence how puzzling her remarks might
be to other people. But Rufus was used to her.

" Let him blame," he said savagely, " I should
like to know what we have to do with it? If
Line Bryant chooses to walk home she will do
it in spite of anything you or I could do ; and
as for being scared into it, I tell you she is not
one of that sort. What was there to scare any-
body, I should like to know ? All there was to
do was to sit still till the car got ready to start."

" But it's so dark," Fanny murmured, trying
to rub a clean place in her window, and flatten-
ing her nose against it. " I can't see anything
hardly," she said, appealing to Rufus after a
minute.

" Don't look out, then," said Rufus crossly,
" there's nothing to see by daylight worth look-
ing at," and he curled himself down in his seat
and drew his hat once more over his eyes, by
no means so composed, inwardly, as he was
trying to pretend. That Caroline Bryant had
awakened, and, weary of waiting, had started

58 *'WHAT COULD HAPPEN?''

for home on foot, was altogether probable, and
was a tiling her mother would not like.

"I could not have helped it if I had been
here," muttered Rufus. " She would do what
she liked in spite of me ; but then I suppose I
could have tramped along with her and not
have got Mrs. Bryant down on me."

For some reason, he did not clearly compre-
hend why, Rufus Kedwin always felt that he
would rather have almost any other person
" down on him " than Mrs. Bryant.

It was quite dark when the train reached the
Willow Lane Station, which meant home to
Rufus and Fanny, and they made all speed out
of the car and down the street toward their
mother's house.

"Aren't you going to run over to Mrs.
Bryant's?" Fanny asked, as, nearly breathless
in trying to keep up with her brother's rapid
steps, she finally halted at her own door.

"What for, I should like to know?"

" Why, to see if Line is all right."

"No, I just am not, Miss Kedwin! If you
want any more running to-night you may do it
yourself; I'm ready to go to bed. Why wouldn't
Line be all right? You talk as though she were

''WHAT COULD HAPPEN?'' 59

Daisy, or as though it was a hundred miles from
the switch to her house."

It was reassuring to think that Rufus had no
fears of anything being wrong. Fanny con-
tented herself with this, and entered the house.

Mrs. Kedwin was busy, as usual. She had
just been attending to the supper of the latest
comers, and was already planning anxiously
what she should have for their breakfast. There
was very little time to bestow upon her children.

" How late you are ! " she said. " Mr. Hol-
den stopped to tell me how you missed the
train. Smart people you are to let the train
go off and leave you. Well, you had a splen-
did time, I suppose, and are as hungry as bears?
I thought so. Go to the kitchen and help your-
selves; Susan kept something hot for you. I
should have been dreadfully worried if it hadn't
been for Mr. Holden. It was real thoughtful
in him to stop, I think," and then Mrs. Kedwin
dismissed them from her mind entirely.

Jt was perhaps an hour afterwards, just as
Rufus was preparing to jump into bed, that he
heard voices in the hall, one of which he thought
he recognized, and opened his door to listen.
It was certainly Mrs. Bryant's voice. His

60 *' WHAT COULD HAPPEN?'*

mother was saying, in answer to some question
apparently, "Why, they are in bed, I guess;
yes, I'm sure they are. Fanny went through
the room while I was giving Susan directions
about breakfast, and said she was going right
to bed. She was dreadful tired. O, yes! they
came on the train. Why, didn't Ben and Caro-
line come with them ? You don't say ! that's
very queer. I'll call them right away," and
the stair door opened. "Fanny, Rufus! where
are you ? Are you both in bed ? Rufus, where
are Line and Ben Bryant ? "

"How should we know?" answered Rufus,
getting into some clothes and appearing pres-
ently in the hall.

"Why didn't they come on the train? and
why don't you come along and tell all you know
about them? Here's their mother most dis-
tracted; they have neither of them come
home."

With a good deal of cross-questioning Rufus'
story was drawn from him. Ben was easily ac-
counted for; there had not been time for him
to go to the Brook farm and return and then
walk home; but where could Caroline be?

"I supposed of course she was home," said

''WHAT COULD HAPPEN?'' ei

Rufus, now frightened out of his ill-humor.
" Where else could she be ? We left her
seated in the car all right, and when we got
back she was gone. Fanny and I thought of
course she had walked home."

Mrs. Bryant clasped her hands in speechless
agony. Where could her daughter be? What
steps could she take to find out ? It seemed to
her that she could not wait another minute!
She must know at once.

Visions of her cherished darling making her
way through the dark alone, followed by roughs,
her tired feet stumbling in the track just as
the train rushed by; visions of everything
that could by any possibility surge through a
mother's brain in a moment of time, beset
her.

Rufus came slowly down the stairs, his face
the image of self-reproachful dismay. But no
one stopped to look at his face.

"I might take a lantern and go along the
road and look for her, only" — and then he
stopped. It would have been awful to add
the thought, " only if she is to be found along
the track she must be dead, or she could cer-
tainly have made her way home." In truth

62 "WHAT COULD HAPPEN?'*

the situation was perfectly unaccountable to
him.

" Some of the men boarders will soon be in,"
said Mrs. Kedwin; "shall I get them out to
hunt for her along the track ? She might have
fallen, you know, and sprained her ankle or
something."

"That's so," said Rufus, brightening, and
from that moment he rested his hopes upon a
sprained ankle.

" Yes," said Mrs. Bryant eagerly, " or, no ;
let me think what to do," and she .leaned
against the door and put both hands to her
face to try to steady her heart sufficiently to
plan.

Suddenly on the quiet air broke the sound of
a cheerful whistle. Rufus sprang forward.
"That's Ben's whistle," he said; "he's made
good time, anyhow," and he threw open the
front door. Mrs. Bryant also recognized the
notes, and stepped out upon the piazza. Some-
how it did not seem as though anything so ter-
rible could have happened to Caroline, since her
brother was whistling. The cheerful music
stopped, however, the moment Ben caught sight
of his mother's face.

^'WIIAT COULD HAPPEN?'' 6a

" Mother," he said huskily, " what is the
matter? Daisy" — but he was interrupted.

"My son, where is Caroline?"

"Caroline?" he repeated, dazed for a mo«
rnent, "isn't she at home?" then he turned
fiercely toward Ruf us. " Where is Line ? " he
asked.

"O, Ben ! I don't know," said Rufus mourn-
fully, all his petty ill-humor gone under the
power of this terrible trouble. " I would give
the world if I did. I did not think anything
could happen to her, you know," and he told
his story eagerly, with a painful sense of the
fact that it told nothing at all in regard to the
girl's whereabouts.

Ben stood for a moment as one transfixed,
yet thinking swiftly all the time. If he had
taken time to look at his mother's face just
then he might almost have had a thrill of joy
over the keen, hopeful gaze she bent upon
him. Young as he was, Mrs. Bryant was
learning to lean upon her son. Ben would
surely do something.

"Mother," he said suddenly, "let us go to
Mr. Holden. He will know the quickest and
best way of doing everything."

64 *'WHAT COULD HAPPEN?**

Mrs. Bryant caught at the suggestion. " Yes,"
she said, "he will know. I wonder I had not
thought of him. Go at once, Ben, and have
men take lanterns and go down the track."

"Yes," said Ben, "I will go everywhere.
She must have tried to walk home, and proba-
bly sat down to rest and fell asleep, or fainted.
She was very tired, and her head ached. I'll
bring you word of her soon, mother. Will you
go home?"

"I must," said Mrs. Bryant, clasping her
hands with a convulsive effort to control her-
self, " Daisy is alone ; I came out to get some
one to go for the doctor ; she is hoarse, and I
have left her for a long time."

" I'll go right over there and stay with your
mother," said Mrs. Kedwin to Ben. "Don't
you worry about her, and Rufus shall run for
tlie doctor this minute."

Which Rufus was glad to do. Not a re-
proachful word had been spoken to him, but he
did not like the look of Ben's eyes when he
asked for his sister. He did not want to look
at Mrs. Bryant at all. There was a sense in
which he was to blame for this state of things.

Mr. Holden was not at his boarding-house.

"WHAT COULD HAPPEN?'' 65

and no one knew where to look for him. A
little time was consumed in this way, but not
much. Ben almost ran over the gentleman as
he was speeding down Main Street.

" Hurrah ! " said Mr. Holden cheerily, " is this
an express train running away ? " But the next
moment he was the alert, sympathizing friend.

"We must find a railroad man," he said
quickly, "one who knows about trains. She
may have taken the wrong one ; and your
mother is right, we must send a party at once
down the track toward the switch. Come with
me to the Young Men's Rooms ; there are a
dozen men still there, upon whom I can depend."

Rapid work was done after this, Ben keeping
close to Mr. Holden, who, having started an
eager and trustworthy company of young men
down the track, went himself to the station.

"We will get what information we can here,"
he said, " then we will take my horse and drive
with all speed to the switch ; I have sent Billy
to harness her."

The station looked deserted. The last night
train was in ; not another till four o'clock. The
ticket office was closed, and the night watchman
knew nothing about trains or roads.

66 ''WHAT COULD HAPPEN?'*

" Nothing to be learned here," said Mr. Hol-
den ; " we might go to the station agent. But
perhaps the quickest way will be to drive at
once to the Junction. The night switchman
there will surely know about his own switch."

What a ride it was through the moonlight.
Ben had never taken such a ride before in his
life. He had often longed to do so ; he could
not have counted the number of times he had
said to Line, *' What a thing it would be to be
skimming over the road on such a night as
this." Nearly always such thoughts came to
him when the moon was at its full. At last he
wag having the experience, but how far from
happy he was ! Mr. Holden talked cheerfully,
getting up theory after theory, more to comfort
Ben than because he really was able to plan a
theory to suit himself. But Ben scarcely heard
him ; he was busy going over and over in his
mind the wearying question, " Where can Line
be? What could have happened to her?" and
then shivering over certain possibilities which
would come crowding to the front.

"Here we are," said Mr. Holden at last,
sweeping around the curve and halting his
horse. Before the faithful fellow had fairly

" WHAT COULD HAPPENS' G7

stopped, Ben was on the ground and knocking
violently at the little cabin or shed which was
the night watchman's stopping place.

Alas for their hopes! he knew almost as little
as the switchman in town. No. 25 freight
switched there, and No. 24 took on a sort of
passenger car. It had done so that day, he
supposed ; he did not know anything about it,
but of course it did. The car was not side-
tracked now, so of course it had gone. He was
not on duty at that point during the day ; the
man who was had gone home sick; his place
was to be filled by a new hand ; he went up on
the freight that night ; went to Philadelphia ;
his folks lived there, some of them. No, he
did not know who got on or off the freight ; he
had not come on duty till eight o'clock, that
was after the freight had gone.

" Well," said Mr. Holden, after questioning
and cross-questioning the sleepy man until he
could think of nothing more to ask, " we must
find some one who knows more about trains
than this man. Isn't it possible to find a per-
son who might have been here when the six
o'clock freight stood here, and who can tell
what happened?"

68 '*WHAT COULD HAPPEN?''

The man was sure he did not know. The
division superintendent had been down to the
switch that day, and had spent some time look-
ing about and talking to the switchman, but he
knew nothing about it himself only what some-
body told him ; the man might have been there
when the side-tracked car was put on ; he did
not know. " Who is that man, and where is
he?" asked Mr. Holden.

" He was a Mr. Stevens, who lived in Lacka-
wanna; but he went into town for the night
when he was down that way and stopped at
the Pelton House, the man guessed, but was
not sure."

"Then we'll go to the Pelton House," said
Mr. Holden ; " there must be somebody in the
world who knows something."

Of course the switchman who had been
aroused had to have explained to him what
was the matter, and Ben, who listened, felt the
cold chills creep over his body ; it seemed so
terrible, when put into plain, brief English, that
his sister Caroline was missing : " The last that
had been seen of her was at six o'clock, when
she took a seat in the side-tracked car, and
when the car started she was not to be found I "

CHAPTER VI.

A JsEW FKIEND.

rpHAT'S bad," said the man gravely; "it's.
a kind of poky place for a young girl.
I shouldn't have thought her folks would have
let her stay there alone ; " — Ben groaned and
moved away — " not but what the switch-
man here is a decent enough fellow," the man
added, " and he would have looked after her if
he had known she was in trouble ; but it kind
of looks as if some one must have enticed her
off, now don't it? Some one came along with
a horse and wagon, maybe, and offered to take
her home."

Ben fairly ground his teeth together to keep
from screaming over the horrible suggestion !
But Mr. Holden, who had thought of that be-
fore, only turned his head to see if the poor
brother was within hearing; then, slipping some-
thing into the switchman's hand in return for
69

70 A NEW FRIEND.

his broken nap, went back to his carriage, say-
ing, " We will find the division superintendent,
if he is to be found. Keep up courage, Ben,
my boy; Caroline is quietly sleeping somewhere,
I trust, and God is over all, you know."

Caroline Bryant, having had her nap out,
tried to turn over, but could not, and wondered
much why the bed seemed so narrow and hard,
and what sort of a storm could be abroad to
shake it so ; then, after an unusually hard jolt,
came to a sitting posture, rubbed her eyes, and
tried to take m the situation. Where was she,
and what was the matter?

Gradually memory recalled the last she knew
about herself. She had gone nutting and had
almost drowned Daisy, and had a dreadful head-
ache, and Ben went on an errand, and she went
on the cars to be hitched to thn six-o'clock
freight. Where were Rufus and Fanny? She
looked about for them ; they were nowhere to
be seen, but a bundle, looking as though it had
been made up from the lunch baskets, lay be-
side her. She rubbed her eyes again, and tried
to straighten her much bent hat, and wondered
what made everything look so strange.

A NEW FRIEND. 71

" Well," said the conductor, stopping before
her seat, "have you had your nap out? I've
been waiting for your ticket some time, but you
were so sound asleep I hated to wake you."

" Ticket ? " repeated Caroline, more dazed
than before, " I haven't any ticket. I was to
pay on the cars, or Ben was. O, I forgot ! Ben
was to go on an errand, and I haven't any
money, but I can get it of Rufus. It is ten
cents, isn't it?"

"What is all this about?" asked the con-
ductor, and his voice began to grow stern ; he
thought this young woman was trying to cheat
him out of a fare.

Caroline was growing wider awake, and real-
ized that she must have been talking in a most
bewildering marmer to a stranger. What did
he know about Ben and Rufus?

"I beg your pardon," she said, her face grow-
ing red, "I think I was not quite awake. But
my brother and I got on at the switch. I am
only going into town. I live there; my brother
had the money to pay our fare, but he was sent
on an errand at the last moment and forgot to
give it to me. I shall have to borrow of a boy
who is my friend, if I can find him." She

72 A NEW FRIEND.

looked anxiously down the car again, murmur-
ing, "Where can Rufus and Fanny be?" The
conductor eyed her keenly.

" Do you know what time it is ? " he asked at
last, and his tone was a little kinder.

"Time?" said Caroline, turning back to him
with a startled air, " why, I suppose it is nearly
seven o'clock. This train gets into the station
at seven."

" You are mixed," said the conductor kindly,
sitting down in a vacant seat in front of her ;
"you have been riding all night. It is just
getting morning. Look out of the window and
you will see the red streak which the sun is
making before it begins its day's work."

Caroline Bryant could never be paler than
she was at that moment. "Morning!" she said,
or rather gasped, " then where am 1, and what
will mother do ? "

" * Mother ' will have to be told all about it,
and she will be all right." This time the con-
ductor's voice was kindness itself. " You took
the wrong train, no doubt. I can see how it
was. You thought you got into the car that
was on the side track, didn't you, and that th«
night freight was bound to pick you up ? In-

A NEW FRIEND. 73

Stead of being on that car, you are on one that
was side-tracked last night for the east-bound
■train to take. We don't often do it ; but there
was some upsetting of regular trains yesterday,
and we did it last night, and now you are just
getting into Philadelphia."

Poor Caroline's utter dismay held her silent.
She struggled with the tears that would keep
pushing into her eyes. She struggled with the
lump in her throat, which was threatening to
choke her. What should she do? What could
she do? A hundred miles from home and
mother! Without money, with nothing to eat;
her dress soiled and torn, and no baggage but
a towel much soiled with tart juice, and two or
three little plates which had held the tarts ; but
more than all, and worse — oh! a great deal
worse — what a night it must have been to
mother and Ben and little Daisy! What could
they think had become of her? How could
mother endure the suspense of having her
away and being unable to find out where she

was

"Never you mind," said the conductor cheer-
ily; "you are not in the worst place in the world
by a great deal. I live in Philadelphia, and I

74 A NEW FRIEND.

will see that you are taken care of and started
back all right, and will let your mother know
as soon as we get in that you are safe and sound.
Then, when you get home, think how glad they
will all be to see you ! "

By this time the lady just in front of them
had become interested and turned to the
conductor.

"Mr. Brinker,"8he said, "what is the matter?
did she take the wrong train?"

"She evidently did, ma'am; took a side-
tracked car bound east, instead of west, and lay
down and went to sleep and didn't wake up till
morning. I've wondered all night where she
was going, and how she came to be traveling
alone, and not put under any one's care ; but I
didn't disturb her."

" Poor thing ! " said the lady ; " if she has
friends they must be half-wild about her," and
she too began to question Caroline, who was
having a terrible battle with her tears and the
lump in her throat.

A kind, pleasant-faced woman she was ; after
a moment Caroline felt it to be a relief to answer
her questions and make plain to her how easy
it had been to make the mistake.

A NEW FRIEND. 75

"O, well!" said the lady, at last, "don't worry-
about It. The conductor will telegraph your
mother as soon as we get in, and assure her of
your safety ; then he will send you back on the
first train, and you will have had a journey all
by yourself and seen the world, and will have a
great deal to tell them all."

"But I haven't money to pay for a ticket
back," said Caroline timidly; and the conductor,
who had been attending to other passengers
while the lady talked, but who now returned to
Caroline, answered her heartily, " Never mind
that ; you don't need any ticket ; we ran away
with you against your wish and intention, and
the best we can do is to run back with you. It
won't cost you a cent."

"Oh! I thank you very much," said Caroline,
more relieved than he could imagine for even
supposing that they would trust her for the
money until she reached home. Of course she
could not help wondering how mother could
spare so much from the very small sum in her
pocketbook.

The next question was, when could she ex-
pect to reach home ? It seemed to her that she
must fly there at once.

76 A NEW FRIEND.

" When can I get there ? " she asked, and all
the longing of her heart shone in her eyes.

" She can be put on the ten o'clock train, can
she not, Mr. Brinker?" asked the lady, for the
conductor had turned to answer another passen-
ger, and Caroline was waiting.

"There is no ten o'clock train, Mrs. Smith;
she will have to wait till to-morrow morning.
Oh ! she could take the midnight train, but I
shouldn't advise it ; it ha^ a long wait at the
Junction, and gets into her place only three
hours earlier than the ten o'clock, with a night
ride in the bargain."

To-morrow at ten o'clock ! If Caroline had
been told she must wait until she was twenty,
it is doubtful if it could have seemed a longer
time to her than that. " Did you say there was
no train to-day?" she faltered.

"No real passenger train after the one which
will start before we get in; not to-day; you
know it is Sunday, and the schedule on this road
is not full on Sunday ; we don't run trains for
passengers."

Sunday! she had not thought of it before.
Sunday morning, and she a hundred miles from
home ! was anything ever more terrible ?

A NEW FRIEND. 77

" It's a pity it's Sunday, for your sake," said
the conductor; *'but you chirk up as well as
you can ; the time will pass before you know
it ; it will be Monday morning in a little while,
and then for home.

"I'll take her right along home with me,
ma'amj" he added, addressing the lady. " My
wife will make her comfortable, and the chil-
dren will be company for her."

" That is very kind," the lady said heartily.
" I was thinking I would like to have her with
me, but our house is still closed, you know, and
I shall go to a hotel, as I am here only for Sun-
day. I expected to get in last night, but our
train was delayed at Millville, and I lost my
connections.

"You will be nicely taken care of," she added
to Caroline, as the conductor went his way.
" He is a nice man, and his wife is a good
woman, I have heard. They have several nice
children, and it will be pleasant for you to go
where there are children, will it not? Besides,
the conductor will know all about trains; in-
deed, I suppose you can go home on his train
and he will take care of you."

Caroline tried to think of some suitable thing

78 A pEW FRIEND.

to answer to all these kind suggestions, but her
heart was still full of dismay over the thought
that she. was a hundred miles from home, and
could not even start back for a whole day ; it
was hard to think of anything else. She mur-
mured something about people being very kind ;
and then the train gave that long-drawn-out
screech of satisfaction with which it enters a
city station, and the few passengers began to
gather bundles and wraps together and prepare
to leave the car.

" Mr. Brinker," said the lady, as the conductor
hurried toward them, "I will seat her in the
waiting-room near the north door."

"Thank you," he said. "By the way, my
girl, what is your mother's name?"

" Bryant," said Caroline tremblingly. It
seemed so strange to be standing on the plat-
form of a car, telling her mother's name.

" Mrs. Bryant. All right," he said, and was
off again. There seemed to be a great crowd
of people around the depot, Sunday though it
was. There was more noise and pushing and
confusion than she had ever seen before.

Mrs. Smith nodded to a colored man, who
touched his hat at sight of her.

A NEW FRIEND. 79

"Good-morning, James, I'm here at last;
almost came last night. Did Mr. Smith wait
up all night for me? I want to go into the
station a moment, and then will be ready."

Caroline followed her like one in a dream.
The lady seemed not to mind the crowd nor the
noise, and to be perfectly at home among the
sights and sounds so strange to this new traveler.

Left in a quiet corner of the large room, which
looked to her like a world in itself, poor Caro-
line was distressed to find that she could not
keep the tears from gathering in her eyes.
Wipe them away as fast as she could, there
was still another ready as soon as the last one
had been disposed of. She made no noise with
her weeping, and would have given almost any-
thing to have been able to keep the tears from
appearing, the more especially as she saw she
was attracting the attention of two or three
loungers, who seemed to have nothing in par-
ticular to do except to put their hands into
their pockets and stare.

It was all hard to bear. Suppose that busy
conductor, who after all was a stranger to her,
should forget about her and go home ; what in
the world should she do then? She did not

80 A NEW FRIEND.

even remember his name, much less where he
lived. She did not know where anybody lived ;
she was alone in a great city, and it was just
getting daylight on Sunday morning; and what,
O, what did her mother think ? It seemed to
the poor girl that she must fly.

Just then the constantly swinging door opened
and the face of her one acquaintance appeared
once more. He looked about with a swift, keen
glance. Caroline arose at once. He spied her.
" Here we are," he said, striding toward her,
" all ready for home and breakfast and a wink
of sleep, I shall want. I think you did that up
pretty well last night. I wired your mother
that you were all right, and had the message
repeated to make sure that it was understood,
and told them that you would be on hand to-
morrow without fail, and sent a special messen-
ger up to your house with it. Before we get
home she will be reading all about you."

Caroline was grateful and puzzled. Though
familiar with the word telegraph, she had never
heard of anytliing being "wired." Then, how
could a man in Philadelphia direct a special
messenger a hundred miles away to carry a
message?

A NEW FRIEND. 81

" I suppose he ' wired ' that too," thought
Caroline, wondering if Ben would have under-
stood all about it. But then, Ben had never
traveled ; she ought certainly by this time to
know more than he.

They went out into the whirl of people again ;
for though it was in reality quiet on Broad
Street, to Caroline it seemed as if there were
at least a county fair in progress.

The conductor took long steps and dodged
around corners and crossed streets in a bewil-
dering way. She had as much as she could do
to keep up to him ; yet the sights she saw filled
her with amazement.

"Do the people in Philadelphia go right on,"
she said, " without paying any attention to
Sunday?"

" Bless you, no ; they pay a great deal of
attention to Sunday in this city — more than
they do in most cities of its size, I guess.
Things are very quiet to-day; but you see there
are so many people in the world that they make
something of a stir in spite of themselves.
Some of these people are just getting home
from night work in different parts of the city.
But then, it is very quiet. You just take a

82 A NEW FRIEND.

look at it to-morrow when we come down for
the train and you'll see a difference." Just
then he lifted his hand in a peculiar manner,
and a man who was driving what was to Caro-
line the strangest-looking wagon she had ever
seen, drew up his horses and the wagon came
to a stand-still. It had a number of little
wheels, smaller than Caroline supposed wagon
wheels were ever made.

"We'll get into this car," he said, "and that
will save us a long walk and leave us a long
enough one at the other end. I often wish I
lived nearer the depot, but then it wouldn't
be so nice for my children as where I am
now."

Caroline was busy with one word, "car," but
there was no engine, only two horses.

" It must be a street car."

She had heard Miss Webster speak of them,
and also Judge Dun more, and here she was get-
ting into one ! Street cars, then, did not stop
for Sundays. She almost wished that steam
cars did not, just for that once, she told herself
pitifully, without having an idea that there
were plenty of steam cars which had not a
thought of stopping for Sunday. She began

A NEW FRIEND. a^

to wonder how they managed the street car
business so the drivers could go to church.

"Flesh and blood horses are handy things
when you can't get iron ones," her friend said,
settling his burly form into a seat beside her.

Then Caroline ventured to ask a question ;
since she was here in a large city and must stay
till to-morrow, why not make the best of it and
learn all she could ?

"Is this what they call a street car, sir?"

"Yes, street cars or horse cars, whichever you
want to. Didn't you ever ride in one before ?
I want to know! It must be kind of nice
to have something new happen. I've rattled
around in them so long I'd forgotten they were
not everywhere."

"Do they run all day Sunday?"

"O, bless you, yes! and half the night.
Every five minutes in the day they racket by
this corner. Down on some of the corners
they come oftener."

"Where are all the people going?" asked
Caroline, amazed. "Couldn't they stay at home
on Sunday?"

"Oh! to different places; some to church,
Bome to Sunday-school and those sort of places,

84 A NEW FRIEND.

and some go a-pleasuring to the woods in nice
weather like this, and to the parks to see their
friends. Oh ! there's places enough. Many go
down to the ferry and take a boat ride."

" But how do the men manage to go to church
if they are kept so busy all day ? "

" What men ? " and Mr. Brinker turned his
keen, half-amused, wholly interested eyes upon
his new acquaintance. " Why, the driver? that
man who sits out on the stool and manages the
horses ? Oh ! well, I don't believe he manages
that matter at all," and the broad shoulders of
the conductor were shaken a little as though he
might be laughing inside. "They don't go to
church once a year, I suppose."

"But is that right?" asked Caroline, in a
tone so grieved that the laugh of her companion
died out.

" It doesn't look so, does it ? " he said. " It's
a dog's life they live, and that's a fact ; at it
early and late, Sunday and Monday and every
day. They don't get half a chance to eat or
sleep, let alone going to church. No, I always
thought the horse-car men had it harder than
the steam-car men on most roads, and that is
unnecessary. Ours is hard enough.''

A NEW FRIEND. 86

" I should think everybody ought to have a
chance to go to church," said Caroline gravely.

"Well, I don't know as to that. The half
nor the quarter would not go if they had a
chance. They aren't of that kind. They'd
rather loaf around the saloons than go to any
church that was ever heard of, and I suppose
they might better be driving horses than doing
that. If they were fond of going to church,
why, it might be different."

"I don't think that makes any difference,"
said Caroline, with a grave shake of the head.

"You don't? why not? You can't oblige
them to go to church. It's a free country."

"No, but you can give them a chance, so
that, if they don't go, it will be their fault, and
not yours."

The conductor gave his companion a thought-
ful look. "That's a pretty true notion of yours,
I guess," he said, after a moment's silence.
" Give them a chance, and if they choose the
wrong side of the road when you've made a
clear path to the right, why, you wash your
hands of it, eh ? That's a cute remark for one
of your years, who has never been in a city
before."

CHAPTER VII.

A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA.

I DID not think it out myself," said Caroline,
with a flush on her cheek ; " my brother
Ben and I were talking about the boys in the
printing office being obliged to do Sunday work,
and some of us said the boys wouldn't go to
church if they had a chance, so it did not make
any difference about their having to work on
Sunday, and my brother said we had nothing
to do with that part of it; that our business
was to give them a chance, and then if they
did not go we wouldn't be the ones to blame."

"Just so," said the conductor, with an ap-
proving nod, "that brother of yours has a clear
head on his shoulders ; I wouldn't mind work-
ing for him when he gets to be a man. Well,
there's lots of car-traveling done on Sundays
by them that you wouldn't think would do such
things; why, there are two or three ministers
86

A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA. 87

who come in on the cars regularly every Sunday
to their churches. That's a fact," he added, in
response to Caroline's astonished look, "I know
them myself and meet them very often. *Have
you been to cliurch to-day?' one of them said
to me not long ago. * No, sir, I haven't,' I
said, 'I have been too busy getting the preachers
there and getting them home again to take time
to go myself.' He laughed as though he thought
it was a good joke, then he sobered up, and said
he, 'Don't you really get a chance to go at all?
That is too bad.'

" * Well,' said I, ' if folks wouldn't travel on
Sundays folks wouldn't have to work to travel
them.' He laughed again, and said he, 'There's
some truth in that; but some people are situ-
ated so they have to travel on Sundays; see
how it is with me : I live fifteen miles from my
church, how could I get to it if it were not for
the train ? '

" ' I suppose you would have to live nearer
your church,' said I. He shook his head, and
says he, 'I cannot do that very well; I have an
mvalid daughter who has to live in the country.'

" I couldn't help asking one question. Said
I, 'Doctor, what would you have done if you

88 A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA.

had lived before railroads were invented?'
Well, he laughed again, and that was the end
of it.

" I like folks to be honest ; I'd have thought
more of that minister if he had said, * I believe
in Sunday cars ; they are convenient and com-
fortable, and I like to use them.' Here we
are," he added, giving a sharp pull to the bell
as they were nearing a street crossing. There
followed another brisk walk through streets less
filled with people, and at last the conductor
halted before a neat, quiet-looking house. " This
is home," he said cheerily; "now for some
breakfast."

Caroline followed him timidly into a room at
the end of the hall, where stood a tall, pale
woman with her hair combed straight back in
an unbecoming way; she had a child in her
arms, and two more were clinging to her skirts,
one of them crying wearily, as though she were
simply crying because she did not know what
else to do. " Well," said the woman, turning
as the door opened, "have you got home at
last? You are late."

"Yes," said Caroline's friend, "we were
pretty late getting in this morning, but we are

A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA. 89

here now, and glad enough this little woman
and I are to be here ; hungry as bears we are,
too. Halloo, Babies! how are you all?" and he
patted one on the head, stooped to kiss the
other, and held out his hands for the baby.
The woman meantime looked her astonishment
at Caroline, while she talked to her husband.

"They are all as fretful as they can be," she
said, resigning the baby. " I have had a dread-
ful time getting breakfast ; they have all stuck
to me like burrs, and cried every time I stirred
out of their sight. John, who have you here?"

" Sure enough," he said, whirling around, " I
didn't introduce you, did I? This is little Miss
Bryant ; I declare, I don't know what your first
name is." — It was given in a very low and
somewhat tremulous voice. — "O, yes! Caroline
Bryant ; that is her name, mother, and she has
come a journey without intending it ; she got
started on the wrong train last night, and in-
stead of getting home at seven in the evening,
as she had planned, she slept through, and got
to this city by daylight ; that's the story in a
nutshell. I brought her home with me to stay
until the ten o'clock train to-morrow morning."

"Mercy!" said the woman, and Caroline

90 A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA.

could not help wondering just what the excla-
mation meant. Was her hostess shocked with
her appearance, or dismayed because she would
have to keep her over night? The poor girl
could not wonder at the dismay, when she
looked down at herself and realized that the
dress which had gone a-nutting and a-wading
in the swift-running stream, was actually the
one in which she was making a Sunday morning
appearance in Philadelphia ! It really seemed
due to her that some explanation of her condi-
tion be made at once.

" We had been nutting," she said, " my
brother and some friends and I; when we
reached the station my brother was sent on an
errand and the others went to take a walk, and
I got into the right train, I thought, and fell
asleep, and did not waken until morning. I
had had a fright, and tore my dress and got it
wet, and my head ached so badly I hardly knew
what I did."

"Humph!" said the woman; "you must
have made trouble enough at home, if you have
a home."

This was almost too much for poor Caroline ;
she struggled with the lump in her throat, which

A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA. 91

she supposed she had conquered some time be-
fore, but which was there now larger than ever.

"Yes'm," she said faintly, "I have a home
and a mother. I don't know what mother will
do."

"Mother is all right long ago," the conductor
said cheerily, and he cast a reproachful look at
his wife. " I wired her as soon as we reached
the city ; she is planning by this time how to
meet you to-morrow. See here. Kit, don't pull
papa's hair all out," and he tried to turn the
attention on the baby.

The woman, only apparently half satisfied,
turned away and began to dish up the breakfast.

It was after Caroline had eaten the little bit
which she could coax herself to swallow, and
retired to the farther end of the room to look
out of the window and wipe the tears away
unseen, that she heard the conductor's wife say,
"That is rather a queer story, isn't it, which
she tells? What became of the rest of her
folks who went nutting? Did they all go to
sleep ? and if they didn't why didn't they look
after her?"

"I don't know what became of the others,
I'm sure," the conductor said, taking large

92 A SUNDAY IN PHILAhKLPHlA.

mouthfuls of bread and butter, "but I know
tliis party is all right ; she is a tfefy interesting
little girl. I had to bring her home — there
wasn't anything else to do; she will amuse the
children, I guess, and so help you a little."

" Humph ! " said his wife.

" Mrs. Prescott Smith was on the train," he
said, between the bites of beefsteak, " and took
quite a fancy to her ; she stayed with her in the
station while I went to telegraph."

" Why didn't Mrs. Prescott Smith take her
home with her ? " his wife asked.

" She would have liked to, only their house
is closed ; they stay at the hotel over Sunday."

" Well, I suppose there was room in the hotel
for another one ? " ^

" I suppose she thought a hotel wasn't a nice
place to take a strange little girl to, who wasn't
rigged up for traveling ; she had been nutting
all day, you see."

" I suppose she was very glad not to be both-
ered with other people's business," said his wife.

" Oh ! I don't know about that ; Mrs. Smith
is a benevolent woman."

" Humph ! she is benevolent with other peo-
ple's things ; I never heard that she was with

A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA. 98

her own particularly. She will send her second
girl to help wash the dishes after a sociable,
but then the girl has to wash her own dishes all
the same, and doesn't get a cent more wages
for doing extra work ; she told me so. I call
that the girl's benevolence, and not Mrs.
Smith's."

Her husband laughed. "O, well!" he said,
" she has her weak places, I suppose, but there
are worse people in the world than Mrs. Prescott
Smith."

" Yes, and better people ; some of them would
have taken a strange girl home with them, in-
stead of letting a poor man like you bear the
burden."

At this point Caroline came forward ; her
tears were dried, and she felt that she could
not endure the sound of another word.

"If you please," she said, speaking rapidly
and excitedly, "is there not some place where
I can go and stay until to-morrow morning?
Somewhere where I will not be in the way?
My mother will pay the people for keeping me,
I know she will, and I want very much to go."

The conductor gave his wife the most re-
proachful look she had ever received from him.

94 A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA.

and hastened to say, ** Why, my girl, what do
you mean? I tell you you are welcome here
— just as welcome as possible ; we are glad to
have you. See how quiet and good the chil-
dren have been ever since they have had you
to look at. Make yourself easy, and be as happy
as you can ; the day will pass before you know
it. It is passing pretty fast for me, and I am
getting no sleep out of it. T have night work
to-night too," and he arose, and whistling softly,
left the room.

"You must not mind what you heard me say,
child," the woman said, not unkindly ; " I speak
right out, whatever happens to be in my mind,
but I don't mean any harm ; you are welcome
to be here, I'm sure."

"I'm very sorry to be here, ma'am," said
Caroline. " It was very kind in your husband
to bring me, but oli ! I would so much rather
be at home," and now the tears chased them-
selves rapidly down her face.

"There, there, don't cry; it is hard on you,
that's a fact, when you didn't plan it, or noth-
ing. What became of all the rest of them?"

And then Caroline told, as steadily and as
clearly as she could, the whole queer little story,

A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA. 95

and finished with, "What became of Rufus and
Fanny Kedwin I can't think ! "

" I can," said Mrs.'Brinker sagely ; " I begin
to understand it. You all got on the wrong
train ; then they got out for something, and
came back and got on the right one at the last
minute, maybe, and you staid on the wrong one
and came to Philadelphia. It is too bad ! I'm
real sorry for you, but you must make the best
of it and think how soon to-morrow morning
will be here."

Her voice had grown very kind and comfort-
ing, and Caroline dried her eyes and offered to
help wash the dishes.

" I can do them alone if you will trust me,"
she said. "I wash them at home for mother
every day."

"You do go about it in a business-like way,
that's a fact," said Mrs. Brinker, watching the
swift-moving fingers with admiring eyes; "I
reckon your mother understands how to work,
and has taught you. Well, I don't mind leav-
ing them to you, I'm sure, if you would just as
soon ; though it is so queer to me to have any
help that I hardly know how to act. I often
think about the time when my Daisy will begin

96 A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA.

to help me ; but my children so far only know
how to hinder, and they are master hands at
that."

" Is her name Daisy ? " said Caroline, catch-
ing her breath, and turning quickly to look at
the yellow-haired mouse of a girl, who kept
close to her mother, and looked pale and tired.
The queer lump which had been threatening all
the morning to choke Caroline, now arose in
her throat again, and she struggled with the
tears which wanted to drop into the dishwater,
as she said, with lips which quivered, *' That is
my little sister's name."

" You don't say ! " said Mrs. Brinker, with
instant appreciation and sympathy ; " and she
is a little pet of yours, I dare say? My! how
glad she will be to see you to-morrow."

It was a masterly sentence, turning the cur-
rent of Caroline's thoughts from the distressing
present to the rose-colored to-morrow, and mak-
ing her resolve once more to be womanly and
bear her trouble in silence and helpfulness.

It was a busy morning, which was a great
comfort in its way. To have folded her hands
and done nothing would have been almost too
much for Caroline. Mrs. Brinker availed her-

A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA, 97

self of the opportunity while her dishes were
being washed for her, to wash and dress the
baby and cuddle him to sleep. Then she hur-
ried about the little room, making it neat and
cheery looking.

"What can I do now?" Caroline asked, as,
having carefully washed and rinsed her drying
towel and dish cloth, she hung them in the
corner where her quick eye saw that they prob-
ably belonged, she waited before the lady of
the house for her reply.

"I declare for it," said that good woman
admiringly, "you are just as neat as wax, and
no mistake. It shows what kind of a mother
you've got. I wonder if my Daisy will ever
show her bringing up as plain as you do?
Well, I guess you are tired enough to sit down
a spell. Or maybe you would like to take a
little walk for me out to the grocery; it is just
a few steps beyond the corner ? " Then, catch-
ing the dismayed look on Caroline's face, and
mistaking its cause, she made haste to say,
"Perhaps you would best not; you might make
the wrong turn, being unused to the city, and
get lost, and that would be just dreadful !
I'm sure your mother would never forgive

98 A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA.

me if I risked it, r>or Brinker either, for that
matter."

" I am not afraid of getting lost," said Caro-
line, with a glow on her cheeks, " I cnn gener-
ally find my way ; but, ma'am, I thought you
had forgotten that it was Sunday."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Brinker, "no, I had not
forgotten ; you ain't used to seeing stores open
on Sunday, I s'pose? They don't keep open
here, the best of 'em, and I don't make a prac-
tice of buying things on Sunday ; but there is a
little corner grocery just for the convenience of
folks who live away out here, and I sometimes
slip in at the back door and get one or two for-
gotten things. I'm making a soup for our Sunday
dinner, and I forgot every breath about a carrot
or an onion, and soup isn't worth much without
those two things in it, you know. If you will
look after the children a little I'll just slip down
there and get a couple. I always contrive to
have a good dinner on Sunday if I don't do
much the rest of the week. It is the only day
he is at home to eat with us. I'll take Bubby
along with me, because he's so terrible shy that
like enough he would cry and worry you out of
your wits; but Daisy will like to get acquainted

A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA. 99

with you, I guess. Daisy is mother's little
woman generally, though she does act uncom-
mon fretty this morning, I'll say that for her."

Caroline said no more; it is true she had
been brought up to believe that keeping the
Sabbath day holy was of much more conse-
quence than carrots or onions; but she had also
been brought up to understand that she must
not interfere with the movements of others
whom she had no right to control ; so she
coaxed the fair-haired Daisy, who looked very
unlike her own darling by that name, to a seat
on her lap in the great arm-chair in the cor-
ner, and began a story to entertain her, while
" Bubby " stumped away beside his mother.

" I'll tell you a Sunday-school lesson story,"
she said, "because this is Sunday, you know,
and a great many little girls and boys are in
Sunday-school. Don't you ever go?"

Daisy shook her head. " When I get a big
girl I'm going," she explained, " and I'm going
to take Bubby and the baby. I can't go now
because mother can't leave the baby to take
me, and I'm too little to find the way alone, and
father has to sleep Sundays."

Poor little mouse ! What a revelation of

100 A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA.

life it was to Caroline. Sunday, the blessed
day of the week to them, her mother's day of
leisure and privilege; and to this family it
meant simply a chance for father to sleep and
for the mother to get up an extra dinner. Caro-
line was not a Christian, and she had not known
how precious and important the Sabbath ser-
vices were to her until this day, when she was
shut away from them.

" Wei]," she said, after a moment's thought,
" we will have a little Sunday-school all by our-
selves ; at least we will have the lesson story.
Do you know about Lazarus?"

Daisy nodded excitedly. "Do you mean
Tommy Lazarus down by Pike Lane ? He is a
bad, wicked Jew boy; he frowed stones at
Bubby and me one day when we wasn't doing
nothing at all, only just standing and looking
at him ; and his father whipped him for it, too."

"O, no!" said Caroline, much shocked.
What would Daisy Bryant have thought of
such ignorance as this? "I mean the Lazarus
whose story is in the big Bible. He lived in
Bethany, and had two sisters, named Mary and
Martha. Do you know about him?"

.^'No," said Daisy j " was he a Jew boy, aqc^

A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA. 101

did he throw stones? If he did I hate him.
And why did his sisters both have two names
just the same?"

"Their names were not the same," said puz-
zled Caroline. "Why do you think they were?"

" 'Cause you said so ; you said they was both
named Mary Martha. I've got a cousin in New
York named Mary Martha, but her sister's name
is Hannah Jane."

" O, no ! " said Caroline, laughing for the first
time since she had discovered herself to be on
the way to Philadelphia, and beginning to un-
derstand that she must frame her sentences
more carefully, " I did not mean to have you
understand it so; I mean that the two sisters
were named, one Mary, and the other Martha.
Lazarus was their grown-up brother, and he was
good, and they loved him. Jesus loved him,
too — you know Jesus, don't you?"

Daisy nodded. "He is God, and lives in
heaven," she said, in a grave tone.

" Yes ; but he used to live on earth. He used
to come and see this family in Bethany very
often, and he loved them all. One day Lazarus
was taken sick ; he kept growing worse, until at
[{^st bis sisters sent for Jesus to gome and set'-

102 A SUNDAY IN PHILADELPHIA.

him ; then they waited and watched, but he did
not come, and at last Lazarus died."

" My little brother died," Daisy volunteered
at this point, " and they put him in a box and
dug a hole in tlie ground, and put him in. I
hated them when they did that."

"O, no!" said Caroline, "you must not feel
so ; it was only his body, you know, that was
put in the ground ; little brother's soul went to
live with Jesus in heaven. The sisters had
Lazarus buried in a grave, and they cried and
mourned very much because he was gone."

"Why didn't Jesus come when they sent for
him?" demanded the listener.

" They did not know ; they could not under-
stand why he should stay away when he loved
Lazarus so much ; but one day, four days after
their brother was put into the grave, they were
sitting with some friends, who had come to tell
them how soriy they were for them, when some
one brought word that Jesus was coming along
the road which led into the village."

"Humph!" said this little skeptic; "great
good in his coming then ! I wouldn't have said
a word to Him, I would have been so mad to
think He did not come when I wanted Him."

CHAPTER VIIL

NIGHT WORK.

I

li^OR a moment Caroline was silent. She felt
greatly shocked over such words as these
from almost baby lips. It was so utterly differ-
ent from her own little Daisy's manner of speech.
She rallied, however, remembering how little
opportunity this Daisy had to learn, and said
earnestly, "That would have been a naughty
way to feel ; because you told me, remember,
that Jesus was God, and of course he knew just
when to come; and he always does what is
right. Martha went out as quickly as she could
to meet him, and in a few minutes she went
back for Mary and told her Jesus wanted to
see her. The friends who were calling on her,
when they saw Mary hurry away, decided that
she had gone to her brother's grave, and they
followed to try to comfort her. So pretty soon
they all stood by the grave. It was not like
103

104 NIGHT WORK.

the graves in our cemeteries, but was more like
a little stone liouse with a door, and a great
stone rolled against it. Jesus told them to take
away the stone, and this frightened Martha;
she did not want to see her dead brother. She
began to explain to Jesus how dreadful it would
be, and he told her that her brother should live
again. She did not understand what he meant,
and the plainer he spoke to her the more she
did not understand, until suddenly he turned
to the grave and said, speaking in a loud voice,
' Lazarus, come forth.' And that dead man
heard him and came out of the grave ! "

" Oh ! oh ! " said Daisy, her eyes large and her
voice grave and reproachful, "you didn't ought
to tell wicked stories. Dead folks can't hear,
and they can't walk, nor move, nor nothing ! "

"They can hear one voice," said Caroline
earnestly. " When Jesus speaks even dead
men hear and obey him."

Daisy looked grave and skeptical.

" Are you sure it is a true story ? " she asked.

" O, yes!" said Caroline, "it is every word
true; it is in the Bible, you know, and God
told people what to write in the Bible."

Daisy gave a long sigh, and said sorrowfully :

NIGHT WORK, 105

"I just wish Jesus had been here when my
little brother died. I called him and called
him, and he wouldn't answer at all ; and mother
said he couldn't."

"He will some day," said Caroline confi-
dently; "Jesus will call his body out of the
grave, and he will rise up just as Lazarus did."

The conversation was interrupted by the
return of Mrs. Brinker from tlie corner grocery
with her carrots and onions. Preparations for
the dinner now went on briskly. It was an
excellent dinner. Caroline, who had never in
her own home seen such bustle of preparation
for a Sunday dinner, could not help enjoying
it heartily ; for by the time it was ready she
was very hungry, the little she had eaten at
breakfast time having long since been digested.

It was not a very quiet meal. The baby
awoke at just the wrong moment, feeling very
cross and unhappy, and " Bubby " clung to his
mother's dress, and wanted to be held and
petted as much as the baby did ; but at last he
was persuaded to go to sleep, and the baby too
dropped off into another doze, so quiet was
restored. Mrs. Brinker chose the opportunity
to propose her plan.

106 NIGHT WORK.

"It is dreadful dull for you staying in the
house all day ; don't you want him to take you
for a walk? It will be your only chance to see
the city."

Caroline's face flushed, and for a moment she
hardly knew what to say, especially as the con-
ductor was looking at her in a very earnest,
expectant way.

"O, no, I thank you!" she stammered, "I
would much rather stay here and help you."

But the kind-hearted woman urged her
scheme. "I don't need a bit of help," she
said; "you helped me so much this morning
that I'm not half so tired as usual, and now
♦ Bubby and the baby are both asleep. My little
one here will help mother. It is a shame for
you to come all the way to Philadelphia and
not see any of it. Don't you say so, Brinker?
Why don't you urge her to go ? You can take
her as well as not, can't you ? "

" I'll take her in a jiffy if she says so," de-
clared Mr. Brinker, "and like nothing better
than to see her eyes when I show her the sights,
but I don't want to urge her against her will ;
she has ideas, has this young woman, mother."

Some way this sentence helped Caroline to

NIGHT WORE. 107

speak out her real reason for declining the walk.

" If you please, Mrs. Brinker, mother never
likes us to take walks on Sunday, so we never
go when we are at home."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Brinker, looking astonished,
"is that so? Why, what liarm can it do to
walk quietly along a street minding your own
business ? It seems to me a nice, quiet way of
spending Sunday — enough sight better than a
great many ways I know of — but then, of
course you don't want to do anything that your
mother doesn't like, being you are away from
her; I know just how you feel. Well, I'll tell
you, Brinker might take you to the three o'clock
Sunday-school; it is but little more than time,
and that is not far from here ; they sing beau-
tifully. I have promised Daisy and Bubby they
shall go as soon as ever Baby is old enough to
be taken along. You would like that now,
wouldn't you ? "

Poor Caroline looked down at her torn and
soiled dress in dismay. It seemed rude to re-
fuse such well-meant kindness ; but how was it
possible for a neat girl like her, who never ap-
peared in the streets of her own town in other
than a very tasteful dress, to go to Sunday-

108 NIGHT WORK.

school in a great city in a dress which had been
nutting the day before, to say nothing of the
many disasters it had met with? As she looked
down at herself she decided that it really was
not to be thought of.

"O, I cannot," she said desperately, "look at
my dress; it is torn and soiled, and it is not my
Sunday dress even at home ; it would not be
decent to go to Sunday-school in such a plight."

" You look enough sight better than plenty
who will be there," said Mrs. Brinker signifi-
cantly. "It is a mission school, you know, and
they do not pay much attention to clothes; lots
of them don't, but then they are not your sort.
Well, I don't see but what you will have to
stay in the house all day, then."

"O, yes!" said Caroline, relieved, "I can as
well as not." Then a briorht thougjht came to
her. "Mrs. Brinker, could not you and Mr^
Brinker go to Sunday-school? I can do the
dishes. I will make everything nice, and Daisy
and I can take care of the children, I am sure."

Husband and wife exchanged glances, and
Mrs. Brinker laughed a sort of shy laugh, her
cheeks growing almost as red as Caroline's.

"Brinker and I haven't been to Sunday-school

NIGHT WORK. 109

for a dozen years at l^ast," she said ; " we
wouldn't know how to act, would we, John?
Not but what I'd like a breath of fresh air well
enough, and the queerness of taking a walk
with him, and without any children to look
after, would be something to remember."

"All right," said Mr. Brinker briskly, "let's
go. I don't mind going to Sunday-school again.
I used to like it right well when I was a young-
ster. Get on your things, Molly, and let's try
it. She will manage the work and the young-
sters too, I haven't a doubt. She's a wide-
awake, capable young woman ; I saw that this
morning, as soon as I began to talk with her."

They walked away at last, great satisfaction
visible on the conductor's face, and the two
who were left in charge began a vigorous attack
on the dishes. It was a very easy matter to
dispose of those ; Caroline was perfectly at
home with dishes, and really enjoyed reducing
everything to perfect order, giving object les-
sons to little Daisy at the same time, as to the
best ways of working. It was another matter
when Baby awoke, and, despite everything the
two could do or say, screamed himself hoarse.

" I never knew him to be so naughty," said

110 NIGHT WORK.

Daisy, with a grave fgipe. " It can't be because
he is afraid ; he isn't half so afraid of folks as
Bubby is. What do you suppose makes his
cheeks so red ? Is it because he cried so hard ? "

"It may be," said Caroline anxiously, "but
I'm afraid it is because he has a fever."

"O, dear!" said Daisy, "mother is always
scared when any of us have a fever, because
that is what ailed little brother when he died.
Isn't it most time for mother to come ? "

" I think so," said Caroline, moving the baby
from one shoulder to the other, and trying every
device she could think of to quiet him. " Never
mind, Daisy," she said, between the screams,
trying to smile on the troubled little girl,
"babies often have a little fever when they are
cutting their teeth, and it doesn't make them
sick, only uncomfortable."

Certainly if this baby was uncomfortable he
did his best to make them so, and succeeded.
By the time Daisy, who, after vainly trying to
get his attention, had retired to the window,
called out joyfully, " There they come ! " Caro-
line was thoroughly tired and a little alarmed ;
she had had some experience with sick children,
and was afraid this baby was sick.

NIGHT WORK. Ill

"Mercy sake!" said Mrs. Brinker, bustling
in, " what is the matter with Baby ? How he
does cry, though ! Has he been going on like
this ever since I've been gone ? Dear heart !
mother ought to have known better than to
leave him, and he getting two great double
teeth! Daisy, child, why didn't you try to
amuse him?"

" I did," said Daisy, coming forward ; " I
played 'peek' and 'bow-wow' and everything,
and he wouldn't notice at all ; and she says she
guesses he has a fever."

" What ? " said Mrs. Brinker, alarmed in an
instant, and almost throwing her bonnet in her
haste to get the baby into her arms.

" Poor little fellow ! " she said, as the weary
child laid his tired head on her shoulder and
hushed his cries into low sobs; "he has got a
fever, John, as sure as the world. O, dear me!
I hope he's not going to be sick, and you going
out to-night, too."

"Why, a fever is not anything to be scared
at when a baby is teething," said the father,
and Mrs. Brinker assented to this, but declared
that he had not been like himself all day.

"And I don't know what to make of Bubby^

112 NIGHT WORK.

either," she said ; " he never sleeps all day like
this; he's been asleep the biggest part of the
day, but then he was wakeful in the night, and
I suppose he's making up."

"O, yes!" said the father; "he's all right, I
guess, only tired out."

In this way father and mother tried to reassure
each other, and succeeded. As for the baby, he
seemed to have found what he wanted. The
minute his head touched his mother's shoulder
he dozed off to sleep again, merely giving strug-
gling little sobs occasionally as a reminder of
the sea of troubles through which he had come.

" Poor little fellow ! " said Mrs. Brinker ; " I
ought not to have left him. I never do ; but
then 1 don't get a chance. It was most dread-
ful nice, and that's a fact. I haven't been out
walkins: with John before in — I don't know
when. Three are so many to take, for decent
people, who don't go pleasuring on Sunday ;
that is the only day we have, and only a piece
of that. He has got to go out to-night at six
o'clock. He doesn't generally have to go Sun-
day nights, but this is extra work because some
of the men are sick. I wish he didn't have to
go to-night. I declare, it ;s going on to ^y§

NIGHT WORK. 113

now, isn't it? how fast this afternoon has gone!
Well, we had a lovely time. We went to the
Sunday-school, and the singing was just heav-
enly. They gave us a book, and John sang
with the best of them ; he's a tine singer, my
husband is."

"Sho!"said the husband, from a distant cor-
ner, where he was struggling with a pair of
boots which were rather small, " that will do
for you to say."

" It's true, for all that," said the woman, in
an admiring tone, " if I do say it that shouldn't.
I'm glad I have a chance to hear your voice
once more ; if I don't go again till Baby is old
enough to walk there between us, I'll remember
this day. John, as soon as ever I can get this
baby sound enough to put down I'll make you
a cup of tea to hearten you up for to-night."

On hearing this Caroline was on the alert.
Mr. Brinker protested that he did not think it
was necessary, that he had eaten a good dinner,
and plenty of it. Nevertheless he did justice
to the supper which was presently ready for
him, and went away at last in haste, declaring
that no day was ever so short before.

^'I'U be home in time for the ten o'clock ruUj

1.14 NIGHT WORK.

little woman," he said to Caroline, " never you
fear. I get in at daylight, and have three good
hours before ray train goes out. Good-by, all
of you ; sleep hearty and dream of to-morrow.
I won't run the risk of waking Bubby by kiss-
ing him, for fear you'll have him on your hands
before you're ready for him."

Caroline was once more washing the dishes,
and Mrs. Brinker was trying to hush the baby,
who showed a constant tendency to moan and
cry, when Bubby awoke, coughing and crying,
arousing the baby to screams again, and for the
next hour there were trying times.

"Dear, dear!" said Mrs. Brinker, as she
turned from the baby, who had at last allowed
her to lay him down, to feel of Bubby's flushed
cheeks, for he too had at last been quieted, "I
don't know what is the matter, I'm sure. Bubby
is in quite a fever, too, and he never goes on
like this. He must be sick. He hasn't any
teeth coming to lay it to, and he doesn't up
and have a fever over the least little thing as
some children do. I'm just afraid he is real
sick, and the baby, too ; I never did see them
both cut up like this unless something was the
matter^ I wish I hadn't let Brinker go ! But

NIGHT WORK. 115

there, I couldn't have helped myself if I had
wanted to. That is the trouble with railroad
men; they've got to go just at the minute, no
matter what is happening at home ; but I would
give a dollar if he was here now."

** What would he do ? " asked Caroline gravely,
for she too felt a heavy responsibility resting
upon her. The more she looked at Baby in his
heavy sleep, and saw his fever-flushed face and
remembered his heavy eyes, the more sure she
felt that the mother was right, and the child
was going to be sick.

"Why, I'd advise with him about sending
for the doctor," said the mother anxiously.
" We don't send for him every other hitch, as
some do, it counts up so, and I'm not a nervous
woman, and know how to take care of children,
but ever since our little boy died I've been
anxious over a fever ; he died with fever, you
see, and some way I seem to feel that if Brinker
were here now he would advise that we have
the doctor look in and see if there was anything
to worry about."

"Where does the doctor live, Mrs. Brinker?"

"Why, quite a piece from here, and I don't
know how I'd get him, I'm sure, if I made up

116 NIGHT WORK.

my mind ; for my neighbor, who does errands
for me sometimes, is gone away down-town to
a meeting to-night; the whole of them went
and locked up their house. They told me they
were going when I came home, and they were
to take the half-past six car, so they are gone ;
and there isn't anybody else."

"Couldn't I go?"

" Why, you do not know the way, though to
be sure it is just a straight road with only one
turn ; but then folks take the wrong turn in a
strange place sometimes in broad daylight, and
if anything should happen to you I'd never for-
give myself, let alone being forgiven by your
mother."

" Jhere won't anything happen to me," said
Caroline, rising to the occasion ; " it is too early
in the evening to be afraid, and my mother
always told me to do what looked as though it
ought to be done, if I could. I can keep a
straight road and make one turn, I should hope.
Please tell me just how to go, Mrs. Brinker, and
I will try it."

"I don't like to have you," said Mrs. Brinker,
going to the window and looking out ; " it isn't
dark, to be sure," she said, "with the street

NIGHT WOBK. 117

lamps all lighted, and there are policemen
pretty thick up this way; but then, to be out
in a big city at seven o'clock and after, for a
little strange girl from the country, is almost
too much. I might send Daisy with you, onh'
she has a cold and is hoarse ; she knows exactly
where the doctor lives, but she gets cold awful
easy."

" It would not do for her to go," said Caro-
line. "I know I can find my way, Mrs. Brinker,
and I know mother would want me to try when
there was such an errand as this to be done."

" Well," said Mrs. Brinker, coming back from
another look at Baby's face, and an attempt to
feel the bounding pulse at his wrist which did
not serve to comfort lier, "I don't know what
to make of Baby's having such a fever, and
that's a fact. And I'd like dreadful well to
have the doctor step in, because when little
Ruble was sick he said, ' Mrs. Brinker, you lost
twenty-four valuable hours before you sent for
me.' Those were the very words he said, and
I never forgot them. For nights after Ruble
died I'd lie awake, and all I could seem to think
or try to say were those words, ' You have lost
twenty-four valuable hours.' But maybe we

118 NIGHT WORK.

better wait a little and see how things look,
and if Baby isn't better after awhile, why, then
if you are a mind to try it, Fll tell you exactly
where Dr. Forsy the lives."

"That would only be losing some more time,"
said Caroline ; " besides, it will be getting later
all the while. I think, Mrs. Brinker, I would
better go right away ; the baby looks to me
as though he needed some medicine."

While she spoke she fastened her hat, and
took her sacque down from its hook behind the
door. Mrs. Brinker drew a long sigh, partly of
anxiety and partly of relief, as she said :

"Well, if you will do it 1 suppose it cannot
be helped, though I don't know what Brinker
will say to my allowing it ; but for the matter
of that I don't know what he would say to the
baby being sick and me not having a doctor.
I'll tell you just exactly where he lives, and you
cannot miss it if you try."

A few minutes more and Caroline, her heart
beating hard and fast, was alone on the streets
of the great city. What would Ben think of
that? And oh! above all, what would her
mother say if she knew it ?

CHAPTER IX.

WAITING.

I \0 you remember where we left Ben Bryant
-^-^ and Mr. Holden? Actually that long,
long night wore away, and the gray dawn of the
early Sabbath morning stole over the world with-
out their having been able to find the right person
to give them a clue to the possible whereabouts
of the one they sought. The nearest approach
to it had been the confident statement of one
of the train switchmen : " Depend upon it, she
got on to the wrong train somehow. I dunno
how they do it, but they do such things some-
times, and you can't make head nor tail to it —
how they could have done it, nor what they did,
anyhow — but it all comes out right in the end."
It was this faint hope which brought both
Ben and the minister to the station again just
as the morning was breaking, with a faint idea
of telegraphing somewhere to learn about pos-
119

120 WAITING.

sible mistakes in trains. Ben had been home
to see how Daisy was doing, and had said every-
thing comforting he could to his mother, taking
pains to explain to her how many people had
said that of course Line was safe somewhere,
because it simply was not possible that any-
thing very terrible could have happened to her
in so short a time. And his mother, white to
her very lips, had yet smiled on him and told
him he was a brave, faithful boy, and her com-
fort ; then had said earnestly :

"We must pray, Ben ; pray as we never have
before ; it is our only refuge."

Then Ben, almost choking to keep back his
tears, had rushed out again into the night ; but
before joining Mr. Holden he had gone around
to the little shed where they kept wood and
coal, and bowing there in the darkness, had
prayed as he felt sure he never prayed before.
A little later he stood beside Mr. Holden, list-
ening while that gentleman asked questions of
the telegraph operator.

"Your best plan will be to wait till the morn-
ing express comes in from Elizabethtown," ex-
plained that official. " The men who come in
then are regular railroad hands, and know all

WAITING. 121

that goes on ; if there was any mixing up of
trains last night they can tell you all about
them, and they will know the conductors of
the different trains and where to reach them;
it will be along in thirty minutes. I don't see
anything for you but to wait until then."

"Waiting, is the hardest part of what we
have had to do all night, isn't it, Ben, my boy?"
said Mr. Holden, turning with a sympathizing
smile, and resting his head on the boy's shoul-
der. Some way the kindly act and word seemed
to take away every vestige of Ben's self-control ;
he had never fainted in his life, but the room
began to swim about in a strange fashion, and
if he had not clutched one of the pillars which
supported the building he would have fallen to
the floor; as it was, he struggled and swallowed,
and told himself that he would not fall, and he
would get over this dizziness without letting
anybody know about it; that he was a miserable
baby, not fit to be trusted to take care of his
mother! And the thought of his mother brought
back the blood to its place and its duty. In a
minute or two more he was able to turn and
ask, almost in a natural tone of voice :

" What time is it now, Mr. Plolden ? " And

122 WAITIJSIG.

Mr. Holden drew his watch and carefully noted
the time, as though Ben had a chronometer
which needed regulating at that moment. It
was just at that moment that the telegraph
operator said, "Mr. Holden, this way if you
please." Mr. Holden and Ben started ^ though
it had been one pair of feet that bor^ them both.

" What is it ?" said Mr. Holden.

"Nothing, sir," said the operator, eying Ben
anxiously, " only there is a dispatch coming for
Mrs. Bryant." This in a lower tone, intended
only for the minister's ears.

"Give it to me at once," said Ben, in a voice
that he did not recognize as his own. And
Mr. Holden said quietly, "We keep nothing
from Ben, Mr. West ; he is his mother's depen-
dence." And then Ben knew he must bear
whatever was coming, for his mother's sake.

"Hurrah!" said the operator, with sudden
change of voice; "listen to this: * Little girl
safe — took wrong train — will be in on the ten
o'clock run from this city.' "

"What city?" asked Mr. Holden, as Ben
leaned against the pillar again for support.

"The dispatch is dated at Philadelphia and
sent by the conductor of No. 11. Caroline

WAITING. 123

must have made connection with his train some-
how. I don't understand it, but when the
morning express gets in the conductor can tell
you how it was."

It was a strange Sunday ; for the first time
in their remembrance none of the Bryant family
went to church. Daisy was still hoarse, and
Mrs. Bryant was too anxious to leave her, as
well as too weary from her night's vigil to
attend. As for Ben, he felt sure he could not
sit still and at the same time keep awake.

" You ought not to try to keep awake," the
mother said compassionately, as she looked at
his haggard face. "Poor boy! a night's watch-
ing and anxiety have told upon you."

" Never mind," said Ben, " everything is all
right; Line will be home to-morrow. Just to
think of her being in Philadelphia, mother !
Do you suppose she will go to church ? "

Mrs. Bryant shook her head. "You forget
what dress and hat she has, my son."

" Sure enough ! and her dress was torn and
soiled ; but then, I believe if I were there in
this jacket and trousers I should go."

"Caroline will not," said her mother posi-
sitively, "and I cannot blame her. She has

124 WAITING.

at least been able always to be neat in her
dress."

Ben, at his mother's suggestion, took a long
nap, then took his turn in caring for and inter-
esting Daisy ; and they all occupied themselves
more or less with questions such as these : " I
wonder what Line is doing now?" "Where
do you think she can be staying all day?"
" Do you suppose she is very lonesome ? "

On the whole, they were all glad when the
day was done, and they could retire to rest,
saying to themselves as they closed their eyes,
" Caroline will be here to-morrow."

" It isn't as though I had sent her away on a
visit, with everything about her in order and
comfortable," Mrs. Bryant told herself, as she
rested her weary head on her pillow ; " it is the
unnaturalness of the whole thing, and the terri-
ble suspense connected with it. What a night
it was!" and she shuddered over the mere
thought of it, and felt as though when once
her mother arras were closed about her darling,
she could never let her go away from them
again.

Monday was easier. The necessity for work-
ing all day which was upon them made the time

WAITING. 125

pass more rapidly. By five o'clock in the after-
noon Mrs. Bryant and Daisy were dressed for
the station, and waiting for Ben.

"I am so glad I am well enough to go," Daisy
said gleefully. " Mother, it is real good that I
didn't get very sick, isn't it? It would have
been so hard for Line not to see me as soon as
she got off the train."

" Yes, indeed ! " said Mrs. Bryant, stooping
to kiss her fair little daughter; "we have a
great deal to be thankful for. If Line had
found you coughing and feverish it would have
been very hard for her. I am afraid she has
worried a great deal about you. You are so
liable to take a severe cold when you get your
feet wet, it seems like a special Providence that
you escaped."

Then came Ben, in hot haste. " Hurry up,
mother, please," he said breathlessly; "we shall
have to walk briskly to be in time for the train.
It seemed as though I was never going to get
away. Everybody wanted something extra."

However, they arrived at the station ten min-
utes before the train was due, and learned that
it was fifteen minutes late.

"Never mind," said Ben, to Daisy's disap-

126 WAITING.

pointed look, "twenty-five minutes isn't long
to wait. Think of hours and hours ! That is
where I stood when the man was telling Mr.
Holden all about — he didn't know what might
have happened; some of the things seemed
hard. I had to lean against the pillars to keep
me from tumbling over. I was so scared at my
own thoughts. Then I went and stood outside
in the cold and leaned against the door ; some
of the time I couldn't breathe inside. Oh! it
was a night to remember for a good while."

"Poor Ben .'"said Daisy pityingly. "Mother
and I had a hard time too. I felt so sorry for
mother; you can't think! Some of the time I
couldn't decide whether it would be better to
be hoarse and cough, and so give her something
real hard to think about, and keep her from
wondering about Line, or whether it would be
better to be real well and not give her aa
anxious hour."

Ben broke into a merry laugh.

" Could you arrange to do whichever you de-
cided would be the best for mother?" he asked.

"Why, no," said Daisy slowly, "of course
not ; only I could keep back the cough a little,
you know, and not talk, to show I was hoarse,

WAITING. 127

or I could cough and let her think about that
for a while, and I didn't know which was best."

"And which did you do, Daisy? It was as
perplexing a situation as I ever heard of."

" Why, at last I decided to be just myself,
and not try to make believe anything, and ask
God to help her bear it all."

" That was a wise little woman," said Ben,
unable to resist kissing the somewhat pale cheek
of his darling, even though they were in the
station and several people were looking at them.

"There comes Mr. Holden," said Daisy, as
the door opened for the twentieth time since
they stood there. "I wonder if he has come
to meet Line?" It appeared that he had. He
came over to them and shook hands all around,
and asked particularly after Daisy, telling her
she was the most sensible little woman he knew,
to decide to get well, and be on hand to wel-
come her sister home. Several other people
came over and shook hands with Mrs. Bryant.
Some whom she did not suppose knew who she
was, inquired kindly after Caroline, and told
her they had sympathized with her in her
anxiety, and was so glad to hear that Caroline
was well. Among others came the Kedwins,

128 WAITING.

Rufus and Fanny, and, to Mrs. Bryant's sur-
prise, Mrs. Kedwin herself.

" I could hardly get away," she said, shaking
hands with Mrs. Bryant, "just near to supper
time, you know ; but I had to come down to
the market, and says I to myself, ' I'll just run
over and see with my own eyes that Line is all
right, and give her a shaking, maybe, for scaring
us all out of our senses.' Land alive! what a
night it was, wasn't it? I didn't sleep two
hours myself ; I kept thinking what if it was my
Fanny ! And to think it should be one of your
cliildren, when you are always so careful of
them, and mine have to knock around almost
any way. I ought not to be surprised most any
day if they do not come home, but I should be.
Well, it isn't as if she had done anything wrong;
it wasn't even her fault, to begin with ; Rufus
ought to have taken more care to see she was
on the right train ; he often goes out to the
Junction on that train, and he ought to have
known all about it and kept watch. 1 told him
so when I found out, by questioning him, how
it all was. I gave him a good lecture after I
found that Line was safe. I hadn't the heart
to do it before, for the poor fellow was so mis-

WAITING. 129

erable I didn't know but it would make him
sick ; he took it to heart worse than Fanny, I
believe, but I tell him that was because be was
to blame."

And then the train whistled, and all the peo-
ple started up and tried to get out of the door
at once, and the train came thundering into the
station with a final shriek, which Ben could not
help thinking sounded like a cry of desperation
instead of triumph, and they looked up and
down, and right and left for Caroline ; but no
Caroline appeared.

" She is in the conductor's care, remember,"
said Mr. Holden's reassuring voice. "Ben, if
I were you I wouldn't go on the cars ; you do
not know which one she is in ; the wisest way
is just to stand here, with eyes wide open, and
watch for the conductor."

He came presently, but no Caroline was with
him. The group pressed toward him. " Where
is Caroline?" asked Ben, touching his arm.

The conductor turned and looked at him with
a bewildered air and a slight frown. And Mr.
Holden asked, "Are you Conductor Brinker?"

The man shook his head.

"Brinker only comes to the Junction," he

130 WAITING.

said ; " I conduct the train from there." Ben
turned in despair.

"Then where can Line be?" he said. But
at that moment another blue-coated man came
hurriedly toward them, and the conductor said :

" There's Brinker now ; he came on, it seems.
Halloo, Brinker, come this way; here is a party
asking for you."

" The Bryant family ? " the man asked, turn-
ing hurriedly at the sound of his name, and
pushing his way through the crowd to reach
them.

"Yes," said Ben, "we are here. Where is
Line?"

CHAPTER X.

A TRYING POSITION.

TTTHY, you see," said the man — "which
' " is her mother?" He broke off to ask
this question, and Ben in reply silently laid his
hand on his mother's arm ; then the conductor
addressed himself to her, beginning again.
" Why, you see, ma'am, it's this way. Noth-
ing has happened to her; but I left her in
Philadelphia."

" In Philadelphia ! " said Mrs. Bryant and Ben
in the same breath, and Daisy said, "O, dear! "

In order to understand why Caroline Bryant
was in Philadelphia, when she was expected at
home, we will be obliged to go back to that
Sunday evening when she took her first walk
alone in the great city. She had gone out with
her eyes wide open and her wits on the alert,
and made the one turn without mistake, and

132 A THY IN a POSITION.

presently rang the bell at the house bearing the
name which had been given her. The walk
had not been taken without strong beatings of
heart, and without one or two frights. For in-
stance, there was a man on the opposite side of
the street who reeled from side to side in such
a manner that she could not but think how im-
possible it would have been for her to have kept
out of his way had she been across the road ;
he was evidently intoxicated, and Caroline
Bryant felt more afraid of a drunken man than
she thought she would be of a wild animal.
She quickened her steps when she saw the
staggerer, and broke into almost a run at last,
with her head behind her, w^atching, until she
ran plump into the arms of a burly, middle-
aged man.

" Halloo, little girl ! " he said, in a gruff, but
not an unkind voice, "don't carry so much steam
on the public street; give a fellow half a chance.
It wouldn't be a bad idea to keep your eyes be-
fore you instead of behind."

"I beg your pardon," said Caroline, so morti-
fied that she forgot to be frightened, and re-
membering: even then how ashamed Ben would
be of her. "I was keeping watch of that

A TRYING POSITION. 133

drunken man for fear he would cross the
street."

" No danger of him, he is much too drunk to
tliink of such a thing ; he will keep right on
until he runs against a policeman, and brings
up in the lock-up. You will be likely to meet
more of them if you are going far on this road ;
I'll turn and go with you a piece if you are
afraid."

"O, no, sir! thank you," said Caroline hastily,
beginning to be afraid of him. "I am just at
the door where I am going," and she recognized
the name on the door with a thrill of delight,
and ran breathlessly up the white steps.

She was admitted at once. A young man
motioned her to take a seat, and in answer to
her eager question, said the doctor would be at
liberty in a few minutes, and she could see him.
Others sat about the room, evidently waiting,
like herself. " Somebody is sick at their house,
too*," thought Caroline, with a sigh. " How
much trouble there is in the world." Then she
tho'ight, for the hundredth time that day, of
her own little Daisy, and wondered if the wait-
ing, and the fright and the fatigue had all been
too much for her. Perhaps she was very sick,

134 A TRYING POSITION.

and mother was watching alone while Ben went
for the doctor. But at this point Line reso-
lutely told herself to hush, that it was foolish
and wicked to make herself miserable over such
thoughts, borrowing trouble when there was so
much real trouble in the world all about her.
What if that drunken man were her very own
brother ! that would be trouble indeed.

A door clanged in the distance, and a firm
step sounded in the hall. Several of the wait-
ing people arose ; so did Caroline, and a tall,
keen-eyed man looked in at the door. Whether
Caroline's face wore the most anxious look, or
whether it was because she was a little girl, in-
stead of asking who had been waiting the long-
est, as he was in the habit of doing, the doctor
turned to her.

" Well, my little friend," he said, in a quick
voice, " what do you want ? "

Caroline had carefully formulated her mes-
sage, and planned how to make it as brief .and
clear as possible, so it took her but a moment
to say, "Will you come to No. 1747 just as
quick as you can ? Mr. Brinker's children are
both sick ; we are afraid they are going to be
very sick."

A TRYING POSITION. 135

"Is that Conductor Brinker's? Children
sick, eh ? I will go as soon as I can," and he
turned to the next waiting one.

Caroline had evidently been dismissed, but
she lingered while the doctor spoke a few words
rapidly with one and another. Turning from
one he glanced in her direction, and seemed
surprised to see her still there.

"You need not wait," he said kindly, "I will
be there in a very short time."

"If you please," said Caroline timidly, "could
I walk there with you? I was never on the
street alone in the evening before, and I am
afraid."

" Oh ! all right ; I will be ready in a very few
minutes. So you are afraid to be on the streets
alone after dark," he said, as the door closed
after them a few minutes later. " It isn't a bad
thing for a girl like you to be afraid ; I wish
more of our young people felt it. I meet hun-
dreds of them, it seems to me, who ought to
be at home and in bed, instead of rushing up
and down the streets. Do you live at Mr.
Brinker's?"

" O, no, sii ! " said Caroline, with a quiver in
her voice, and before she realized it, she found

136 A TRYING POSITION.

herself telling her pitiful little story to this
strange doctor.

"I want to know! So you took a journey
in spite of yourself?" he said. "Well, well,
that was harder for mother than it was for you,
ril be bound. I'm sorry for her; however, you
will make it all right to-morrow. There are
harder things than that for mothers to bear.
See to it that you never do anything of your
own accord to give her trouble, and you will be
all right. Well, what have we here?" he said,
as Caroline ushered him into Mrs. Brinker's
sitting-room.

Caroline watched him earnestly as he ques-
tioned and cross-questioned Mrs. Brinker, all
the while keeping his keen eyes on his two lit-
tle patients. She could not help thinking,
"Suppose she had something to conceal, and
this doctor were set to find it out, what would
have become of her ? "

His rapid questioning was soon over, and he
seemed to be satisfied with the result ; but not
a word of information did he give the anxious
mother. He called for glasses and water, gave
very careful directions about the medicine and
general care, and, in so short a time after his

A TRYING POSITION. 137

coming that his visit seemed almost like a dream,
was gone, leaving only the comfort which could
be found in his last words, "I'll look in early in
the morning."

" Well," said Mrs. Brinker, as the door
closed after him, " 1 suppose he knows a great
deal more than he did when he came, but he
took care that we shouldn't! I do say for it,
that man scares me so that I never know
whether I am standing on my head or my feet.
I wanted awfully to ask him what was the mat-
ter, and I didn't dare to, and that's the truth.
Do you suppose he thinks it is anything much?"

"I am sure I don't know," said Caroline, with
a sinking heart. Something in the doctor's
manner had made her feel that a good deal
was the matter, but she did not like to say so
to the worried mother. And indeed there was
very little opportunity for talk ; the two babies
awakened again from their brief rest, one
moaning as if in pain, the other screaming as
though he felt himself ill-treated, and demanded
relief. Caroline made herself very busy, and
so useful that more than once during that long,
anxious night Mrs. Brinker murmured, "What-
ever I should do without you I don't know ! "

138 A TRYING POSITION.

And indeed Caroline could have echoed the
remark ; she did not see how one pair of hands
could have accomplished all that was necessary
to be done. There was little chance for sleep-
ing, and in the lulls when she might have rested
the young girl was wide awake and troubled ;
she had spent so many anxious hours over
Daisy, that a time of sickness was a sort of
education to her. She remembered once when
Daisy had been ill, the doctor's questions had
been almost word for word like what this one
had asked, and his information as meager.
From time to time Mrs. Brinker made a re-
mark which showed that her thoughts were
going over the same ground as Caroline's.

" He asked me how long the baby had been
ailing," she said once, "and I was that scared
over his manner, and flurried and everything,
that I did not tell him right ; he's been fretty
like for a week or more, but he's teething, you
know, and I didn't think much of that; lie's
had a little fever a good deal of the time, but
they are likely to have with double teeth. You
don't suppose my not telling him the exact time
could make any difference with the medicine,
do you ? '*

A TRYING POSITION. 139

" O, no ! " said Caroline soothingly, " I don't
think that could make a bit of difference."

Before seven o'clock the next morning both
Mrs. Brinker and Caroline had ceased to talk ;
they did what they could, and watched for the
doctor. When at last he came, it did not need
his grave face to tell even Caroline that there
was serious trouble.

" I suppose you know what is the matter
here ? " he said to Mrs. Brinker, low-voiced and
sympathetic.

"No," said the poor mother, "I don't, no
more than a child ; I never saw either of them
so sick, and it has come on me all of a sudden,
and isn't a bit like their little sick spells, and I
don't know what to think."

" It is scarlet fever," he said briefly, " and it
would be simply cruelty to hide from you the
fact that the disease has assumed a serious form,
and there is danger."

What the mother could hiive felt, Caroline
wondered afterward. Of course her anxiety
must have been the greater, yet the girl went
on the swift wings of thought back to her home,
and Daisy, their darling, so frail that she had
been shielded as a flower from every breath of

1"40 A TliVI\(; I'OSITION.

rude wind ; how carefully they had guarded
her from exposure to this dread disease! Caro-
line remembered only too well the sacrifice her
mother had made to take her, but a year or two
before, from a place of possible danger, and
liere was she in the very jaws of the enemy,
which had come in so serious a form that even
the doctor owned it, and planning to go to her
darling that very day. Might it not be possi-
ble that if she got away from the house now, in
a very few minutes, it would have been too soon
for her to carry danger to Daisy? Hark! what
was that the doctor was saying in reply to some
trembling words of the distressed mother?

" You see, madam, the cases are more serious
because the children have evidently been suffer-
ing from the disease for some time. It proba-
bly attacked them at first in a mild form, and
was mistaken for an ordinary cold, or for teeth-
ing troubles ; did you not tell me last night of
a slight irritation of the skin which you had
noticed ? "

"O, yes!" said the poor mother, "but I'm
sure it was just a breaking out from those warm
days we had last week ; don't you remember,
Doctor, it was quite hot in the middle of the

A TRYING POSITION. 141

day? and they both break out in that way in
hot weather."

"No," said the doctor, with quiet positive-
ness, " it was the scarlet rash, and it has disap-
peared, when it should be on the surface ; that
is why this little fellow is suffering so. But
you must keep up good courage ; the cases are
serious, but by no means hopeless ; I told you
the worst at once, because 1 know you are a
sensible woman, and want the truth." Then
he wheeled round to Caroline. " Have you had
the scarlet fever?" he asked.

She shook her head ; at that moment it would
have been impossible to speak.

"Then of course you know the probabilities
are you will have it?"

" O, dear ! " said Mrs. Brinker, " O, dear,
dear me ! not only us, but we are getting other
people into trouble ; whatever will her mother
do?"

Still Caroline said nothing; not yet could sfie
trust her voice, and there was no telling what
that dreadful lump in her throat would do if
she but opened her mouth and let it have its
way.

"Don't borrow trouble, my friend," said the

142 A TRYING POSITION.

doctor, turning back to her with a reassuring
smile, "there is enough trouble in the world
without looking ahead for some which may
never come. Not every one who is exposed to
scarlet fever takes it, by any means, and the
fact that this little woman has lived so long
and escaped speaks well for her."

It was ten minutes later, when the doctor
had given once more the careful directions, and
promised to come in at evening and see if all
was being done that could be, that Caroline
followed him to the door, her face almost as
white as the steps on which she stood, but her
voice controlled.

"Doctor, I have a little sister at home who
is very delicate ; mother was told to keep her
from all the diseases which people catch as long
as possible, and she has never had any of
them " —

" Better stay away from her, then," the doc-
tor said promptly, before she had time to put
her dread question into words.

If it had been possible for her to have grown
paler, she would have done so. " But how can
I?" she gasped ; "it is home, and I was going
to-day. My mother never meant me to come

A TRYING POSITION. 143

away, and I never meant to, and I've nowhere
else ; and if I should be sick " —

"Now you are borrowing trouble," he said,
smiling ; "you may not be sick ; I think it quite
possible you will escape ; I can see you have a
sound body, capable of resisting poisoned air ;
but did you never hear the old proverb, 'An
ounce of prevention is worth a })Ound of cure ? '
I'm prescribing the ounce of prevention for the
little sister, that is all. As to the staying, I
have an idea you will be very welcome indeed
in there, and have opportunity to make your-
self as useful as I fancy you know how to be ;
if I am mistaken come to my house, I will see
that you are well cared for. Talk it over with
your friends, and I will hear your decision
to-night."

" To-night," echoed Caroline's white lips ;
that is, they formed as if to say the words,
but no sound escaped. How many times had
she said, since daylight, "To-night I shall be
at home?"

The doctor, three strides away from the steps,
turned back to say, " I see Conductor Brinker
coming, perhaps you can help explain the situ-
ation to him, and save that poor mother; they

144 A TRYING POSITION.

are a very loving family, and trouble of this
form presses them hard ; I am afraid there is a
heavy trial in store for them." And the doctor,
who was so constantly in the homes of sickness
and sorrow that some people thought he had
become used to them and had ceased to care,
drew a long sigh, as he sped away. But he had
roused Caroline from the first selfishness of her
dismay; what, after all, was her trouble com-
pared with theirs? It was only too evident
that the doctor feared the worst. One, perhaps
both of their darlings, was in danger. And as
for her Daisy, she had but to stay away from
her for a few weeks to save her from any possi-
bility of contagion from this source.

It was Caroline's quiet, earnest voice which
explained to Conductor Brinker the blow that
had fallen on his home during the few short
hours since he left it. It was she who assured
him that the doctor had said distinctly that they
were by no means hopeless cases; it was she
who held the baby while his wife cried a few
tears on his broad shoulders, and who hushed
Daisy's wailing voice, and in low whispered
words comforted the child.

Perhaps it was an hour afterwards that the

A TRYING POSITION. 145

conductor turned to her and said, " I had forgot-
ten that you were to go with me ; we shall have
to be getting ready. It is very hard that a man
must leave his wife and babies at such a time."

Then Caroline spoke as quietly as though she
was not saying a tremendous thing. "If you
please, Mr. Brinker, could I stay here, do you
think, for a few days? I've been exposed to
the fever, you know, and I'm afraid if I go
home I shall have it and give it to our Daisy,
and she is very delicate. I think mother would
want me to stay and go to a hospital or some-
where, rather than expose Daisy."

"Can you stay?" the conductor said, with a
sudden lighting up of his strong, troubled face ;
and before he could say more his .wife added,
" Not an angel from heaven could be more wel-
come ; she has been that, Brinker, all this dread-
ful night. I don't see how I could have gotten
through it without her."

"If you will stay," said the conductor, "it
will be such a blessing as I did not believe this
day could bring ; we'll never forget it of you,
never, and I don't believe you will have the
fever, either ; I can't seem to feel that you will
be let to have it."

146 A TRYING POSITION.

" I think mother will want me to stay," said
Caroline, her voice trembling a little. This
dreadful thing, which she had had such trouble
to speak of, seemed to be decided by others.

" I cannot tell until I hear from her just what
to do, but I think I ought to stay until she
knows about it."

And this was the reason Conductor Brinker
went westward without her, and went on from
the Junction to explain why she was not there*

CHAPTER XI.

DARK DAYS.

THTTHY, you see, ma'am," the conductor was
' ^ saying to Mrs. Bryant, "tlie trouble is
just this : my little ones have got the scarlet
fever. They have been ailing for a week, and
their mother thought they had bad colds, and
the baby teething, too, but it seems all the time
it was the fever coming on them, and they have
got it bad. Before my train left this morning
I took time to run over to the doctor's, and he
shook his head, and says he, 'My friend, T don't
know how it will go ; we w411 make as brave a
fight as we can, but I am an honest man and
will be perfectly frank with you, and tell you
that there is great danger.' Those were his
very words, and you may judge how a father
felt to listen to them."

"Poor father!" said Mrs. Bryant gently, put-
ting aside her own great anxiety in her sympa-
H7

148 T)A]iK DAYS.

thy for this troubled stranger. lie felt the
earnest kindness of the tone, and suddenly-
choked and drew the back of bis hand across
his eyes. Then, struggling to regain self-con-
trol, he went on with his story. "And your
Caroline, she thought of her little sister, like
the woman that she is, and wrote you a note,
which, after all, will explain better than I can."
He dashed the tears from his eyes with one
hand, while with the other he fumbled in his
vest pocket and drew forth a neatly-folded
sheet, which Mrs. Bryant reached for eagerly.
Ben looked over her shoulder while she read :

Dear, darling mother:

What did you think had become of me? And oh! what will
you say when you see Mr. Briiiker, and me not with him?
Dear mother, I don't know what to do, but it seems to me you
will think I am doing right, because our precious Daisy must
not have scarlet fever, you know. Shall I stay, mother? I
can help them very much, I know I can, and they need help.
They have been very kind to me. I can take all the care of
the one who is not sick — her name is Daisy, don't you think
— and help about the others. Will it not be the right way
to do?

Dear mother and Ben and Daisy darling, I neod not try to
tell how hard it is for me to stay away from you when I almost
ran away in the first place; only people who run away from
home generally want to go, don't they? and I'm sure I was
never in a greater hurry to do anything that night than I was
to get home. How long ago it seems! And it wasjonly Satur-
day night, and to-day is Mondaj'. O, dear mother! what shall

DARE DAYS. 149

I do? Send me word by Mr. Brinker whether I have done
right, and just what to do.

Of course you know how it ended. Oh! they
talked about it a long time, and counseled with
Mr. Holden, and listened to Mrs. Kedwin when
she said impulsively that if it was "her Fanny"
she would have her come home right straight
off. It wasn't likely she would get the fever ;
people often didn't, and what if she did? Daisy
might as well have it now as any time, and they
would feel dreadfully if Line took it and died
away from home ; folks did sometimes die with
it, especially if they were as old as Line before
they had it.

Mrs. Bryant was very pale and quiet under
this flow of words. Some of them she merci-
fully did not hear at all ; but she turned when
Mr. Holden said :

" What we need to decide is, what will it be
right for Caroline to do just now ? The conse-
quences of right doing we must leave in the
Heavenly Father's hands."

Then Mrs. Bryant smiled; that language she
understood. So Conductor Brinker went back
to Philadelphia on the midnight train, carrying
with him the little old trunk that had stood on

150 DARK DAYS.

a framework made for it in the loft of the
woodshed ever since Daisy conld remenil)er ',
now it was packed full with Caroline's neat,
scant wardrobe.

"It is well it is so small, isn't it, mother?"
Daisy said, witli a grave face, as she tucked a
little private bundle of her own make-up in a
vacant corner. " We can fill it full, and it will
look like a great many things. O, mother! how
strange it seems to be packing Line's things,"
and the little lips quivered pitifully.

"It is only for a little while, darling," the
mother said cheerfully, "keep up a brave heart.
In three weeks at the utmost I think Caroline
can come home, unless " —

She did not finish her sentence, and turned
away quickly lest Daisy should see the tears.
How could she say, "Unless Caroline should
herself take the fever?" "If she does," thought
the mother firmly, " I must go to her, whatever
it costs." But this thought she kept, with
many another one, quite to herself. I will not
try to tell you about the weeks which followed.
Caroline is not likely ever to forget them ; but
then, she had to live them, and since we could
not help her do it, of what use to linger over

I) A UK DAYS. 151

the story. Bubby and the baby were both very
ill indeed. The Imrried city doctor, who never
made more frequent visits than he considered
absolutely necessary — who indeed often of-
fended his patients because when they wanted
to see him most, he sometimes decided that they
could do very well without bim, and stayed
away — came twice a day regularly to the un-
pretentious brick house, set in a row precisely
like hundreds of other houses, and stayed long
sometimes, watching the effect of some myste-
rious potion which he had given. There were
three dreadful days when he came three times,
and one awful night when he sat until midnight,
much of the time with his skilled lingers on the
pulse of the suffering baby, his keen eyes watch-
ing for the slightest change in his patient. Very
little talking was done during these weeks. Mrs.
Brinker was for the most part absorbed in her
children, and gave them every, bit of strength
she J) ad. Her attempts at conversation rarely
weot farther than to ask, "How do they seem
to you now?" or "Did'the doctor say anything
more when you went to the door with him ?
Do you think he has given up hope of Bab}^ ? "
Nearly always th.ose attempts at talk ended

152 DARK DAY8.

with the words, "What should I do without
you? I declare for it, Caroline, I never was so
sure that the Lord thought about people and
planned for them, as I have been about this ; I
couldn't take care of two at once, as sick as
they are, now could I ? And Brinker has to be
away. Railroads must run, you know, just the
same as ever, and people must go and come if all
the babies in Philadelphia are dying. Doesn't
it seem strange that folks care to go anywhere
when Bubby and Baby are so sick? What was
I saying? Oh! I don't know and can't imagine
what I would have done if you hadn't stayed.
Let alone the sick ones, what would have be-
come of Daisy?" For Daisy, whenever Caro-
line could spare time from the sick ones, became
her special charge. She was very unlike the
Daisy at home, but she bore the same name, and
the homesick girl loved her at first for that
reason solely, • but bestowed such care and
thought upon her that it ended in her loving
the little girl most heartily, for herself alone.
Sometimes it seemed wonderful to her, the way
she had taken the little Brinkers into her heart,
"It is almost as bad as having Daisy or Ben
sick," she told herself one night, with a queer

DARK DAYS. 163

little catch in her breath. "Almost, but O,
dear ! not quite. Still, if Baby should die, and
I am afraid he will " — And then her heart
would beat with great thuds.

There is one hour that stands out in Caroline
Bryant's memory more keenly vivid than any
other. She remembers every little insignificant
thing about the room — the way the chairs were
set, and the picture-book which Miss Webster
sent to the Philadelphia Daisy, lying where it
had fallen face downward, when she left it in
answer to a sudden call ; even the way the cur-
tain was looped back to let in the gray dawn of
the morning has photographed itself upon her
memory. The presentment or impression of
some coming change was upon her. Unskilled
as she was in sickness, she knew that the Baby
was different from what he had been before ;
whether the change was for the better, or
whether the dreaded end was coming she did
not know. She had not dared to speak a word
to the mother, but she felt, rather than knew, that
the same impression was on her mind ; and the
father had for that one morning secured a substi-
tute, and did not leave the house when the ten
o'clock train sent out the usual warning whistle.

164 DARK DAYS.

"I'm not going out until the doctor comes,"
he said to Caroline, "not if there's no train
leaves Philadelphia to-day ! "

"But what will you do?" asked the girl, with
a startled look in her eyes. This man, who was
so faithful and conscientious in regard to his
duties, who had left them sometimes in their
tireless watch when it fairly tore his heart in
two, had much watching and anxiety made his
steady brain lose its balance, so that he did not
realize the importance of his position? All this
was in Caroline's mind while she waited. The
conductor glanced toward his wife to make sure
she was not listening, and then said :

" I went out in the night and got changed off
with a friend; it is his resting time, but he's
going for me."

"Then you think," said Caroline, "I mean
you feel" — and there she stopped.

"Yes," he said, his eyes dropping to the floor,
" there is some change ; I don't know what it
is" — And then the quick step of the doctor
was heard outside, and Caroline stepped to open
the door. There was utmost stillness while he
bent over Babj^ and then he turned with a
smile on his face and held out his hand to Mr.

BARK DAYS. 155

Briiiker : " My friend, I have good news for
you ; I believe the danger is over." And then
Mrs. Brinker, strong-nerved, sensible woman
that she was, did what she had never done be-
fore in her life, she fainted. Perhaps it was
just as well that the others had to restrain their
feelings and run to pick her up and give her
water and fan her, otherwise I do not know
what might have happened.

"We all felt so queer" [wrote Caroline to Ben] "that it
seemed as though we could not act naturally; and we were a
little bit frightened about Mrs. Brinker, too; she never faints,
and it lasted a good while; if the baby had not raised up and
cried just when he did I don't know what we should have
done; but the moment she heard his voice she was on her feet
again, and staggered over to him, though she was just as
■white as the wall. The doctor smiled and said, ' I thought
that would bring her back; there is nothing like mother
love.' "

Over this Ben looked grave. " Mother," he
said, after a little silence, "Line tallfs exactly
as though she belonged to those people, and
always had; did you notice how she says, 'Mrs.
Brinker never faints?' How does she know
what she is in the habit of doing?"

Mrs. Bryant laughed ])leasantly.

"Do you feel the least bit jealous of Mrs.
Brinker, my son?'* she asked playfully. "It is

15G DARK DAYS,

quite natural for young people to fall into such
habits of expression at Caroline's age. A few
days or a few weeks seem like a lifetime, espe-
cially if the circumstances are such as to make
deep impression. I knew a young girl who
said of her friend, *He always wears his hair
that way; 1 never saw him comb it in any other
fashion,' and when cross-questioned she was
obliged to admit that slie had seen him but
three times in her life. But I have not the
least fear that our Line will forget any of us or
put the Brinkers in our places. Can we not
rejoice with those that rejoice, my dear boy?"

Ben blushed a little as he said quickly, "I
do, mother ; I am sure I am very glad for them
and for us ; I suppose we shall soon have Line
at home." For Line had escaped the disease,
it was hoped and believed.

" Yes,'% said Mrs. Bryant, smiling brightly,
" I think we may soon claim her now. Of
course she could not leave while the children
are so ill. It would have been cruel, when they
took a fancy to her and would allow her to help
the over-burdened mother ; I can well imagine
how helpful she has been. Dear girl, she was
always to be depended upon ; I scarcely knew

TAKING CARE OF BUBBY.

DABK DAYS. 157

how much until since I have had to miss her
help instead of receive it. I told her in my
last letter to ask the doctor how soon it would
be prudent for her to come, and in her next I
think she will be able to give us the date; she
could not be expected to think, even, of home-
coming in this letter, her heart was too full of
joy over the babies."

Alas for their hopes! the next letter plunged
Ben into the depths of despair ; and even gen-
tle little Daisy, who always tried to look on the
bright side of things, shed a few tears ; as for
Mrs. Bryant, she said not a word for the first
five minutes after reading the letter aloud.
Poor Daisy, who, it was believed, had also es-
caped the dread disease, had been taken with
it, and though not, as yet, so alarmingly ill as
the others had been, was still sick enough to
demand constant care from her mother, who
was thus obliged to leave the care of Bubby
and the baby largely to Caroline.

"Besides" [wrote the heavily-burdened young woman],
" Daisy is very much attached to me, and cries when I can't
come to tell her a story before she goes to sleep. She has
never had anybody to tell her stories before — Mrs. Brinker
says she doesn't know how — and Daisy has become used to
them, and thinks they are wonderful. And so, mother, I can-

158 DARK DAYS,

not feel that you would want me to leave just now; in fact, it
would not be possible unless they could get some help, for of
course Mrs. Drinker cannot manage alone; it is worse than it
was at first, because Daisy was really a great deal of help with
the baby.

"I ought to stay, mother, oughtn't I? 0, dear! I do not
dare to tell you how dreadfully disappointed I am ! It sounds
too selfish, I know you will think so."

"I don't think any such thing!" burst forth
Ben, as he read this sentence aloud again. "The
idea! she goes on precisely as though she were
bound to stay and take care of those folks ; it
would not be possible for her to come home
until they get help! 1 call that ridiculous!
What would they have done if Line had never
gone there? as she never would have done if it
had not been for that idiot of a Rufus Kedwin.
I'd like to shake him this minute ! "

" Softly, softly, ray son I " cautioned his
mother, while Daisy looked at him in amaze-
ment; she had never heard good-natured, self-
controlled Ben go on in this way before.

" Well, but, mother, don't you call that ab-
surd? What is Line to those people, or they
to her? It was just an accident that took her
there in the first place."

" Such an accident as God understood and
over-ruled, Ben, my boy, don't you think so?

DAIiK DAYS. 159

As for what Line is to them, are they not her
neiglibors for the present? do you really tliink
she ought to pass by on the other side when
they are in their present straits? "

"I think we need Line at home," grumbled
Ben, who for once had allowed self to get the
upper hand, and could not bring it into subjec-
tion. " It is almost a month since she went
away — over three weeks, anyhow — and people
all asking where she is! I think you need her,
mother, as much as Mrs. Brinker does."

"O, no, you don't, my son! Thank God we
are well and at peace; and the home where she
is has at least its share of trouble. I think, my
dear boy, you are tired and disa|)pointed, and
hardly know what you are saying. You would
be ashamed of your sister if she were to desert
now, after all she has been through."

"Then you are really going to tell her to
stay?"

" I will leave it to you ; I have been able to
trust to your judgment in the past. If, after
thinking it over, and especially praying over it,
you believe I ought to tell her to come home, I
think I may promise to do so. Will you take
until to-morrow morning to consider it?"

1«0 DARK DAYS.

"No, ma'am," said Ben, after a silence of
less than two minutes, and his troubled face
broke into a half-asliained smile. "Forgive
me, mother, I was cross and unreasonable ; 1
think I knew all the time that Line ought to
stay ; and that is what made it so hard to bear,
because I knew I would have to give in."

It was found that the doctor was decidedly
of Caroline's opinion ; she ought to stay for the
present. "Besides," he added, when she had
gravely gone over with him the objections to
her return home, to each of which he had
nodded assent, " you are exposed again to the
disease, you must remember ; and although you
will probably not take it, we must face the pos-
sible with brave hearts and be ready for it."

CHAPTER XII.

"so YOU WANT TO GO HOME?"

"XT'ES, Mrs. Bryant had faced that possibility
-^ with a sinking heart the moment she
read the news of Daisy's illness. Ben and the
little sister in their eagerness or ignorance, had
not thought of it; not so the mother. She
realized that Caroline, worn with watching and
unusual responsibility, would be a much more
probable victim than Caroline, fresh from home
and in good health and strength.

" But that part we must leave," she said to
Mr. Holden. " It is very clear to me that the
dear child is doing right, for it would go harder
with the sick one if she were fretted by Caro-
line's leaving her ; it might even increase the
fever to such an extent as to endanger her Rfe ;
I dare not recall my daughter ; but it is very
hard to leave her there. If I could only go
i6i

1(52 ".SO YOU WANT TO GO HOME?''

myself and save her strength and see that she
takes care of herself ! "

"That is another thing you must leave," Mr.
Holden said brightly. " Is it not a blessed
thing, Mrs. Bryant, that you and I have a sure
resting place in our jjerplexities and burdens?"

"Do you have any burdens?" she asked the
quiet-faced minister.

A curious look as of a pain which he must
hide, swept across his face for a moment, even
as he smiled. " Every heart knoweth its own
bitterness," he said. "We have the Lord's
word for that."

"T ran away from this disease with Caroline
when she was a baby," Mrs. Bryant said gravely
after a moment of silence. " I was thinking
last night how much better it might have been,
possibly, now, if I had not done so."

Then Mr. Holden laughed outright. "That
is borrowing trouble, certainly," he said. "I
have known many ])eople to borrow from the
future, but I think it is rather new to try to
bor^-ow from the past. Dear friend, how can
you be sure you would have any daughter Caro-
line on this side if you had not tried to shield her
to the best of your knowledge and conscience?"

*'60 YOU WANT TO GO HOME?'' 163

" That is true," she answered, and her smile
was free again. "I suppose no one borrows
trouble on all sides more foolishly than a
mother ; but indeed, Mr. Holden, this new dis-
appointment in regard to Caroline has almost
unnerved me ; I am used to having my children
in the nest. I was so sure that my daughter
could not go away from home this winter; I
tried to plan for ways and means for her to
make a visit, and w^hen I decided that it could
not be done, there was an undertone of gladness
over the thought that the family circle would
be unbroken."

But the Brinkers were not destined to have
so hard an experience this time. Daisy was
"sick enough," her mother said, "but she didn't
hold a candle to the other." By which, I sup-
pose Mrs. Brinker meant to convey the impres-
sion that although Daisy certainly suffered some
pain and much weariness, she was by no means
so sick as her little brothers had been ; though
why the good woman thought "holding a can-
dle " had anything to do with it, must be ex-
plained by those who have fallen into the habit
of using slang phrases, instead of good English.

Bvit if the illness wa^ not po severe^ Paisv

164 'SO YOU WANT TO GO HOME?'*

was almost longer than the others in getting
well, and was so weak and nervous that a mere
hint in regard to Caroline's going away would
serve to throw her into a crying fit, sure to be
followed by more or less fever. So it was that
the two weeks to which the poor girl had limited
herself, had more than passed away, and still the
day was not set for her home-going.

" I really think, daughter, that you may con-
scientiously fix the date now," her mother wrote.
"The little girl, you say, is gaining every day;
it is surely time for her to begin to exercise self-
control, and remember that you have been long
away from your own Daisy; tell her how pa-
tiently and uncomplainingly your little sister,
her namesake, has given you up to her for all
these weeks, and yet how eagerly she watches
the mails in hope of hearing good news of your
coming ; perhaps it will help Daisy Brinker to
grow unselfish herself ; not that I would cen-
sure the poor little girl, indeed, I think she
shows good sense in wanting my Caroline by
tier side as long as possible. Mother knows
just how much she misses you, daughter, but
she can never put it into words."

This letter, full of sweetness though it was^

"SO rOU WANT TO GO HOMEf' 165

made Caroline feel, as she expressed it to her-
self, "ready to fly;" slie went downstairs re-
solved to ask the doctor that very day if he
thought it would do any harm to set Daisy
Brinker-to crying in real earnest over her de-
parture. She and the doctor had become very
good friends during all these weeks ; not that
they said much to each other — at least Caroline
had never realized that much had been said to
her ; the doctor was always in as much haste
as the condition of his patients would admit,
and confined his talking chiefly, to very care-
ful directions connected with them. Neverthe-
less, he had observed the quiet, womanly, quick-
motioned young stranger, and knew more about
her than she could have imagined possible ; also
he had occasionally asked a question or two,
with a view to drawing her out, and was really
fairly well acquainted with the Bryant family
and their circumstances, though the questions
had been so far apart, and apparently so dis-
connected, that Caroline had no suspicion of
the truth.

" So you want to go home ? " he said, wheel-
ing around from the last step to look at her ; it
#a8 on the white door-steps that she had \i*

166 "SO rOU WANT TO GO HOME?'*

carry on most of her conversations with the
doctor.

" Why should you be in haste to go there ?
I should think, now that there is a possibility
of your being out of prison, you would, want to
stay and see a little of our great city. It is un-
usual for people to spend six weeks in Phila-
delphia and not go a block away from the house
where they are staying."

Caroline laughed pleasantly. "I suppose so,"
she said, " but the truth is I want to see mother,
and Ben, and Daisy, more than all the cities in
the world put together."

" Then you really are very homesick ? " he
asked, eying her so keenly that she blushed,
and was troubled, she hardly knew why.

"I want to go home very much indeed, if
that is what you mean," she said, " I was never
away from mother before, and you know I did
not intend to be, this time. Do you think it
will hurt Daisy if I begin to plan to go ? "

" I was not thinking of Daisy," was the curi-
ous answer, and the great man still stood look-
ing thoughtfully at her.

" I was — well, perhaps I will not speak of it
now, I have Jiardly time j " J19 drew his w^tob

*' so YOU WANT TO GO HOME?'' 167

as he spoke, and seemed startled over the late-
ness of the hour.

" I'll tell you what we'll do," he said after a
moment's silence, " 1 am in haste now, and so
are you ; I hear Daisy calling you ; she con-
siders you essential to her comfort, you see ;
but I want to have a little talk with you, more
at leisure ; if you will come round to my house
this afternoon, say at three o'clock, I shall be at
leisure, perhaps, for a few minutes, and I will
be able to tell you then what I think about this
home-going. It is true I may not be able to
see you, I may not be at home ; a doctor has
no time of his own, you know, but if you care
to try it, I will be there if I can."

Much wondering, and not a little disappointed,
Caroline promised, and went back to Daisy,
with a grave face. " I almost believe he thinks
I ought not to go for another week," she said
to herself, " but I do not see why ; Daisy is
growing real strong now, and he said he was
not thinking of her, any way; it can't be that he
thinks I will have the fever even yet ; the time
is surely past! O, dear! I suppose 1 can wait
another week even if I must ; but it does seem
to me sometimes as though I can't,"

168 "SO YOU \^ANT TO GO QOMEf^'

It was quite an event in her day, this getting
ready to go to the doctor's at three o'clock. As
the hour drew near, she dressed herself with
great care, and thought how strange it was that
she should be planning to go out on a city street
and call on one of the great doctors. What
could he possibly want to say to her ! If Ben
were only here to go with her how nice it would
be ! She had much trouble getting off ; poor
Daisy, who had had her own way exactly, for a
fortnight, save where the doctor was concerned,
made herself and everybody about her as un-
comfortable as possible, over the dreary fact
that her dear Caroline was going out walking,
and she must be left at home. She cried, and
refused to be comforted ; and her mother, who
at first coaxed, and petted, and promised to
amuse her every minute until Caroline should
return, finally lost all patience and called Daisy
a selfish little girl who had forgotten there was
anybody in the world but Daisy Brinker ; and
said in plain words that she was ashamed of
her. This return to plain speaking seemed to
do the little girl good ; Caroline had the satis-
faction of noting that the low fretful wail had
quite ceased before she closed the front door.

"SO YOU WANT TO GO HOME?'' 169

As she rang the bell at the doctor's door
and stood waiting to be admitted, she naturally
thought of that Sunday evening, now seeming
so far in the past, when she had stood here, ring-
ing and waiting. How many strange and utterly
unexpected, and really dreadful things had hap-
pened since then! Suppose somebody had told
her that night, that six weeks afterwards she
would be ringing that same bell, and would not
in all those weeks have had a glimpse of mother,
and Ben and Daisy ? She would have looked
at the person with horror, and assured him that
such a think could not possibly be; that she
was going home to-morrow. Yet here she was!
Still, it was not all unpleasant; there was in
Caroline's heart a satisfied feeling that she had
been a very useful person during these trying
weeks; and now that they were over, she could
afford to be glad. " I am sure I do not know
what poor Mrs. Brinker would have done with-
out me," she said to herself, and it was no more
than that good woman echoed in her hearing
many times a day. Oh, they were grateful, and
would never forget it of her, never! Conductor
Brinker was anxious to convince her of that fact,
"Besides," said Caroline, with a gratified smile

170 "50 YOU WANT TO GO HOME?'*

creeping over her face, " I know a great doctor,
now; know him pretty well; tliink of my stand-
ing out on the steps asking him questions!"
The smile became broader as she remembered
with what fear and trembling she had stood
there on that first evening. How she had
dreaded to speak at all, and had tried to plan
just what words she should use. Now, al-
though she had an immense respect for the doc-
tor, the feeling of almost terror had passed.
She was able to answer his questions without
stammering, and generally to look into his face
when she spoke, without blushing. Visions of
long talks with Fanny Kedwin, and Rufus, in
which she would describe this doctor and his
house, and his carriage, and the numbers of
people who were always in waiting in the re-
ception room, came to her pleasantly. Fanny
Kedwin had been rather fond of talking about
her uncle. Dr. Freeman, who drove two horses,
and was sometimes called to the city ten miles
away in consultation. Caroline did not know
how many horses Dr. Forsythe kept, but she
knew he was consulted during every minute of
his office hours, and she had heard people won-
der when Dr. Forsythe ate or slept.

THE doctor's reception ROOM.

"SO YOU WANT TO GO HOME?'' 171

"He is one of the biggest doctors in the city,"
Conductor Brinker explaine<l, " and he won't
go into the more fashionable part of the city to
live, either, because tliis is a handy ])lace for
peoi)le to get at him, and because some wlio are
poor would not dare to send for him if he lived
far away. He is very good to poor people ;
charges them less than the second-rate doctors,
and shows them more attention."

That he had shown the sick children at Con-
ductor Brinker's the most patient attention,
Caroline could witness; and every word she
heard about him but added to her sense of his
greatness; yet here she was, coming by his own
direction to have a few minutes' talk with
him !

She was in the reception room by this time,
which to her astonishment was empty. The
young man smiled in answer to her look of sur-
prise, and said : " The doctor's office hours are
over, but he told me to admit you and ask you
to wait; you are Caroline Bryant, I think?"

Caroline, as she sank into a sofa asked herself
if it could be that she really was Caroline Bry-
ant, and what Fanny Kedwin and Rufus would
say when she described this room to them; and

172 "50 YOU WANT TO GO HOMEf*

then her heart began to beat so hard at the
thought of seeing them perhaps in two more
days that it almost took her breath away.

" The doctor has been called out," the young
man had explained, "but he hopes not to be
long gone, and you are to wait if you can.-'
Then he had left her to the silence and ele-
gance of the room. It was in reality a large
plainly furnished room, fitted up with conven-
iences for waiting people ; but to Caroline it
looked very grand indeed.

Very softly the door opened — so softly that
the young girl who had drawn aside the heavy
curtains and was looking out upon the busy
street, did not hear it. A small slight figure
with a shower of short curls about her face, the
color of the sunlight, came on slippered feet
into the room, and pausing midway gazed with
a curious mixture of shyness and thoughtf ulness
upon the stranger. Even on this winter day
she was dressed in white — a soft white wool,
belted by a broad band of white ribbon ; her
face, too, was white, not a touch of color about
her anywhere; to Caroline's startled eyes when
at last something made her turn her head, the
child looked something as an angel might.

"SO roU WANT TO CO HOMEf" 173

" Are you Caroline ? " asked the little white
spirit, speaking in a slow, low voice. " I am
Dorothy Forsythe, and papa said I was to en-
tertain you until he came."

Whereupon Caroline smiled reassuringly and
held out her hand. "Yes," she said, "I am
Caroline, and I like to be entertained. How
are you going to do it?"

" I don't know. I might show you pictures.
Do you like pictures ? Or we might talk ; I
like to talk, myself."

"Veiy well," said Caroline, "by all means
let us talk. What do you like to talk about?"

"All sorts of things. I suppose I like to
talk better than other people, because I cannot
run and play like other children, I have to
walk carefully, and but a little way at a time,
and I cannot ever run. I am not like other
children."

The voice in which these sad words were said
was very quiet and self controlled. It was as if
she was merely stating a fact in which she had
no personal interest of any sort ; but Caroline
was startled and shocked.

" Oh, poor little girl ! " she said, " what is the
matter?"

174 "80 YOU iVANT TO 00 HOME?'*

" It is something about my heart," said
Dorothy in the same quiet, matter-of-fact tone.
" It has always been so ; papa has tried and
tried to cure me, but he cannot; and by and
by I cannot walk any more at all, he thinks.
And I must never run, he says, until I get to
Heaven. I shall be quite well there, you know."

"Yes," said Caroline, low-voiced, and shad-
ing her eyes that the child might not seo the
tears which were gathering in them. The little
thing could not be older than her Daisy ; and
as she thought of Daisy's tripping feet this
story seemed too sad.

" Do not cry," said Dorothy gravely. " I
never do any more; not about this. I made up
ray mind not to, because it makes mamma feel
worse, and mamma is sick and has to be taken
care of ; papa depends upon me not to let her
feel worse about anything ; so I do not cry any
more. It does no good, you know. If it would
make me run and hop, I suppose I could cry for
a whole week ; but it only hinders, so what is
the use?"

" That is true," said Caroline, and she choked
back her tears and smiled ; what a curious little
fairy philosopher this was I

"SO YOU WANT TO GO HOME?'' 175

" I think you may talk to me if you will,"
said Dorothy, beginning again before her guest
could say more. " I like to be talked to, and I
don't have it very often. Papa has not time,
and mamma is sick, and Nurse — well, Nurse is
good ; but she does not know how to talk about
some things. For instance, she does not know
what they do at school ; Nurse never went to
school when she was little ; and she cannot
think what they find to do all day — little girls
as young as I, you know ; and she and I have
wondered and wondered, until she is tired o^
it ; but I am not ; I want to know all about it.
Could you tell me some things ?"

The wistfulness in the tones was almost too
much for Caroline's tears ; she had never heard
anything which seemed to her so pitiful ; but
she held them back with resolute will, and
began to describe, in detail, a day in school as
she had often lived it, Dorothy sinking on a
low cushioned seat in front of her and listening
like one fascinated.

They were interrupted by the sound of a key
in the lock, and a quick step in the hall. " That
is papa," said Dorothy, rising at once, " I must
go now ; he cannot be hindered when the^-e ar^

176 ''SO YOU WANT TO GO HOMEf'

people in this room waiting for him; I shall
tell him you entertained me beautifully, and I
hope — oh! I do hope you can finish the story
for me sometime."

She clasped her hands with a sort of sup-
pressed eagerness as she spoke, and then slowly,
softly, moved away, reaching the door just as
Dr. Forsythe opened it. He stooped and kissed
her, without speaking, then advanced toward
Caroline.

" Well," he said, " I had to keep you waiting,
after all ; but you have made acquaintance with
my Dorothy, I see. Now I must talk fast;"
he looked at his watch as he spoke. "I had
hoped to have more time, and make my sugges-
tions a little less abruptly, but there are those
waiting for me who need my help, and I must
just plunge into the subject at once. This little
girl, whom I feel sure you have enjoyed, is our
only one, and is the frailest flower that blooms,
I am afraid. It is only by utmost care that we
have kept her here at all ; we cannot hope to
keep her for many years ; you do not need to
be told that she is very peculiarly dear to us,
and that we long to gratify all her desires.
One of them is, to go to school ; to a regular

"SO YOU WANT TO GO HOMEf' 177

school such as other children attend ; she has
been brave and unselfish in this desire, but no
home governess or home study has been able to
meet her evident longing wish in this matter.
We would like to gratify her and have been
afraid to. Her mother is an invalid, and her
whole frail life seems bound up in this little
girl ; she does not like to trust her out of her
sight, and yet is too ill to have her with her
very much.

"There is a school, a semi-Kindergarten for
children who have outgrown the Kindergarten
age ; I should like to send her to it. There are
some reasons why I believe it would be good
for her to mingle with other children and see
how they live, and what they have to do, and
be ; but we dare not trust her with a servant.
The school is a mile away from my house. I
could take her to and from it in my carriage if
I could command my time, but I cannot ; she
could go in a street car, if there were some one
always with her whom we trusted. Some one
to see that she did not walk too fast, or step too
suddenly, or sit in a draught, or be wrapped
too warmly, or not warmly enough; in short,
BOrae one who would think ior her, and <iare i^t

17« ''SO TOU WANT TO GO HOME?''

her as an older sister who loved her might do.
She would also need a loving oversight while at
school, such as that same older sister could give.
The trouble is, she has no sister." The sentence
closed with a smile so grave and wistful that
Caroline, who had been looking earnestly at
him, felt a strong desire to cry. But his next
words checked the tears and made her heart
beat fast.

" You would like to know why I am telling
you all this. It is because I have thought that
you might find it in your heart to take the place
of that sister which my little girl so greatly
needs. The Kindergarten department of which
I told you, is connected with an excellent school
for girls of your age, and if you would stay here
this winter and undertake the care of our dar-
ling, we would send you to this school, clothe
you properly and give you in every respect the
comforts and advantages of a home, and pay
you a dollar a week for your spending money.
Now what do you say? Will it be of any use
for me to write to your mother, or must you go
home?"

CHAPTER XIII.

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.

"TN Mrs. Bryant's kitchen utmost order reigned.

-■- Not only the kitchen, but the little shop,

as well as the study, which the initiated will

remember all belonged to one room, wore an

air of expectancy. The very dollies in the

pretty show window seemed to be listening,

and their sweet puckered lips looked almost

ready to say, "We believe she is coming ! We

think we hear her step ! "

As for Daisy Bryant, nervousness had almost

gotten the better of her. She had wiped the

dishes, and helped to set them away ; she had

dusted every article of furniture in the '^ suite"

of rooms ; she had arranged and re-arranged

the dollies until she was sure they made as good

an exhibit as possible, and there was literally

nothing else to busy herself about. What could
179

180 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS,

she do but watch the slow-moving hands of the
slow old clock, and walk back and forth from
the window to her little chair in the study, and
hold herself by main force of will from either
shouting or crying? In her highly-wrought
nervous condition she felt almost equally ready
for either.

The condition of things was just this : the
Bryant family had elected that this was the day
in which their Caroline was to arrive. So cer-
tain were they of this, that one of the precious
chickens of Daisy's own raising, had been killed
and dressed, and was at that moment gently
stewing on the back part of the shining stove,
making itself ready for the five o'clock grand
dinner which they meant to have in honor of
the home coming. Some delicious Spitzenberg
apples were sputtering at one another in the
oven, making ready for the same feast ; there
were potatoes just ready to pop into the kettle
to be boiled, and Mother Bryant was at that
moment engaged in putting the finishing touches
to a wonderful rice pudding which she knew how
to make delicious, without eggs or cream. Oh !
the dinner was to be everything that heart could

THE XJNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 181

desire; the only question was, would she be
there to eat it?

They had discussed it in all its probabilities
at the breakfast table that morning, Ben and
Daisy with the assurance of their years, and
the mother coming in with her notes of warning.
" Remember, children, she has not written posi-
tively that she would come to-day."

"No; but, mother, what could hinder her
any longer? I am sure she has been long
enough, and of course she is in a hurry. The
little girl is better, and you know she said she
was almost certain the doctor would say yes ;
and if he did she would surely start this morn-
ing. Of course she would not need to wait
to write ; she would know well enough that I
would meet every single train."

*' All true, Ben dear, but many things might
occur to hinder her. The conductor might have
reasons why he thought it better for her to wait
until to-morrow, or the doctor might suggest her
waiting, for reasons of his own. Perhaps it is
not probable, but what I want you to remember
is that it is better not to be certain of things."

"I like to be certain," said Ben, speaking

182 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.

almost crossly— he was so anxious to see Caro-
line, poor fellow! "We have been kept on
uncertainties long enough."

As for Daisy, she had no arguments to put
into words, and could only say, with a curious
little catch in her breath, which told the watch-
ful mother how much her heart was set upon it,
*'I think she will come to-day, mother; I do
indeed."

And now it was nearing the hour when she
ought in all reasonableness to be expected, if
the day was to bring her. It had been a long,
nervous one to get through with. The little
family watched for the ten and three o'clock
mails, half uncertain whether to hope for or to
fear a letter ; but when none arrived their hopes
grew strong ; even the mother allowed her heart
to say, " The dear child must surely be coming
to-day." Ben had announced, as he dashed in
to report no letter in the three o'clock mail, that
he should not come home again until he brought
Line with him. "I shall go straight to the sta-
tion from the office," he announced gleefully;
"and as soon as our four feet can bring us you
may expect to see us walk in. Have your nose

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 183

at the window-pane, Daisylinda, for Line will
want to see it the first thing."

Little need to urge her to that. The small
nose began to llatten itself against the pane
nearly an hour before the train was even due,
though Mrs. Bryant had nearly worn herself
out with schemes for keeping her little daughter
busily employed.

"You begin to think she will truly come,
don't you, mother? "

The undertone of plaintiveness in the ques-
tion went to the mother's heart. Daisy was
frailer than usual this winter. Some way her
colds, which were always things to be dreaded,
had worn upon her more than ever before ; she
had a slight one now, which was the reason why
she must forego the eagerly-planned pleasure of
meeting Line at the depot.

"We will think so, darling, at least. And
yet, mother does not like to see her little girl
set her heart so much upon it. Don't you re-
member that if she should not come it will be
because our Father thought it best she should
not?"

"O, yes'm I " said Daisy, with a visible quiver

184 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.

in her lips, " but I like to think He wants her
to come to-day, because we do need her so."

Then the train whistled, and the mother was
glad ; at least this suspense would be over in a
little while. It seemed a long while. The ap-
ples sputtered themselves done and had to be
taken up, and even the potatoes, which were
not expected to be done just yet, insisted on
receiving attention, before Daisy at the window
announced that Ben was coming ; she heard his
step around the corner. Then, in a minute
more, ''He has turned the corner; and, O,
mother! he is alone.'*

''Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Bryant, go-
ing quickly to the window to put loving arms
around her little girl and kiss her trembling lips.
" Perhaps Ben has a letter which will tell us all
about it, and we shall have the fun of getting
ready for her all over again to-morrow."

"She didn't come," said Ben, as he flung
open the door; " but here's a letter. I had to
wait forever for the mail to be distributed."
Then the poor fellow turned away, and actually
tried to hide his bitter disappointment in a
whistle or two, while his mother tore open the

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS, 185

letter. Of course you want to hear it almost
as badly as they did.

Philadelphia, December, 18 — .
My darling Mother, and Ben and Daisy:

To think that I am sitting down writing to you instead of
putting the last things into my trunk as I expected to be ! 0,
mother, I don't know how to tell it, and I don't know what to
do. ["Do!" burst forth Ben, in uncontrollable indignation,
" why in the name of all that is sensible doesn't she come
home? I wouldn't wait another hour for any little girl or doc-
tor in the world." " 0, please to listen, Ben! " pleaded Daisy,
and the mother continued.] It is such a strange thing to tell,
and seems so kind of tangled up in my mind; I want to begin
at the end and work my way back to the beginning, somehow,
but I guess I won't. I'll make it tell itself like a storj"-, then
Daisy will like to hear it. I went to Dr. Forsythe's yesterdaj'
afternoon, as I told you I was to do, and I had the longest time
to wait in the parlor — he had to go out, after all, though he
meant to be at home to see me. While I waited, the loveliest
little girl I ever saw in my life, except, of course, my own dar-
ling Daisy, came and talked to me. She said she was Dorothy
Forsythe, and that she was " not like other little girls; " there
is something the matter with her heart. She has never been
to school, and she wants to go very much. Her father said it
was the desire of his heart to indulge her, because he could
not hope to have her many years. Just think! although he is
so great a doctor, he cannot cure his own little girl. [To save
his life, Ben could not help interrupting again, with a groan
of impatience: ^'Mother! what in the world is she waiting to
tell us all that for? Why doesn't she come home?" "Have
patience, my boy," said Mrs. Bryant, and read on.] Oh! I
cannot wait to tell you all about it. The doctor came, and
was in a hurry, after all, and said he must talk fast and,
mother, he wants me to stay in Philadelphia this winter!
There, I have told the end in the middle, after all. He says
if I will he can trust me to take Dorothy to school every
morning, and bring her home in the afternoon, and see that

186 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.

she has enough wraps on, and not too many, and that she does
not walk too fast, nor get on and off the cars too quickly ; you
see she is very, ver}' delicate, and her face looks like an
angel's, I should think. And he says if I will stay, he will
have mc live at his house, and get me all the clothes I need,
and send me to school, and let me take music lessons, and pay
me a dollar a week for looking after Dorothy. And 0, mother,
mother! I want to see you so badly I can hardly wait to write
the words; but he thought — and the worst of it is I thought
60 too — that I ought to wait and Avrite to you all about it, and
he has written this big letter which I enclose. That Avill tell
^ou the whole story ever so much better than I could, but I
knew you wuuld read mine first.

So now they knew why Caroline did not come
on the five o'clock train

There was more to the letter — much more,
indeed — but before it could be finished, or the
doctor's letter looked at, Mrs. Bryant had to
stop and gather her little Daisy in her arms and
try to soothe the most heart-broken fit of crying
she had ever seen the child indulge herself in.
And the mother was glad of it ; for she felt
that tears, however bitter, were better than the
still, white-faced way in which Daisy sometimes
bore pain. Meantime, Ben walked the floor,
and gave vent to his long pent-up feelings by
declaring that he thought ' ' Line Bryant was
simply too horrid for anything, and that if she
liked little angels and doctors and things better

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 187

ihan she did them, she would better let them
adopt her and not come home at all." Nobody
paid the slightest attention to what he said, and
nobody knew that he did not mean a word of it
better than he did himself.

I do not know when they would have got set-
tled down again, if it had not been for the
chicken, which took that opportunity to stick
itself fast to the ste wing-pan and emit an odor
which made Mrs. Bryant drop letters and little
girl in a heap, as she said, "Oh! our chicken
is burning," and ran. Ben had to go to the
rescue, and bring her a dish and a fork, and
put the covers on the stove ; and when the ex-
citement was over, it was found that Daisy had
dried her eyes, and was ready to hear the rest
of the story.

It was later than they had meant it should be
when the Bryant family ate their supper. Mrs.
Bryant had scrambled the extra plate and knife
and fork out of sight, and motioned Ben to set
away the extra chair, before she summoned
Daisy, who sat holding Arabella Aurelia close
to her heart, and clasping Caroline's letter firmly
in her left hand. They had certainly plenty to

188 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.

talk about. The solemn question over which
each one thought and nobody cared to put into
words was, Would mother write to Line to stay,
or to come home? Ben settled it in his own
mind that it would be ridiculous and absurd to
think of such a thing. Why, they might as
well give Line up altogether ! He assured him-
self that he should express his mind freely, and
say that Line ought to have known better than
to have waited to ask. Of course she was to-
come home ; and if his mother dreamed of such
a thing as telling her lo stay, he should think
they had all gone crazy together. He argued
it all out ; how he would controvert his mother's
logic, supposing for a moment that she had any
on the wrong side, and convince her that the
thing was not to be thought of for a moment.
He wished she would begin the discussion her-
self. Twice he opened his mouth to say,
*' Mother, of course you will write to Line to
come home day after to-morrow without fail,
will you not?" But a glance at Daisy's pale
face, and a realization of the effort that she
was bravely making to shed no more tears and
even eat a little supper, held his impatience in

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 189

check. The mother, meantime, talked only of
the little Dorothy. She had a little sister once
who had heart disease — a beautiful little white
sister, who could never run, nor play ball, nor
skip the rope, nor swing ; and everybody loved
her and felt sorry for her, and she died when
she was fourteen. Then Mrs. Bryant went on
to say that it was certainly a great honor which
had been bestowed upon Caroline, to think of
entrusting her with such a charge ; it showed
plainer than anything else could, what Dr. For-
sythe thought of their dear girl. Then she
said, as though it had just occurred to her,
*' Why, we have not read his letter yet ! I will
read while you two finish your suppers."

It was a beautiful letter, long and full, with
such a description of Dorothy as a great, loving-
hearted father with one little lamb to love knew
how to give, and such words about Caroline as
a fond mother would love to read.

Altogether, Ben's excitement quieted a little,
and he silently accepted his mother's decision
that they would not talk over how to answer the
letter until they had prayed and slept over it.
Daisy, apparently, was very willing not to talk ;

190 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.

she looked pale and tired — excitement and dis-
appointment had worn her out. She was quite
willing to take Arabella Aurelia and go early to
bed.

When the last things for the night had been
done, and Ben turned away from bolting the
door to meet his mother's gaze, and she stood
up beside him, not in a protecting, but a caress-
ing way, and leaned her head against his broad
shoulder as if for support, and said, " O, Ben,
dear! what shall mother do? Can you help
her to be unselfish and make a wise choice for
her daughter — one that she will not regret
afterwards ? " — instead of breaking forth into a
tirade as to the absurdity and impossibility of
the whole scheme, Ben flushed, and hesitated,
and choked a little, and at last said huskily, ''It
is very hard on you, mother, and on us, but it
is a rare chance for Line, I suppose ; she has a
talent for music, and the city schools are " —
He stopped just there ; he felt that he had said
every word he could, and had admitted a great
deal.

Of course there were many things to be con-
sidered before such an important letter could be

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 191

answered. Ben did not expect to sleep a wink
that night, and even poor little Daisy whispered
to Arabella Aurelia that they must lie awake
and think; but before she had quite finished
the whisper she was asleepo As for Ben, he
turned over three times, but when he was ready
for the fourth turn it was broad daylight. The
mother had not fared so well; she made no
resolutions as to wakefulness — on the contrary,
she told herself that she must put it all aside
and get her regular sleep — and she did her
best ; but from midnight until three o'clock she
lay broad awake, and went over the entire
ground many times. It was not until the
breakfast next morning was well under way
that she asked her question :

"Well, children, when shall we hold our
council as to what to say to Caroline ? "

Both children were entirely silent.

At last Ben, his face flushing as he spoke,
*'rm willing to leave it to you, mother. I
know you will do the right thing."

Was not that a beautiful thing for a boy to
say? His mother answered him with a fond,
appreciative smile, and turned to Daisy.

192 THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS,

"What does our little girl say?"

Daisy was even slower than Ben had been.
"Of course you know best," she said presently,
low- voiced and sweet ; " and I mean to be very
good, if I can, whatever you decide, because if
I should be selfish about my Line it would make
me feel ashamed when I met that little Dorothy
in heaven."

Mother and son telegraphed a look at each
other, and both felt that Daisy had gone to the
root of the matter.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Bryant felt that in so
important a question as this she ought to
have counsel.

"I think I shall call upon Dr. Mather this
morning and ask his advice," she said thought-
fully, after a few minutes of silence.

Ben looked his surprise, but said not a word.
Dr. Mather was their pastor, and it was so en-
tirely reasonable a thing to look to him for ad-
vice that there seemed no wdtds in which to
express surprise; nevertheless Ben, if it had
been respectful, would have declared that he
would have considered it more appropriate for
Dr. Mather to come to his mother for advice.

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS. 193

Truth to tell, Mrs. Bryant had come to her
decision by a roundabout road. She found
that she wanted very much to know what Mr.
Holden would say about it ; but to go to him
for advice would be discourteous to her pastor.
Even though Dr. Mather should never hear of
it, as he probably would not, this true woman
felt that her own heart would condemn it as a
discourtesy, and that was not to be borne.
Long thinking over the matter had brought her
to that decision :

'*I shall call upon Dr. Mather this morning."

CHAPTER XIV.

CONFLICTING ADVICE.

DR. MATHER was in his study. He
frowned upon the servant who brought
him word that a woman was waiting to see
him. To be sure he had not yet set to work ;
in fact, he was only glancing over the morning
paper, but then he meant to go to work in a
few minutes, and felt that his good intentions
ought not to be interrupted.

"Mrs. Bryant?" he repeated, in a surprised
tone ; *' doesn't the woman know better than to
make calls on me in the morning ? Ask her if
it is important."

The messenger returned. *'It is somewhat
so, she says; she wants to ask a little advice
before the mail closes, but if you are too busy
she will wait."

Dr. Mather tossed down his paper. *'0,
194

CONFLICTING ADVICE. 195

well ! show her in. I may as well see her now
and have it done with.'*

And Mrs. Bryant came in. She was a woman
of good sense, and knew that an apology was
in order for intruding upon her pastor during
his study hours ; she made it in few words, and
then told her errand briefly.

** Your daughter? Ah! let me see. I think
I remember her ; her name is Nancy, is it not?"

*'No, sir; it is Caroline."

"- O, yes, Caroline ! she is a young woman
grown, 1 believe ? "

"Not quite," said Mrs. Bryant, and she gave
Caroline's age.

' ' Ah, yes ! well, I am mixing her with some
one else, I presume ; I have a great many young
persons to look after. And you say she has
been absent for some time. Has she been em-
ployed in this man's family? "

"No, sir;" and as briefly as possible the
mother went over the story of her anxieties
concerning this daughter — a story which she
had thought everybody in the town knew.

" O, yes ! " the minister said again ; " I think
I have heard something about it* Well, my

196 CONFLICTING ADVICE.

good lady, I cannot see why you hesitate for a
moment. It seems to me a royal opportunity
— such a chance, indeed, as comes to a person
but once in a lifetime. Of course you wiU
have her stay," he added reassuringly. "To
do othei'wise would be to throw away a great
deal. The schools in Philadelphia are excep-
tionally good ; and to attend them and at the
same time have an opportunity to earn her own
living will of course be the greatest possible
relief to you."

'' Do you know anything of Dr. Forsythe?"
ventured Mrs. Bryant, at length.

''Why, of course, my dear madam; I know
Dr. Forsythe to be one of the leading physi-
cians of the city of Philadelphia."

'' I do not mean in that way, sir; I mean
as to his character. Is he a Christian?"

"That indeed I do not know. But of
course a man of that stamp, holding the posi-
tion which he does, is a guarantee for your
daughter's safety. You have nothing to worry
about, and everything to be thankful for."

Still Mrs. Bryant lingered, she hardly knew
why. She certainly had Dr. Mather's opinion.

CONFLICTING ADVICE. 197

" She seems very young to go away from
home," she faltered at last, thinking aloud
rather than speaking to her pastor.

" O, well!" he said, in a tone which was
meant to be reassuring, " girls younger than
she have often had to do it ; I know dozens
who would be glad of the chance she has.
The fact is, madam, this is a workaday world,
and only a few people can afford to waste
opportunities for the sake of a little sentiment."

Then Mrs. Bryant arose with a flush on her
face, and a flash in her eyes ; but all she said
was, ''I thank you, sir; good-morning."

"Good-morning," said the doctor cordially;
" I am glad you are to have such a lift ; there
is a hard winter before the poor, I fear. If I
can do anything for you at any time let me
know."

He had certainly been kind, and he had un-
doubtedly spoken the truth; yet Mrs. Bryant
as she went quickly down the steps was con-
scious of feeling almost hurt; she could not
have put into words why she felt so, and would
not if she could. One thing was plain to her;
»he felt less inclined to write to Caroline to re-*

198 CONFLICTING ADVICE.

main than she had when she went up those
steps. She walked rapidly, less because the
morning was cold, than because she seemed to
have a certain amount of bruised feeling to get
rid of in some way. At the corner she encoun-
tered Mrs. Kedwin, who was going her way,
and who began at once to ask questions.

"Did Line come last night? She didn't!
Why, dear me, how disappointed you must have
been. Fanny and Rufus were wild to go around
there, but I told them to leave you in peace for
one night, at least. What's the matter? Line
isn't sick, I hope ? "

Thus urged, Mrs. Bryant told her story.
"Humph!" said Mrs. Kedwin, "you aren't
going to let her stay, are you ? I wouldn't, if
I were you, not by a long sight. We have
feelings, I guess, if we are poor; and yoit
don't want your girl to be a common servant
any more than I do mine. Line don't think ol
wanting to do such a thing, does she ? She had
spirit enough, I always thought; my Fanny
would blaze, 1 tell you, if anybody should
make her such an offer."

" Sh© wants to do right," said Mrs. Bryant

CONFLICTING ADVICE. 199

firmly, and at that moment she felt that she
would probably write to her daughter to stay,
by all means.

"Of course she does, and she ought to begin
by respecting herself and her mother. Why,
her grandfather was a minister ! The idea of
her being a kitchen drudge for any man."

"They do not want her for kitchen work,"
Mrs. Bryant explained, "and she would not be
looked upon as a servant, though that ought
not to make any difference to her or to me ; we
hope our self-respect goes deeper than that,
Mrs. Kedwin."

"O, now!" said Mrs. Kedwin, "don't you
go to being hoodwinked by any such notions ;
I've heard such talk before, about being looked
upon as one of the family, and given privileges,
and all that ; it goes for nothing ; they are the
worst kind of masters and mistresses, the folks
that go on about such things ; I know them.
And as for your self-respect, 1 know you have
queer ideas, Mrs. Bryant, but you can't carry
them out — not in this world ; a servant is a ser-
vant, and nothing else, and your Line isn't cut
out for one. Don't you go to submitting to it;

200 CONFLICTING ADVlCH.

she might better work her fingers to the bone
here at home ; I'm doing it for my Fanny, and
I'll work harder yet, if that is possible, to keep
her from such a life."

Mrs. Bryant smiled and sighed. She knew
then, as she had always known, that she and
Mrs. Kedwin did not think alike about any sub-
ject under the sun, and that, with the best of
intentions, this mother was spoiling her daugh-
ter Fanny ; filling her with false ideas of life,
and of respectability, and ' ' working her fingers
to the bone " to do it. Nothing which had been
said made her feel more like leaving Caroline
in Philadelphia, and so withdrawing her from
the influence of such companionship as Fanny
Kedwin's and others of her stamp. If she only
knew what kind of a man Dr. Forsythe was,
and what kind of a wife he had !

Mrs. Kedwin talked on eagerly; but the
mother who walked beside her lost all trace of
what she was saying, and carried on her own
train of thought, coming presently to this con-
clusion : "I mean to go and see him for a few
minutes. There can be no impropriety in it
now, since I have been first to my own pastor ;

CONFLICTING ADVICE, 201

and I must come to some decision, and not keep
my poor girl in suspense." She announced the
decision aloud, interrupting Mrs. Kedwin to do
so. "Excuse me, Mrs. Kedwin, but I must
turn here ; I want to see Mr. Holden a moment."

"Never mind the interruption," said that gen-
tleman, rising to meet her, pen in hand, and
turning away from his manuscript paper on the
desk as he spoke ; " I am always ready to see
people on business, and I know very well that
some business will not wait. Did Caroline
come?"

No need to explain her daughter's name and
absence here. The minister's tone was almost
as eager as a boy's, and his face grew sympa-
thetically grave as the mother shook her head.
" Something has detained her for another day,
I suppose ; nothing serious, I hope ? Sit down
and tell me all about it." It was a relief to do
so. "Poor mother!" he said, with a sympa-
thizing smile, reaching out his hand to her as
he spoke, "you have a blessing and a trouble
come to you through one and the same source,
have you not?"

There was a rush of tears to the mother's

202 CONFLICTING ADVICE.

eyes which some way seemed to rest the strain
upon her heart. It was such a comfort to speak
to one who seemed to understand that she could
honestly be pulled in two ways at the same time
— could be grateful and regretful, and in doubt
whether to accept or reject. ''It is a great
opening, I know," she faltered; " but then" —

"I know," the minister said; "I have no
doubt at aU that it is loving-kindness which
causes our blessings and our crosses, so that
sometimes we are put to it to tell which is
which. Let us look at it carefully, Mrs. Bryant,
on all sides. Just how do the pros and cons
present themselves to your mind ? In the first
place, there is the trial of doing without your
daughter ; and that presses not only on you and
on our brave boy Ben, but on the little Daisy."

"It is evident that you understand every-
thing," said Mrs. Bryant gratefully. ''I do
not know how so young a man, who has no
family and no trials of his own, can so readily
enter into and so intelligently sympathize with
the trials of others.".

Then once again there came into the minis-
ter's face the look which had before suggested

CONFLICTING ADVICE. 203

10 Mrs. Bryant a pain which this man had to
bear. He was silent a minute, and so was she,
sorrowing over her last words, lest they had
started troubled depths. Soon he said :

''Dear friend, I am half- inclined to tell you
a secret which will help you to understand that
there may be shadows where the sunshine lin-
gers. I am not so young as perhaps you think
me — to-morrow I shall be thirty — and I am
not a man without home and family from choice.
You know Miss Webster well enough to realize
something of what it is to have to tell you that
she was to have been my wife, and that seven
years ago her case was pronounced hopeless.
Never mind," he said hastily, as he saw the
look of pain spread over the listener's face,
" do not pity me too much, dear friend ; it can
never be other than a joy to be able to call such
a woman as Miss Webster is my best friend,
and I am sure her Father and mine has planned
all the way which he is leading us, and knows
the best road. I only told you so that you
might make sure of my sympathy with trouble.
I am afraid I shall have almost too much sym-
pathy for the little Dorothy."

204 CONFLICTING ADVICE.

"No," she said earnestly; ''that is the
strongest hold for us all. My little Daisy has
helped us in that ; she thinks she will be ashamed
to meet Dorothy in heaven if she is selfish about
her dear Line here." They both laughed over
this — a tender laugh which answered instead
of tears, and the minister walked to the win-
dow and stood in the shadow of the curtain
folds for a minute, before he attempted to say
more. When he spoke again, his voice had
recovered its natural cheery tone.

''Well, let us see. Of course for Caroline
it will be a fine opening ; there is first that op-
portunity which comes to God's child of doing
a special good in a niche where it is hard to find
just what will fit. .1 know enough of your young
daughter, Mrs. Bryant, to be sure that the doc-
tor has made no mistake. She would be a great
blessing to his little girl." This gave Mrs.
Bryant another opportunity to see how differ-
ent this ,man was from some whom she knew.
Others had spoken of her daughter's opportu-
nity for getting ; he spoke of her opportunity
for giving, and set it highest. Nothing had
helped this unselfish mother more.

CONFLICTING ADVICE. 205

They went over the ground carefully after
this : all about the schools of Philadelphia,
concerning which it appeared that this minister
knew a great deal, all about the probable oppor-
tunity for improvement, and about how those at
home would manage without the elder daughter,
especially the influence of her absence on the
sensitive Daisy. "That perplexes me," said
Mrs. Bryant. "It will be hard for Daisy to
get through the winter without her sister —
harder than for us. But it will also be very
hard upon her to think that her sister gave up
advantages and opportunities for her sake."

"I know," said the minister; "she is a very
peculiar little flower, and I think I know her
well enough to say that the latter hurt would be
worse for her than the first."

"There is one thing," said the mother, her
face flushing as she spoke ; " I do not know
what kind of a man this doctor is. He is a
great doctor, I presume, and he is kind-hearted
and has a great influence already over my
daughter, which makes me all the more anxious
for her. What if he were not a Christian man ?
Some people, perhaps most people, would sup-

i06 CONFLICTING ADVICE.

pose that that need make no difference, so long
as my daughter is a little girl, and would per-
haps hardly ever see the man in whose house
she was employed ; but to me it does."

'* Assuredly it does, my dear madam, and I
am glad to be able to tell you that a more ear-
nest Christian man than Dr. Forsythe it would,
I think, be hard to find. I do not know him
personally, but I know a great deal of him, and
his whole life seems to me to be Christlike.'*

''Then," said Mrs. Bryant, drawing a long
breath, " I am afraid — I mean I believe that
the matter is settled. I am sure Ben, when he
hears all that you have said, will think that we
ought to give Caroline the opportunity, hard as
it may be for us, and in some respects for her.
Mr. Holden, I do not know how to thank you
for your kindness, and I do not know how to
express my sympathy for you in your great
affliction. I wish you knew how deeply I feel
for you, and how entirely I will respect your
confidence."

''I know it all, madam," the minister said,
even cheerily. ''It is all right; Miss Webster
and I are in our Father's hands, and we trust

CONFLICTING ADVICE. 207

him. There is another world than this, you
know."

To say that Caroline Bryant's heart beat
faster than usual when on Monday morning
she stood on the white steps of Dr. Forsythe's
house waiting for admittance, would be to put
it very mildly indeed. In her next letter to
Ben she told him it thumped so hard that it
seemed to her that the policeman just then
passing would hear it, and ask what was the
matter. More than that, her limbs trembled
so that they could hardly hold her, and she felt
sure her teeth would chatter the moment she
attempted to speak. She had just passed
through a trying ordeal in bidding good-by to
the little Brinkers and their mother. Daisy
cried louder than the others, but it is doubtful
if she felt worse than the mother, who declared
that she could not feel it more if one of her
own children was going away; and Caroline
herself had shed some very salt tears, and
kissed them all over and over again, and prom-
ised to come just as often as she could to see
them, and feltj as the door at last closed upon

208 CONFLICTING ADVICE.

her, as though she were parting from all her
friends.

She was glad to see only the young man who
opened the door for patients, and to be shown
into a little room at the right of the hall to wait
a few minutes quite by herself. It gave her a
chance to grow quiet, and to ask herself what
she trembled over. Certainly she was not afraid
of Dr. Forsythe, nor of Dorothy, and Mrs.
Forsythe could not be so very terrible. Poor
Caroline had lived a great deal in the week that
was passed, since she wrote that all-important
letter to her mother. Letters had sometimes
traveled at the rate of two a day between her
home and Philadelphia since that time. All
the details of the remarkable plan had been ex-
plained and discussed as well as people a hun-
dred miles apart could discuss them, and now it
was all settled. Caroline was to stay, and put
away from herself the thought of seeing her
dear ones before June.

It all seemed very strange, and at times very
terrible, when she thought of it. Here was she,
Caroline Bryant, who had kissed her mother one
October morning and gone out nutting, expect-

CONFLICTING ADVICE. 209

ing to be at home again before the sun set, who
instead must look forward to a sunset in June
before she could kiss her mother again. There
had been a faint hope in her heart that the
mother would think she ought to come home
for a week or two and see them all and get
ready to go away ; and in truth the mother had
thought of it, and counted her little hoard of
money gathered for the supply of coal, and
talked with Ben, and shaken her head sadly,
and concluded that the home visit must be given
up on account of the expense. This was be-
fore Caroline's letter came, saying that she had
hoped something of the kind would happen, but
had given it up because Dr. Forsythe said that
morning that he hoped she would be ready for
school on the following Monday. The new
term would open then, and it would be the best
time to begin.

And this was Saturday, and according to the
doctor's plans she was to come to her new home
as soon after breakfast as she could, and get
acquainted with them, so as to be ready for
her duties on Monday. Her small plain trunk
had been packed by Mrs. Brinker's own hands.

210 CONFLICTING ADVICE.

the good woman dropping tears among the
garments.

She had herself washed and ironed them
with utmost care, and even mended some of
them as carefully as Caroline's own mother
could have done ; though over this last work
Caroline protested, saying that mother always
had her do her own mending. "I know, child,"
said Mrs. Brinker, '' and no doubt you can do
it better than I can ; but all the same I want to
do it. There's so little we can do to show our
love and gratitude ; and you have been an angel
of mercy to us, you know."

On the whole, do you wonder that the young
girl's limbs trembled and almost refused to hold
her, while she sat in the little reception room
and waited, and wondered what the doctor would
say first, and when she should see Mrs. Forsythe,
and what she would say to her?

CHAPTER XV.

A LONG, WONDERFUL DAY.

GOOD-MORNING," said a cheery voice
just at her elbow. So absorbed had she
beeii with her own thoughts that Dr. Forsythe
had pushed aside the curtains and entered noise-
lessly without her knowing it. " Here you are,
as fresh as the morning ; which is fortunate, for
my little Dorothy is in such a state of excite-
ment and expectancy that I hardly know how
she could have waited much longer. She is at
this moment taking breakfast in her room. I
believe I will take you directly there ; she will
like to serve you to a glass of milk with her own
hands ; you have breakfasted, I suppose ? "

" O, yes, sir! a long time ago," said Caro-
line, following the doctor's swift movements
down the long hall.

*'Ah! that is fortunate, also, because now

212 A LONG, WONDERFUL DAT.

you will not mind taking a second one with
Dorothy. I was obliged to take mine very
early, also, so Dorothy and her grandmother
had theirs sent to their rooms."

So there was a grandmother in this home?
Caroline had not heard of her before, and but
for the fact that there was so much to look at,
would have set to wondering what she was like.
By this time they were at the top of the long
flight of stairs, and were moving swiftly down
another hall, where half-open doors on either
side revealed glimpses of beautiful rooms which
reminded Caroline of Judge Dunmore's parlor.

'' Here we are at last," the doctor said, and
he threw wide open a door at his left, bringing
to view a room so lovely that Caroline could not
repress a little exclamation of delight. It had
many long, low windows, from two of which
the morning sun was streaming ; it was carpeted
in some soft, thick stuff of a delicate cream
color, bestrewn with delicately- tinted autumn
leaves. At one end of the room was a great
white rug of softest fur, near which was a large
easy-chair of luxurious pattern, in the depths
of which sat Dorothy at this moment, a pretty

A LONG, WONBERFVL DAY. 213

table drawn near her, on which stood a silver
salver, with a dainty breakfast spread tempt-
ingly upon it. There was a large alcove near
one of the sunny windows, the curtains of
which being only partially looped, showed a
beautiful bedstead in white and gold. Indeed
those two colors prevailed wherever one's eyes
rested ; and the small, golden-haired child in a
white merino wrapper fitted elegantly into the
surroundings.

''Has she come?" said Dorothy, raising her-
self on one elbow to look eagerly past her
father ; then she caught a glimpse of Caroline.

''Oh! I am so glad! Now you will take
some breakfast with me ; I have been saving
it; it is so very desolate to eat alone."

Dr. Forsythe rolled a great easy-chair to the
table's side and motioned Caroline to a seat
before he answered the bell which just then
tinkled.

"That is papa's bell," said Dorothy, nodding
toward the little white knob in the wall. "It
always rings when he comes to see me ; it is
just as though the people knew he had stopped
for a minute, and did not want him to. Do

214 A LONG, WONDERFUL DAY.

you suppose I can ever tell you how glad I am
that you have come? You know I told you
how lonely I got with only nurse to talk to.
Of course I have others every little while, but
times when I want them most I can't have
them. Will you eat a piece of the steak? It
is very good, I suppose ; I tried to eat some to
please papa, but I am not hungry this morning.
Perhaps I can eat now that I have somebody to
help me. Isn't it nice to have you all to my-
self? Do you suppose you will like me? "

''I do not see how I could help it," said
Caroline, trying not to laugh; "but I do not
think I can eat much breakfast — not this morn-
ing; I had mine almost two hours ago." Yet
while she spoke she put a bit of the steak to her
lips and was forced to tell herself that it was
very different from that served at Conductor
Brinker's table ; it seemed surprising that Doro-
thy could not eat such breakfasts as this.

Pi-esently she found opportunity to ask the
question which she found was uppermost.
''Haven't you a grandmother, Dorothy?"

''Yes," said the little girl gravely; "but
she is not at all like the grandmothers in books.

A LONG, WONDERFUL DAY. 215

She isn't," shaking her head, as Caroline gave
her an inquiring look and waited for an explana-
tion ; ''she is very good, and everybody — re-
spects her " — (the dashes stand for a curious
little pause which Dorothy made before she
pronounced the word) ; "but she wears black
silk dresses a good deal, and ruffles, and does
not like to have them rumpled; she does not
have any place for heads to rest and be petted,
you know ; and she thinks that papa pets me
too much and makes me have less strength than
1 would have. She says little girls are brought
up very differently from what they were when
she was young, and she thinks her way was
the best. She is father's mother, and we all
love her, of course ; but she is not like a grand-
mother in a book, not in the least." Caroline
began to understand.

That day was a very remarkable one to Caro-
line Bryant. Several times during its progress
she felt as though she must get by herself some-
where and write to Ben, there were so many
wonderful things to describe ; but by evening
she began to feel as though it would be of no
use to write any letters; she could never do

216 A LONG, WONDERFUL DAT.

justice to the subject. Dorothy's eager interest
in her new possession did not flag in the least.
She spent the entire day in showing her through
the rooms, explaining the uses of many things
which were entirely new to Caroline, and ask-
ing her questions about a life which was equally
strange to her. One experience gave Caroline
a mixed sensation ; she could not be sure which
was the stronger, pleasure or pain. Dr. For-
sythe had looked in hurriedly to say, ' ' Dorothy,
you must not forget to take your friend to Mrs.
Packard's room and ask her to give her what
attention is needed; and it should be done
before twelve o'clock, you know." Then he
turned to Caroline. "Mrs. Packard is the
member of our family who does the planning
and the buying for us all. We wear, as a rule,
what she selects as proper. Of course we are
allowed an opinion, which may weigh with her
and may not. She understands that she is to
add you to her list, and get for you what you
may need between this and to-morrow morning.
It is merely a matter of business, you know ;
your mother and I have exchanged letters and
we understand one another perfectly."

A LONG, WONDEBFUL DAY. 217

Caroline felt that be added this last in kind-
ness to her, because her cheeks had flushed and
her eyes drooped. It seemed so very strange
to have any other person than her mother plan-
ning as to her needs ; and it seemed so very
trying to have to need things which her mother
had not provided.

But Dorothy took it all as a matter of course.
" O, yes!" she said; "we must go to Mrs.
Packard directly. Has your trunk come, Caro-
line? She will have to go through it, you
know, to find what you need, and you will
have to answer dozens of questions ; it is rather
tiresome, but we will go at once and have done
with it.*' Dr. Forsythe had already gone ;
Caroline drew back from the open door.

'' Must I go? " she said pitifully to Dorothy.
" I do not think I need anything just now, and
it seems very strange."

"Oh! but papa said so, you know. It is
all very well for papa to say we have to do as
Mrs. Packard says ; but the truth is we have
to do just as he says, every one of us, Mrs.
Packard and all ; and he has told her what to
do for you. You needn't mind, Caroline ; it is

218 A LONG, WONDERFUL DAY.

always pleasant to do as papa says; come,"
said Dorothy.

And Caroline went. Mrs. Packard was tall
and grave, with gray eyes and thin lips. The
gray eyes were very keen; they embarrassed
Caroline ; she had a feeling that her thoughts
were being looked at and commented upon.

" O, yes ! " said Mrs. Packard ; '' this is the
young person, is it? I remember. Well, there
is no time to be lost, I should judge. I had
your trunk sent up to your room a short time
ago. "We will look through it at once and
make a memoranda. Miss Dorothy, will you
come with us or sit here and rest? Your papa
is afraid you will overtax your strength to-day."

*'I will come, if you please," said Dorothy.
"Papa is always afraid of that; I will sit in
Caroline's easy-chair and rest."

As they crossed the room Caroline had a
vision of herself in the tall glass. A somewhat
overgrown girl in a dress which was too short
for her, and whose sleeves were not made in
the prevailing style, and whose waist did not
fit so well as it used. These things she real-
ized as she had not before. She began to

A LONG, WONDERFUL DAT. 219

realize them when Mrs. Packard said, looking
her over from head to foot, ''There is no time
to be lost, I should judge."

The first glimpse of her own room nearly
took her breath away. They had not been ad-
mitted when Dorothy had undertaken to show
it to her ; a chamber-maid had assured her that
there was sweeping going on, and she must
wait, so Caroline followed Mrs. Packard into
it for the first time. Such a lovely room ! open-
ing out of Dorothy's ; not so large as hers, but
sunny, and furnished with exquisite taste, even
to a cunning little writing-desk in the corner.

' ' Do you like it ? " asked Dorothy. ' ' I wanted
you here, right beside me. Nurse sleeps on the
other side of my room, where the folding doors
are ; at first I wanted you there, but papa would
not consent to it ; he said this was quite as near
as the other, if there were not folding doors ;
and I planned how the furniture should be ar-
ranged. Do you like it? "

"It is lovely !" said Caroline softly. And
it was then that she decided there would be no
use in trying to put this day into a letter for
Ben.

220 A LONG, WONDERFUL DAY.

Mrs. Packard was a woman of business ; she
went rapidly over the contents of the little
trunk, shaking out with unceremonious hand
Caroline's poor plain dresses which had never
before looked so few and plain ; she made no
comments, even her questions were very few.
"There is not much to ask about, after all,"
she said. Caroline could not be sure what she
meant. '

''Please stand, my dear, and let me measure
you ; I think that will be sufficient without your
going down town ; ready-made things are never
a very perfect fit, but I think I can manage it.
I will take this dress with me, and this sack,
and one shoe ; that ought to be sufficient."

Caroline could only look on, bewildered.
Why her best dress and sack and one shoe
should have the honor of going somewhere with
Mrs. Packard, and what was to be the result
of their journey, was more than she could
fathom; there seemed nothing for her but
submission.

At luncheon she saw the stately grandmother
in her black silk dress and ruffles. She looked
handsome and dignified, and cold. ''So this is

A LONG, WONDERFUL DAY. 221

the child," she said, looking at her with cold
blue eyes ; ' ' she is rather young to have charge
of Dorothy, I think."

''I can trust her," the doctor said kindly.
" Sit here, Caroline ; this is to be your seat at
table hereafter."

''You trust too easily sometimes, Kent," his
mother said, but the doctor only laughed, and
asked Caroline if she liked grapes.

Luncheon was hard to manage. Caroline
did not know which spoon to use for her soup
and which for her jelly ; and she dropped a tiny
drop of soup on the elegant cloth, and felt that
the grandmother's eyes were on her. It had
startled and frightened her to think of having
always a seat at this grand table ; without hav-
ing given the matter much thought she found
that she had not supposed she would take her
meals at the same table with Dr. Forsythe.
Altogether, when the brown head rested at last
among the plump pillows of her new bed, its
owner felt that she had lived a month since
morning, and was never so tired before.
" Though what should have tired me," said the
puzzled girl, ''I really cannot imagine. I have

222 A LONG, WONDERFUL DAY.

done nothing at all all day ; I wonder what I'm
to do? I wish they had let me begin to-day."

Once she had asked Dorothy what her work
was to be, and the child had looked at her with
a puzzled laugh, and said, ''Why, I don't know ;
you are to be happy, I suppose ; papa says that
is my work."

Qne experience had closed the day over which
Caroline lay with wide-open eyes, thinking.
Dorothy, in white wrapper, with her hair tucked
away for the night, had called to her new friend :
' ' Will you come and read with me ? Here is a
seat in my great wide chair ; it is plenty wide
enough for two ; papa often sits here. Isn't it
nice? Now will you read to me, or shall we
each read a verse ? "

Caroline chose the latter arrangement, and
found that the ' ' reading " was from Dorothy's
large, beautifully-bound Bible. Her clear, slow
voice sounded very sweet rolling out the
words : ' ' We have a strong city ; salvation
will God appoint for walls and bulwarks."

"Now," Dorothy had said, at the close of
the reading, ' ' will you pray first, or shall I ? "

Caroline's cheeks were aflame. "I never

A LONG, WONDERFUL DAY. 223

pray aloud," she murmured, with the slightest
perceptible pause between the last two words.

"Do you not? I always do, even when
quite alone ; it is nicer, I think ; it gets you
used to hearing your own voice ; papa says so.
Don't you want to begin to-night? I couldn't
hear you if you said the words to yourself."

Then she had noticed Caroline's glowing face,
and, governed by a sweet impulse of unselfish-
ness and care for the feelings of others, had
added: "But nevermind if you would rather
not; perhaps it makes you feel lonesome and
homesick. Poor Caroline ! you want your
mother, don't you ? " For by that time the
tears had forced their way down Caroline's red
cheeks, and Dorothy had pushed her Bible from
her to lean forward and kiss them away.

It was her slow, sweet voice which said the
words of prayer that night — simple, child-like
words, but wonderful to Caroline because of
their assured way of speaking as though of
course she was heard and would be answered.
She prayed for Caroline's home and friends by
name, and brought a fresh rush of tears, it is
true, but they were not bitter ones. The prayer

224 A LONG, WONDERFUL DAY.

was very short, but its influence kept Caroline
awake long after her head was resting on its
pillow. Uppermost among her thoughts was
the question, What would Dorothy have said if
she had told her that she did not pray at all?
*'0f course I say the Lord's Prayer," said the
poor girl, turning her pillow, which had already
been warmed by her flushed cheek ; ' ' but that
isn't praying. It never sounds like her prayer ;
it just seems to be saying over words. She is
a Christian, and so are Ben, and mamma, and
even little Daisy ; O, dear me ! " And the day
ended in a great burst of tears. There was
another thing which troubled Caroline. All
this long wonderful day she had seen nothing
of Dorothy's mother, heard nothing concerning
her. It seemed very strange, and, to tell the
simple truth, Caroline was afraid of her.

CHAPTER XVI.

BORROWED TROUBLE,

ABROAD beam of sunshine awoke Caro-
line the next morning. She opened her
eyes suddenly, and lay for some minutes before
she could decide where she was. No sunshine
had ever succeeded in getting into the little
hall bedroom which had been hers while at
Mrs. Brinker's.

*'0h!" she said at last, aloud. The word
was partly a confession of the fact that she re-
membered who and where she was, and partly
an exclamation over the contents of the large
arm-chair near her bed. She stared at them for
a few minutes, then sprang out of bed and be-
gan an investigation. The clothing which she
had taken off the night before and arranged in
a neat group as her mother had taught her, had
entirely disappeared; in its place was a new
225

226 BORROWED TROUBLE.

suit, complete even to the long black stockings,
very soft and fine, which hung over the back of
the chair. It was also plainly to be understood
why one of Caroline's shoes had gone down
town with Mrs. Packard the night before ; here
were two shoes that had never belonged to her
before, but which looked s<5 exactly the shape
of her foot that it was hardly possible they were
not intended for her.

'' They are too grand for me," said the young
girl, in a murmur half of bewilderment and half
of delight ; ' ' but then, I shall have to wear
them or go barefoot; they have taken my
others. I wonder if it can be that I am ex-
pected to put on this wonderful dress ? and be-
fore breakfast, too ! "

She held it up before her as she spoke — a
soft wool dress of lovely olive green tints,
trimmed with velvet of the same bewitching
shade, and finished at the throat with a delicate
edge of something which looked like silver lace-
work. Caroline, who had royal tastes, felt her-
self tingle even to her fingers' ends, as they
softly touched the velvet. What could Dr.
Forsythe mean by ordering such a dress as this

BORROWED TROUBLE. 227

for her ! Or was it possible that Mrs. Packard
iiad made a mistake and bought material alto-
gether too fine and rich? Could it be intended
for her, any way? How did they ever find a
dress already made, which looked as though it
might fit her exactly?

Caroline's knowledge of city stores was lim-
ited. Neither did she understand how readily
they would undertake to fit by measure a per-
son whom they had never seen, especially when
so careful and capable a woman as Mrs. Pack-
ard had seen her. It really was surprising what
a change a becoming dress, made in the pre-
vailing style, wrought in the young girl. Her
face flushed a brilliant red, as she looked at
herself from head to foot in the glass, when at
last she was dressed.

" I do not believe Fanny Kedwin would know
me at all," was actually her first thought. Her
second was a wish that mother and Daisy and
Ben could see her ; and the third was whether
mother would approve of such elegance. Surely
she could not have understood what Dr. For-
sythe was going to do. "I ought to take it
off," said the poor girl, sitting down in bewil-

228 BORHOWEB TROUBLE.

derment on the side of the bed. '*I ought not
to wear such clothes; we are poor, and my
mother cannot afford it, and I am her daugh-
ter. I do not know what to do, I am sure ;
there must be some mistake. Why did they
take my own clothes away? They had no
right to do that."

Her perplexity was taking the form of indig-
nation, when a knock at the door interrupted
her thoughts.

"May I come in?" said Mrs. Packard.
*' Really, my dear, I must say that Miss Wat-
son did exceedingly well; she was sure she
could fit you from my description ; but of
course I was anxious; and the things came
home too late to be tried last night. I hope
you like the dress ? "

''It is very beautiful, ma'am," said Caroline,
blushing painfully; "but" — and then she
stopped.

"Well," said Mrs. Packard, not unkindly,
" is there anything wrong about them? I sup-
pose there is, of course ; it would be surprising
if ready-made garments fitted exactly. It is
nothing but what can be remedied, I hope ? "

BORROWED TROUBLE. 229

*'0h! it is not that," Caroline made haste
to say; "they fit beautifully; but I thought
there must be some mistake, ma'am. I was
not to have such nice clothes — at least I did
not suppose I was — and I cannot think my
mother would like it."

''I have nothing to do with that, my dear,"
said Mrs. Packard, with a quiet smile. " I fol-
lowed Dr. Forsythe's orders very carefully, as
I always do."

The smile, for some reason, made Caroline
feel very uncomfortable. '' I think there must
be some mistake," she said, with dignity; "we
are poor, and do not dress in such nice clothes,
and I do not want anybody to give me what
we cannot afford. I am not an object of
charity."

Ben would certainly have called his sister
some of his old teasing names if he had seen
her then ! Eyes, as well as cheeks, seemed to
be blazing; she was in the mood to take off
every garment that she had put on, and was
only held from beginning the work then and
there by the thought that her own dress had
disappeared.

i30 BORROWED TROUBLE.

*'If you please, I should like my own dress,"
she said, trying to control her voice and speak
quietly. " I want to put it on."

''Of course you can have it," said Mrs.
Packard, very coldly. ''I have not stolen it,
child ! I took the liberty to take it away last
night, because I saw there was a place in the
sleeve that needed darning, and I repaired it
for you. I will send it to you at once, and
your other clothing you will find in that large
closet at the end of the bureau. I might sug-
gest, however, that it was Dr. Forsythe's direc-
tion that you be dressed for church when you
came to the breakfast-table; that was why I
took the pains to arrange everything for you
last night, that you might have as little trouble
with it as possible. This certainly is more be-
coming than the dress you wore yesterday ; but
suit yourself."

With the mention of Dr. Forsythe's name
Caroline's absurd anger, which she did not half
understand, subsided; but in its place was a
great distress. She could not get away from
the feeling that this lofty woman with a disa-
greeable smile, had made a mistake and fitted

BORROWED TROUBLE. 231

her out in a manner which Dr. Forsythe would
not approve.

' ' Would it be possible for me to see Dr.
Forsythe a moment before breakfast ? " she
asked, and her voice was meeker than before.

"I am sure I do not know," Mrs. Packard
said, turning coldly away. "We are not in
the habit of disturbing Dr. Forsythe in this
house if we can help it. He has very little
time to himself as it is ; but if the matter is
important enough, you might ring the reception-
room bell, and Thomas will see."

How hopelessly formidable this sounded 1
Caroline felt as though she could never do it in
the world, and yet was at that moment exceed-
ingly sure she could not go down to breakfast
in what seemed to her borrowed plumage. She
turned away in despair and walked toward the
sunny window just as another knock, lighter
than Mrs. Packard's, sounded on her door. It
was Mrs. Packard who opened the door and let
in Dorothy.

*' Good-morning," said the low sweet voice.
" O, Caroline ! how very pretty you look. Papa
will like that dress, I think. How nicely you

232 BORROWED TROUBLE.

fitted her, Mrs. Packard ; I do not see how you
could ! "

" I am glad somebody appreciates it," said
Mrs. Packard, somewhat stiffly, and she stooped
and kissed Dorothy as she spoke.

If Caroline had not been so full of distress
over her own imaginary troubles she would have
seen that the good woman had tried hard to
please, and was hurt and disappointed over this
way of receiving her work. But the poor girl
could think only of herself at that moment.

* ' O, Dorothy ! " she said, her face and voice
full of distress, ''do you think it would be pos-
sible for me to see your father just a moment
before breakfast? I would not hinder him but
a minute, and indeed I must see him before I
can go downstairs."

''Of course," said Dorothy promptly ; "papa
always sees people who need him. Are you
sick, Caroline? Oh! I hope you are not sick.
I will ring my little bell which papa always
answers himself when he can, and you can
come to my room and see him ; will that do ?
If you want to speak to him quite alone I will
stay here and wait for you."

BORROWED TROUBLE. 233

She turned as she spoke and went toward the
little white knob on the wall, while Mrs. Pack-
ard, without more words, left the room.

In a very few minutes Dr. Forsythe's quick
knock was heard at the door. It was Dorothy
who answered it. *'Papa," she said, returning
his kiss, ''it is Caroline ; she needs to see you."
Then she vanished, leaving Caroline alone with
the doctor.

'' I wanted to see you," she began, in confu-
sion, "to ask, or — I mean, to say that I do
not think I can be dressed as you meant; I
think Mrs. Packard must have made a mistake."

'* Does not the dress suit you? " His voice
was very kind, yet Caroline felt that she was
not making herself in the least understood.

*' It is beautiful ! " she said desperately ; ' ' too
beautiful, and that is the trouble. I am afraid
my mother would not like it ; and I do not if
she doesn't. We are poor and cannot afford
such clothes; but we have always worn our
own clothes, I mean the ones we earned, and
I" — She came to another abrupt pause.
Was she not appearing as an ungrateful, ill-
mannere(J little girl? How could she put her

234 BORROWED TROUBLE.

trouble into words and make Dr. Forsythe
understand ?

But a light had broken over his face ; he
began to understand.

*' Let us sit down and see about this," he said,
drawing a chair for Caroline and one for him-
self. ' * You are afraid your mother would con-
sider you too much dressed for the work which
you have to do. Is that the idea ? I thought
so. Suppose we consider it carefully. Your
mother has placed you in my care for the
winter, to do certain work for me, and to be
guided by my judgment. In return I am to
furnish you with board and clothing. Now
your clothing, though I have no doubt it was
entirely suited to the j)lace you filled a home,
is not, in Mrs. Packard's estimation, suitable
for your place here. Besides, it was of course
wearing out, as clothes have a way of doing.
In all such matters we of this household have a
habit of deferring to Mrs. Packard's judgment,
because she understands the points,, and because
it is her duty to attend to them. I gave her
general directions, and the amount of money
which she judged, after carefully estimating the

BORROWED TROUBLE. 235

probable price of things, would be enough. It
seemed a very reasonable sum to me, and she
has not applied for more money, but on the
contrary has assured me that she has some left.
Therefore I judge that she has done her work
well, and if the dress suits you everything is as
it should be.

" Your feeling in regard to your mother's
opinion does you credit, if you did not under-
stand that I was to furnish the clothes for this
season, and be the one to determine their gen-
eral fitness for the place which you are to fill.
That being the case, it is my taste, you under-
stand, which ought to govern yours, and even
hers. As to the question of ' other people's
clothes,' which I think troubled you a little, you
are mistaken ; the clothes are yours, and fairly
earned, or are to be. I consider the services
which you are to give me in return fairly war-
rant the expenditures which I have made, other-
wise I should not have made them; so it is
purely a business transaction. But suppose it
were otherwise, and I had chosen to make you
a gift. I hope and believe that you are going
to cultivate a nature which is fine enough to re-

236 BORROWED TROUBLE.

ceive gifts from your frieDds even when they
take the form of useful articles which you need.
Any other spirit than that is a false one, and
has its root not in self-respect, but in pride."

Dr. Forsythe's tones had been kindness itself,
and there was a pleasant smile on his face as he
looked at the red-cheeked girl before him, but
she felt exceedingly ashamed.

" I have been very foolish, I am afraid," she
Raid at last, in a low voice. Under the power
of his calm kind words her outburst seemed to
herself extremely silly.

"No," he said gently, "not intentionally
foolish ; you have only a mistaken sense of in-
dependence, I think. You will probably hear
a great deal about that word, and you cannot
begin too early to learn that there is a false
pride sometimes named independence, which
has no right whatever to the name. But I
think we understand each other now ; you did
quite right to come to me with your troubles ;
if you will always show such prompt good sense
in getting rid of them, we shall do nicely. Now
if everything is straight, we will get Dorothy
and £fo to breakfast."

BORROWED TROUBLE. 237

At the end of one of the long halls was a
pier glass in which our young woman could
view herself from head to foot. It was when
she was ready for church that she stopped be-
fore it and took a survey. She was certainly
a very different looking girl from that short-
waisted, short-skirted one who had looked at
herself but the day before. Her heavy sack of
rough cloth, trimmed with large buttons, and
her trim little hat with a nodding plume were
not only unlike anything she had ever worn,
but were finer than Fanny Kedwin had ever
appeared in, though her mother spent more
money than some people thought was wise upon
her daughter's dress. Moreover, Caroline was
softly smoothing her first pair of kid gloves
while she looked and thought. Dr. Forsythe
had said that everything was straight between
them, but it was not true. Caroline's difficul-
ties, though not of the same shade as they had
been an hour before, were still perplexing
enough. Why should she have such pretty
things, and Daisy, her own little sister, go so
plainly dressed ? Why should Ben have to wear
his shabby overcoat, outgrown even last winter,

238 BORROWED TROUBLE.

while she was in a plush- trimmed coat of beau-
tiful shape and fit? How could anything be
right? However, one question had been settled
for her. Plainly, she had hurt the feelings of
Mrs. Packard, and as that lady, in a neat black
dress and wrap, passed down the hall just then
with head erect and a cold look in her eyes,
Caroline shyly addressed her. " If you please,
Mrs. Packard, I like my dress and hat and
everything very much ; they are beautiful, and I
think you must have had a great deal of trouble
to get them. I thank you very much."

''I'm sure I'm glad if you like them," Mrs.
Packard said, still somewhat stiffly. ' ' I thought
this morning that I had made a big mistake,
somehow, and nothing was right."

Caroline had much ado to keep the tears from
showing in her eyes ; it was very trying to find
that nobody quite understood her. "Oh! it
wasn't that there was any mistake of that kind,"
she hurried to say. " I don't know how to ex-
plain what I mean ; but my brother Ben has to
wear his old overcoat that he has outgrown, and
Daisy hasn't had a new dress in a long while,
and mother wears" — here Caroline's voice for-

BORROWED TROUBLE. 239

sook her. At the remembrance of that dear
mother's much worn black dress and old-
fashioned shawl, there came such a lump in
Caroline's throat as refused the passage of
another word.

There was no need for more words; at last
Mrs. Packard understood.

" Bless your dear heart ! " she said, in a
hearty, friendly voice; "don't you go to spoil-
ing your eyes and making yourself miserable
over such kinds of questions. It is just this
way : you and I have to go to church and sit in
Dr. Forsythe'l pew and be counted as part of
his family, and we have to look so that folks
won't stare at us and think we aren't respect-
able. What you and I call fine, folks of that
kind think is only being decent, and thing -i have
to fit in where they are put. The Doctor un-
derstands this, and plans accordingly, and what
we have to do is to fit where we are put. Bless
you! your clothes didn't cost half as much as
you think, I daresay. The right c< lor and
shape have a great deal to do with such things,
and Dr. Forsythe's pocket-book doesn't know
anything is out of it. He carries a different

240 BORROWEJJ TROUBLE.

pocket-book from what you and I do, I can tell
you that."

Caroline at once had a vision of a little paper
pocket-book faded and worn, and with exactly
fifteen cents in it — all the money she had in
the world — and she could not help laughing at
the thought of Dr. Forsythe being obliged to
use it.

CHAPTER XVII.

LEARNING.

THAT wonderful Sunday which stood out
forever in Caroline Bryant's life history
as a marked day, was moving toward sunset
when she received a summons which set her
heart to fluttering. Dorothy had left her but
a little while before, with the information that
she always spent that hour with papa when
he did not have to go out to see some sick per-
son; and she had spent the time in looking*
carefully over the Sunday-school lesson, be-
cause Dorothy had said that papa would read
it at family worship and talk a little bit about
it, and ask some questions. Caroline had a
terror of being asked a question which she
could not answer, and resolved when she heard
this to take the first leisure minute for study,
ing. She was just puzzling over a verse which
241

242 LEARNING.

she did not in the least understand, when Doro-
thy knocked at her door. ' ' Papa says we may
go and see mamma a few minutes," she said,
her face aglow with pleasure. "She has not
been so well to-day, and has not seen even me,
but to-night she feels better, and has sent word
that she wants to see you too. Will you come
right away, please ? " Caroline arose at once,
but if it had been possible for her to think of
an excuse for not going she would certainly
have given it. Her limbs trembled so she could
hardly walk, and she half -thought that Dorothy
must hear her heart beat. She could not ex-
plain why she had such a fear of Mrs. Forsythe,
but it had been growing on her all day. How-
ever, she followed Dorothy and her father down
the long hall to another part of the house.
Dorothy was clinging to her father's hand and
talking to him, so Caroline's silence was not
noticed. The door opened very softly, and the
new-comer found herself in a larger room than
she had seen before. Dorothy turned at once
toward the bed in the alcove, with a glad little
murmur, and bent her head over the pillows.
Despite her nervous tremor Caroline's beauty-

LEARXING. 243

loving eyes could not help taking in, while she
waited, some of the delights of that room. The
carpet was so thick and soft that no sound of
footfall, however heavy, could possibly be heard
on it, and the pattern suggested a lovely sunset.
The most exquisite order prevailed everywhere ;
it did not look in the least like a sick room, to
Caroline's eyes, at least. Everything was ele-
gant; the easy-chairs seemed almost like beds
themselves, and drawn near the bay window
was a couch large and billowy, piled high with
cushions. There were plants in the southern
window, and flowers in the vases, and a wood
fire in the grate.

"It is the hardest room to describe I ever
saw,'* wrote Caroline to Ben, in the next letter.
''Everything is in it that ought to be, and
everything is in its place and looks as though
it always staid there, and yet there is not a l>it
of stiffness such as there was when Mrs. Ked-
win put her parlor in what she called ' complete
order.' "

She had tin-ned quite away from the bed,
partly to still her own nervous excitement, and
partly because of an innate sense of delicacy

244 LEARNING.

about watching Dorothy's greeting to her
mother, and was apparently studying the roses
in the vase, when Dr. Forsythe spoke to her.

''Come here, Caroline, and make the ac-
quaintance of Dorothy's mother." She made
her way across the room as best she could, and
stood with glowing cheeks beside the bed. A
delicate hand, almost as white as the frills of
the white woollen wrapper, was held out to her,
and a gentle voice said, "It is quite time I
knew Caroline; she has stolen my Dorothy's
heart." What a low,*sweet voice she had ! and
the touch of her hand on Caroline's was warm
and tender. Caroline, frightened as she w^as,
could not help answering the pleasant smile on
the lady's face with one of her own. Mrs. For-
sythe held her hand and went on talking to her
husband about the services of the day, about
the Sunday-school and who had taken the Bible
class, quite as though she had been in the habit
of attending, though it was years since she had
been in church.

Presently she said to Caroline, still in the
same low- toned voice : " Do you know we are
very thankful to your mother for sparing you

LEARNING. 245

to help our little girl ? Tell her so for me ; she
will know just how a mother feels."

*'My dear," said the doctor, "you have
talked quite long enough for this time, I think.
I must send all your company away, or they
will disturb your dreams to-night."

Mrs. Forsythe smiled on him, drew the hand
she held closer, and said in low tones to Caro-
line, ''Kiss me, dear." The startled girl leaned
forward, feeling much as she might if an angel
had asked her for a kiss, and touched her lips
softly to the delicate cheek, but the lady's kiss
was warm and full, right on the rosy mouth.
"I feel that I can trust you, dear," she whis-
pered, ' ' and it rests me more than you can
understand. You will take care of my little
girl for her mother, will you not?" Then
Caroline knew that she was ready to do any-
thing for this fair sweet lady that it was possi-
ble for human being to do.

" It almost seems as though I could lie there
and be sick for her," she told herself, as she
turned away, and when she said that she had
given the utmost stretch to her loving help of
which she was capable, for she could think of

246 LEARNING.

nothing she dreaded so much as the idea of
lying in bed day after day and being sick.

It is surprising, when one stops to think of
it, what a very short time it takes for us to be-
come accustomed to an entirely different order
of things from what we had known before.
For instance, before Caroline had been three
weeks in her new home, it seemed the most
natural thing in the world for her to dress her-
self each morning in her pretty new suit, and
hurry through her breakfast and morning duties
in time for a certain car.

The great schoolrooms, with their rows and
rows of desks, the long halls, the many flights
of stairs, the cases full of books, the black-
boards reaching down the length of the rooms,
the maps and charts and globes, and all the
modem furnishings of the schoolroom, were
growing to be matters of course to her. And
as for the gas lights and electric bells and
speaking tubes and all the modern improve-
ments of Dr. Forsythe's house, it seemed to
her as though she had always used them.

She lived a very busy life, and had no time
for homesickness.

LEARNING. 247

As for Dorothy, no little princess of long
ago ever had a more faithful attendant than
Caroline was to her. Most carefully was she
watched that she was not too tired, or too warm,
or in any way unfitted for a walk to the car,
and her rubbers and wraps were looked after
with equally vigilant eyes. "Caroline sees
everything, papa," said Dorothy, "and thinks
of everything. I don't believe she forgets me
for a single second."

"God bless Caroline," said Dr. Forsythe,
turning to her and resting on her brown head a
hand that trembled a little even as his voice
did ; he saw very plainly what Caroline's eyes
did not : that his Little White Flower, which
was one of his pet names for Dorothy, would
not need caring for very long. Had not Caro-
line become almost extravagantly fond of her
little charge on her own account, she would
still have delighted to care for her, not only
because she was Dr. Forsythe's daughter, but
because she seemed almost to feel the pressure
of that fair sick mother's lips, and to hear her
low voice say, ' ' You will take care of my dar-
ling for her mother's sake, will vou not?"

248 LEARNING.

In addition to history, grammar and the like,
Caroline was taking another lesson not arranged
for when she came. She went one morning to
the doctor's private room with a message for
Dorothy.

''Come in," he had said, nodding to her
from the door, which stood ajar. ''If your
errand is not pressing, wait a minute until I
have finished this letter." Caroline waited in
silent astonishment. Dr. Forsythe was cer-
tainly not writing; he was walking back and
forth across the room and talking with his sec-
retary, who sat before a small table, running
his fingers over a curious little instrument of
some sort, not much larger than his two hands.
It made a little clicking noise ; Caroline thought
it must be some kind of a music-box, with the
music shut off. She thought the secretary
would have been more respectful to shut off its
soft click also, while the doctor talked. But
he did not. "The remedy of which you speak,"
said the doctor, "is nearly obsolete — at least
none of the leading physicians use it any more.
In my judgment it has worn itself out, or been
superseded, because of recent discoveries in

LEARNING. 249

regard to this form of disease. — Do I talk too
fast for you ? " he asked suddenly, stopping be-
fore the secretary, who was making the soft
^' click, clicking " with all his might, though his
eyes were at that moment fixed on a row of
books just in front of him. Caroline was so
astonished that she forgot to notice what the
doctor said next, but gave her entire attention
to the secretary and his musical instrument.
She saw a strip of paper not over a half-inch in
width gliding under a tiny roller, and heaping
itself up on the floor in soft masses. She drew
a step nearer, and saw that this paper was cov-
ered with what looked like little straight marks ;
"as much alike as two peas in a pod," she
wrote to Ben in her next letter. "And don't
you think, Ben, it was a writing machine ! He
writes — the secretary does — just what Dr. For-
sythe says, as fast as he can say it. Then
when the doctor has gone on his round of calls,
the secretary reads over what he has written,
and copies it on his type-writer. Did you ever
hear anything like that? Why, I know you
did ! I remember now your telling me some-
thing about such a machine that you read of,

260 LEARNING.

and Rufus Kedwin said he did not believe there
was any such thing. Rufus never believes any-
thing that he has not seen, does he? If he
were here a little while 1 could show him sev-
eral things he does not believe could be found."
All this to Ben.

The doctor turned at last, and smiled on her
puzzled face, as he said: "Is that something
new? It is a stenograph. Have you time to
tell her a little about it, Edwards ? She carries
eyes which are interested in everything new.
If you have time to stop, Caroline, he will show
you how it works. But first, what is wanted of
me? I must be off."

Her errand done, Caroline gave ten happy
minutes to learning about the queer little ma-
chine, thinking in her heart all the while what
a description she would write of it to Ben, who
liked all kinds of machinery, especially if it had
to do with writing.

*' It is very queer indeed," she said ; "it does
not seem as though one could ever learn to read
tliat. Why, it is nothing but dashes, and they
are just exactly alike."

"To a dot! " said Edwards, laughing; "but

LEARNING. 251

3f you look closely you will see that they do not
by any means occupy the same space on
paper, nor are there by any means the same
number of them on a straight line ; and their
position on the paper show what letter they
stand for."

" It does not show me,'* said Caroline, look-
ing steadily at the slip of paper with an un-
utterably puzzled look.

' ' I presume not, any more than the dictionary
would have shown you how to spell a word be-
fore you knew your letters. You have to mas-
ter the alphabet first, just as you do with any
language."

*' Is it hard? " asked Caroline wistfully.

''Not at all hard; a wide-awake girl ought
to learn to read it in a couple of weeks. If you
like I will teach you how to read — and write,
too, for that matter. The doctor will have no
objection, I presume. He heartily believes in
people learning all they can in this world. He
says one can never tell where it is going to
chink in."

"I must tell that to Ben, any way," said
Caroline delightedly; "he is always saying

252 LEARNING.

such things, and we never know where he gets
them, unless he thinks them out." She hushed
back a little sigh over this last sentence ; it
seemed to her sometimes very strange that she
should be having all the advantages, and Ben
all the work ; and yet how eager he was to
learn, and how much he would have profited by
her opportunities! "I will learn everything
I can," she told herself resolutely, '' whether I
like to learn it or not ; I will do it if I get a
chance, just so I can teach it to Ben when I go
home."

This was the beginning of new lessons. Dr.
Forsythe, on being told of the plan, seconded
it warmly. " Learn to read and write the steno-
graph, by all means," he said. "The little ma-
chine is going to work a reform in the art of
writing some day ;• the sooner people realize it
and study it the better. A good type-writer
and stenographer can earn his living, and the
machine is destined to be used more and more
when people get acquainted with it." All this
was told to Ben, of course, in addition to what
had already been written. The very next letter
had in it a slip of narrow poper filled with

LEARNING. 253

neatly-made dashes. '' That is a Bible verse,"
Caroline explained; "it is ^Come unto me, all
ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will
give you rest.' I chose it because it has nearly
all the letters of the alphabet in it, and I wanted
you to see them. I know them all now. I
dreamed about them and said them over in my
sleep, until I could not forget them. You see,
Ben, there are word-signs as well as letters.
That very first letter which stands all alone is
c, and it stands for ' come.' The next letter
is w, and the next n, and the next ^, and the
next 0 ; then comes the letter m, which stands
for ' me.'

"Is it not queer? You can't think how I
like it ! I have taken a lesson on the machine
every day since I wrote to you about it. I
wrote that Bible verse myself, and Mr. Edwards
says there is not a mistake in it, and that I did
well. The machine is such a little darling ! I
just love to make it click. It has nine keys —
no, ten, counting the space key — but there are
only five dashes to make. I could not under-
stand at first what was the need of so many
keys, when they kept telling me that it could

264 LEARNING.

not make but five marks, but I have found out ;
there is one in the middle for the thumb to use,
then the four each side of it are just alike. I
mean they make just the same marks on the
paper. Well, all the marks are just alike, but
what I mean is, they put the marks in the same
place on the paper. I wonder if you understand
it? It does not sound clear at all; I'll tell it
different.

*' The dash which is at the top of the
paper is always s; now suppose you wanted
to make the letter s on the machine, you
touch the last key on the right hand and it is
made — a single dash at the very top of the
paper — but if you touch the last key on the
left hand it is made again. It is so with each
key ; whether you use your right or your left
hand you will make the same characters. Do
you see? That is so you can write real fast,
and not take time to jump your fingers over to
the right or the left. At first it does not seem
as though that could make any difference, but
when you watch Mr. Edwards write for a while
you know it does.

'^Did not I really tell you the name of the

LEARNING. 255

machine? How queer! it is a 'stenograph.*
O, Ben! how I wish you had one. Then we
could write to each other on it ; wouldn't that
be fun? But they cost twenty-five dollars.
Mr. Edwards writes the doctor's letters on his,
and his lectures and everything he wants writ-
ten. The doctor just walks the floor and talks,
and Mr. Edwards clicks away and looks around
the room."

' ' Is not that the greatest writing you ever
saw ? " Ben said, as, having told its story and
examined the curious slip of paper for the
dozenth time, he passed it to Rufus Kedwin.
Rufus glanced at it; his curiosity had been
satisfied at the first look, some time ago.

"There's no writing about it," he said loft-
ily, "that fellow is fooling her. Line is aw-
fully easily fooled, sometimes ; I don't believe
anybody can make reading out of just a lot of
dashes that are all alike ! "

" But didn't I tell you that Line had learned
the alphabet, and could read it herself? She
wrote this, and read it, too ; what do you mean,
anyhow? You don't think Line would under-
take to fool me, do you? "

256 LEARNING.

'* She might," said Rufus coolly ; "what does
she want to putter with such things for, any
way? She hasn't a machine, and if she had
what good would it do her? That's just ex-
actly like Line ; to go on learning things she
hasn't any use for, and never will have."

''You've turned prophet, haven't you?" said
Ben, good-naturedly. He had been provoked
for about one minute ; then he reflected how
utterly foolish it was to be provoked with a
boy who amounted to no more than Rufus
Kedwin. "I don't know how you or anybody
else is going to tell, yet «a while, whether Line
will ever have any use for that. She has done
pretty well with things that she has learned, so
far."

'' Humph ! " said Rufus. It was, not exactly
a sneer, but there was a contemptuous sound in
it which made Ben's face flush. He understood
what it meant, and concluded, like the wise boy
that he sometimes was, not to say one word in
reply.

CHAPTER XVIII. .

MACHINES AND NEWS,

BEN'S very next letter to Caroline had in it
this sentence : " I am tremendously inter-
ested in your dashes. I always am interested
in new things, you know, especially if they have
any machinery about them. Suppose you write
me a letter on the thing? You might send a
translation of it at the same time, but I am
learning the alphabet from the slip you sent,
and I have a fancy to see if I could make any
words out of your letter."

This sentence Caroline read to Dorothy, and
that evening she told her father about it.

''Good ! " said the busy man, in his cheeriest
tones; "you and I ought to be acquainted with
Ben, Pussy. How shall we manage it? Per-
haps we will write him a letter ourselves one of
these days."

257

268 MACHINES AND NEWS.

'*I think your father is wonderful," said
Caroline, following his retreating form with
admiring eyes. Dorothy gave a happy little
laugh.

*'I have always thought so," she said; "but
what makes you say so just now ? "

"Why, it is so wonderful that when he has
go many and such important things to think of,
and people waiting for him, and all that, that
he should take the trouble to think about Ben
and be interested in him ; it seems strange —
seems like a very great man. Not but what
Ben is worth thinking about," she said, with
flushing cheek; "but then he doesn't know
him, you see."

Dorothy laughed again. "Papa isn't like
any other papa," she said. "He is like — Z
will tell you, Caroline, who I think he is like.
I don't say it often because it wouldn't sound
right — people wouldn't understand what I
meant — but I think he is like Jesus Christ."

Caroline gave a little start of surprise. She
had never heard just that said about anybody,
and it did sound strange, but the more she won-
dered about it the more she thought it might be

MACHINES AND NEWS. 259

SO. He went about among sick people and
poor people a great deal, just as she knew
Jesus did when he was on earth, and just as
far as he was able he cured the sick ; and he
had always a kind word for everybody he met.
He certainly must be a little like Jesus. And
then this young girl, who had known about
Jesus all her life, felt her cheeks tingle with a
thought which almost made her ashamed ; she
already felt that she not only respected but
loved Dr. Forsythe, and wanted to please him
in every possible way. Why did she not love
Jesus Christ, and feel anxious to please him?
''It is because I do not know him," she told
herself, as alone in her room that night she
thought of it again while she wns brushing her
hair and braiding it for the night; ''it is dif-
ferent, and I cannot help f«eeling that it is. If
I could see him and hear him talk, and watch
his beautiful life, I am sure I should love him.'*
Then she opened her Bible to read the few
verses that she had always been in the habit of
reading quite by herself just before she knelt
down to pray.

It seemed very strange, in fact almost made

260 MACHINES AND NEWS,

her feel afraid, to see that the verse she opened
to began: "Blessed are they who have not
seen, and yet have believed.**

Was Jesus thinking that thought about hei
at that moment? I am not sure but just then
the first real desire to be a Christian that she
ever felt in her life came to Caroline Bryant.
She had often feebly wished for a few moments
that she were one, as one might wish for the
moon perhaps, but to-night she said in her
heart: ''It must be good to have him for a
real friend, and know that you love him and
are pleasing him. Oh ! why am I not one of
his friends ? '*

New things, or at least things which were
new to Caroline, were very common in Dr. For-
sythe*s house. The next one which interested
her deeply she found in the kitchen. None of
her duties lay in that direction, and it happened
that she had been in the house for several weeks
before she had done more than pass through it.
One morning she was sent to the cook with a
message from Mrs. Packard, and stopped in
astonishment near the door to listen to a pecu-
liar rumbling noise. "What in the world can

MACHINES AND NEWS. 261

that be?" she said to herself. "Something
must be wrong with the steam pipes. I won-
der if I ought to go somewhere and try to find
out? Why, the noise comes from the kitchen.
The cook must be there."

The noise ceased as suddenly as it had come,
and no harm appeared to have resulted. Caro-
line pushed open the kitchen door, and found
not only the cook, but Nancy, the dining-room
girl, standing beside a large shining box and
watching with apparent satisfaction a stream
of soapsuds falling out from a faucet under-
neath. Inside the box were rows and rows of
dishes : platters, vegetable dishes, cups, saucers,
glasses, spoons ; in short, everything which had
a little while ago been on the well-filled breakfast
table was arranged in orderly rows within that
box. Each group of dishes seemed to have
rooms of their own. The saucers fitted into
neat little wire shelves which apparently had
been made to receive them; the cups looked
down on them from wire shelves above, while
quite down below was another division alto-
gether, where the plates and other heavy dishes
had it all their own way.

202 MAGIIINES AND NEWS.

Nancy laughed merrily over the puzzled look
on Caroline's face. The two had been good
friends since the evening Caroline had offered
to tinish setting the table, and let Nancy go
out on an errand which she was eager to do.

"Did you never see anything like this be-
fore 1 " she asked. As she spoke she dashed a
pailful of water over the dishes, which Caroline
knew from the steam that arose must have been
very hot. She gave an involuntary start toward
the cut glass pitcher, and said : " Why, Nancy,
you will break the glasses ! "

" O, no, I won't ! " said Nancy, in perfect
unconcern; "they have been tempered in the
first water, and will bear it pretty near to
boiling. Now they have been washed, and I
am going to rinse them off." Down went the
cover, and, grasping the handle, Nancy turned
it vigorously. The surprising noise was ac-
counted for. Only a few turns, and again she
opened the faucet, let the water flow out, and
dashed still another pailful over the steaming
dishes.

" There ! " she said, with a triumphant air,
as she raised the cover once more, "now dry;

MACHINES AND NEWS. 263

you are hot enough to do it in a hurry, and
my morning's work is done in short order.
Wouldn't you like to wash and rinse and dry
dishes as quick as that if you had them to do ? "

"I never saw anything like it in my life,"
said Caroline, in intense admiration, "nor
heard of anything like it. Do you always
wash the dishes that way ? "

"Three times a day," said Nancy trium-
phantly, ' ' a great army of them ; we use the
most dishes in this house of any place I ever
heard of; every time Kate turns around she
uses seven or eight fresh ones. It used to
make me downright vexed ; but since we got
this thing I don't care ; it don't turn no harder
when it's full than when it's half -full."

"Isn't it wonderful?" said Caroline, reach-
ing for a cup, and admiring the fine polish on
its shining surface. " O, dear! what a com-
fort such a machine would be to a woman I
know."

"Your ma, I suppose," said Nancy, sympa-
thetically ; "if she has as many dishes to wash
it certainly would."

Caroline laughed ; she had visions just then

264 MACUINES AND NEWS.

of the large machine in her mother's already
too crowded room, washing her few small
dishes.

** It is not my mother; she has a little bit of
a family, and only a few dishes to wash, but a
lady lives a little way from us who keeps a
boarding-house, and she does have such hard
work to get her dishes washed clean. It takes
a great deal of time. She told me once she
had harder work to get a dish-washer to suit
her than she did a cook."

*'It is harder to do than cooking," said
Nancy. "Take it year in and year out I
would rather cook than wash dishes in the old-
fashioned way, enough sight; but with this
thing it is all done up in a few minutes and off
your mind."

Caroline did not know that Nancy could not
have cooked even a simple dinner if she had
tried, but the cook did, and giggled. Then
Caroline did her errand and ran away, her
mind full of the new machine, and what a
thing it would be if Fanny and Rufus Kedwin
could get their mother one for Christmas. The
word "Christmas" made her sigh; the idea of

MACHINES AND NEWS. 265

being away from home on that day of all
others ! But hard upon the sigh came a smile,
for she already knew several pretty secrets for
Christmas.

That afternoon, as she and Dorothy came
from school, Dr. Forsythe opened the door of
his reception-room and invited them in. It was
after office hours, and he was alone. *' Here is
a letter for you," he said to Caroline, **Come
in here and read it if you wish, while I talk to
this young lady a bit," and he dropped into a
great leather-covered chair and gathered Doro-
thy into his arms, beginning to take off rubbers
and wraps, as he asked about the day's delights ;
for school life was one long-drawn-out delight
to Dorothy. Presently an exclamation of as-
tonishment, slightly tinctured with dismay,
made them both turn toward Caroline.

'*No unpleasant news, I hope?" said the
doctor.

Caroline blushed and smiled. ** No, sir; it
is good news, I suppose."

'*But you are not quite sure?" Dorothy
laughed. '*Why, Caroline," she said, '*you
spoke exactly as though you were not quite

2«6 MACHINES AND NEWS.

sure; and how could that be? All news are
either so very good or so very bad. There is
no half-way about them, is there, father? "

"Not to a nature like yours," said her father,
regarding her with the fond grave smile with
which he often looked at his fair darling.

"Well," said Caroline, slightly embarrassed,
"there are two people coming to the city whom
I know, and of course I shall like to see them
if I have a chance ; but " — and here she
stopped.

" Friends of yours? " asked the doctor.

"Yes, sir; at least I thought they were.
Yes, sir ; they are friends, of course. We used
to be quite intimate, but" — She really did
not know how to express herself, and this ac-
counted for those awkward pauses.

"Is that a conundrum for Dorothy and me
to guess ? " Dr. Forsythe asked, smiling kindly.
• "No, sir,*' with a little embarrassed laugh;
" what I mean is, I do not know whether thej^
will want to see me now." Then her cheeks
flamed, and she felt that she had said a very
strange thing.

Dr. Forsythe knew her but very little, and

MACHINES AND NEWS. 267

he did not know her mother or Ben at all.
What would he think she had been doing to
make her feel that perhaps friends with whom
she had once been very intimate might not want
to see her now? What could he think but that
something very wrong in some way had hap-
pened? Yet how was she to explain to him
what she really meant? Her embarrassment
was painful, but the doctor did not seem in-
clined to help her ; he sat looking thoughtfully
at her with a kind, and yet a grave face. What
he was thinking was something very different
from Caroline's supposition. He did not dis-
trust her in the least; and he had received
letters enough from Mrs. Bryant to come to
his own conclusions about her. The thought
uppermost in his mind just then was : ' ' What a
mercy and a blessing it has been to us to secure
for our darling such a girl as this to be with
her all the time. A wise, patient, loving,
womanly little girl, who can be trusted, and
whom Dorothy loves with all her heart. I
shall certainly never forget one who makes so
bright my darling's days." But the thought
which always shadowed this father came with

268 MACHINES AND NEWS.

force to him just then. None knew better than
he how few his darling's days might be.

Caroline, mistaking the gravity, came to a
sudden conclusion ; she reached forth the letter
with a quick, nervous gesture. "Dr. For-
sythe," she said, "have you time just to read
that page? Then you will know what I mean."

"I will read it with pleasure if you would
like to have me do so," the doctor answered.
»'Is it from Ben?"

"From Ben and mother; a little piece of it
is mother's." And Dr. Forsythe read :

*'I've great news for you, Line; Fanny and Rufus Kedwin
are going to Philadelphia for the holidays. That uncle of
theirs about whom they were always talking has sent them
money enough to go ; and Mrs. Kedwin is working half the
night trying to get them prinked up. Mother is helping her
some. Rufus feels very large, and talks to Fanny until she
thinks she feels large too, only she forgets to carry it out
sometimes ; they are both as silly as ever — more so, in fact.

" I'm going to tell you what they said last night, so you will
understand things, and not feel troubled. They were over
here with their mother, getting advice from our mother about
how to make over a dress, and some other things. I said to
Rufus: * It seems funny to think of your seeing Line in a few
da}"^.* * Humph! ' Rufus said, * I don't know whether we shall
see her or not. She has done such a queer thing that I think
she does not expect to have much to do with her friends.'

"•What do you mean?' I asked, and he laughed, and
looked half-ashamed for a minute; then he said: * Well, now,
Ben, there's no use in going around a thing forever; you know
it is very odd in Line to go and be just a common servant. '

MACHINES AND NEWS, 269

My uncle's folks don't associate with such people, and they
might think it queer if we had much to do with her. I think
it was downright mean in Line to go and do such a thing when
she wasn't obliged to; it makes it awfully disagreeable for her
friends.*

" I felt for a moment as though I should like to knock him;
but I held my tongue until I could speak about as usual, then
I said, ' Line is a rather uncommon servant, I thmk you will
find.'

" * Yes,' said Fanny, putting her voice in eagerly, as though
she wanted to do something to make things pleasant ; ' 1 know
she must be splendid ; I should like to be rich and have Line
to wait on me. I should like nothing better.' Well, that Was
sillier than anything even Rufus had said, but she meant it
well, so I could afford to laugh ; and I said I could think of
several things Line would like better, but of course the}' need
not go and see her unless they chose.

"*0h! of course we will see her,' Rufus said; 'we will go
once, anyhow, because we have those things of your mother's
to take to her, and that will be excuse enough to give to our
uncle ; but of course we cannot do as we Would if she was not
living out. I do not suppose they want to have people ring-
ing the bell and asking to see her, anyhow; mother says they
won't; that people never like it.'

"Well, there was a good deal more of that kind of stuff,
that I need not waste the paper to write down ; I am only tak-
ing the trouble to tell this so that you will understand things
better when they come, and not be hurt, j'ou know. They are
not worth your thinking of them twice, and you and T know it.
If they would stay away entirely, I would be glad; then I
would have kept still about their silly talk ; but mother asked
them to take your sack, and a few little things from Daisy,
before we thought how they would feel. The truth is, I did
not know before that they were such dreadful simpletons."

Then followed a few lines in another hand :

" Ben has written you somewhat more fully than was worth
while, daughter, about poor Rufus and Fanny, though I advised

270 MACHINES AND NEWS.

him to tell you just how they felt, that you might not be un-
pleasantly surprised when you met them. I hope my daughter
will have pity for the follies and failings of her friends ; they
are hardly to be blamed. They have been surrounded all their
lives by people who held false views of l\fe, so that very much
cannot be expected of them. I continually hope for them that
some influence may come to both in time to save them, else
their lives will be a failure. If my Caroline will learn to pray
for them, and will cultivate the sort of feeling which belongs
to eaxnest prayer, she may be able to save them both."

CHAPTER XIX.

ENTERTAINING COMPANY.

THAT is a letter to be proud of," said Dr.
Forsythe, as he returned it; ''not every
girl has a mother who lives so as to be able to
write it. Now about these friends of yours.
When do you say you expect them? and do
you know where their uncle lives ? "

Caroline named a street and number. She
did not know where it was, but the doctor
recognized it as one of the obscure streets of
the city, a long distance from his home.

"They are to come on Monday, you say?
Well, let me see. On Tuesday they will prob-
ably be busy with their relatives. How would it
do to send the carriage for them on Wednesday,
and have them here when you and Dorothy re-
turn from school? You would like that, would

you?"

271

272 ENTERTAINING COMPANY.

''The carriage ! " said Caroline, almost gasp-
ing the words. No thought of such remarkable
distinction as that had occurred to her as being
given to any of her friends.

"Certainly," said Dr. Forsythe, smiling;
*' it would save you a long trip down there to
call upon them, and save time in every way.
Then we could have them remain to dinner with
us, and get acquainted with your surroundings.
You would have time to take them to drive,
perhaps, and finally return them safely to their
uncle's house by dark. I think that will be the
better way to manage ; that is, if you would
like to show them such attention. Am I to
understand that it would give you pleasure to
do so?"

Caroline's eyes answered for her, even before
she spoke ; nothing that had ever happened to
her gave her more thorough satisfaction. To
be able to show attention to Fanny and Rufus,
to show them just how she was treated in this
elegant home to which she had come ; to give
them the pleasure of a ride in a handsome car-
riage, behind fine horses ; to be able to act as
mistress of ceremonies and show them some of

ENTERTAINING COMPANY. 273

the wonders of city life ; nothing that the doc-
tor had planned could give her greater pleasure.

''O, Dr. Forsythe ! " she began, "I don't
know how — I cannot tell what to say, nor
how to say it " — He interrupted her with a
genial laugh. " Never mind, you have said it,
or your eyes have for you; it is a very con-
venient thing sometimes to have eyes that talk.
Very well, we will consider it settled, then, that
the carriage goes on Wednesday to meet your
friends. I hope it will be a pleasant day, and
that you will have a good time, and be able to
show them every possible attention ; help them
to feel at home in the city, and help them to
realize that you feel at home. As for Dorothy,
here, she likes new people, and I feel sure it
will give her great delight to assist in entertain-
ing them." And then Dr. Forsythe, who had
spent more time than he often had to bestow
upon them, hastened away.

Never was a brighter day than Wednesday ;
the sun seemed to be doing what it could to
celebrate the coming of Fanny and Rufus Ked-
win to Philadelphia. If the truth must be told,
however, these two young people away from

274 ENTERTAINING COMPANY.

home for the first time were the least bit in the
world homesick. The cousins were older than
themselves, and on this particular afternoon
had an engagement which it was impossible to
avoid, so they said, and had left Fanny and
Rufus to the care of their aunt. She, good
woman, was doing the best to entertain them,
calling the baby to her aid. But the two, who
were accustomed to a great deal of exercise in
the open air, as the day wore along found it
very dismal to be sitting in a small, dark room
— at least, it seemed dark to them — looking out
on a narrow street where nothing of very special
interest was going on.

Fanny turned from the window at last with a
long-drawn sigh, and said aloud : ' ' I wish we
could see Caroline this afternoon; don't you,
Rufus?"

''Who is Caroline?" questioned the aunt,
and an explanation followed. "A servant girl,
eh?" she said, with lifted eyebrows; "I don't
know ; I am afraid it will be rather difficult to
plan — your seeing her. People do not like to
have their servants receive company, you know.
It isn't always convenient. Besides, Dr. For-

ENTERTAINING COMPANY. 275

sytlie lives a long way from here. Was your
mother willing to have you go there ? "

Fanuy hastened to keep up the dignity of the
family. "Mother didn't know; she said we
must get Caroline's package to her, and that
we must remember we were neighbors at home ;
and really we would truly like to see her. She
is a good girl."

" Oh ! I have no doubt of it ; but — her cir-
cumstances are different from yours. However,
we will ask your uncle about it, and bring it to
pass if we can. If we cannot plan so as to
make it convenient for you to go there we can
send the package, so that will be all right.
Don't worry about it."

Rufus had taken no part in this conversation,
for the reason that he was engaged in watching
the movements of a splendid span of horses
that were apparently picking their way through
the narrow and muddy street ; the driver, Rufus
thought, was as fine a looking gentleman as he
had seen in the city. To his great surprise,
and of course delight, the horses were reined
in before his uncle's door, and he turned with
marked excitement to his aunt.

276 ENTEllTAINING COMPANY.

'*Aunt Fanny, there's a splendid carriage
and a magnificent span of horses stopping here,
and the driver is getting down and coming to
the door. Who do you suppose he wants ? "

''Dear me!" said Aunt Fanny, "I don't
know. I wish your uncle was at home. He is
on business, of course. Fanny, will you take
the baby and let me see what it is ? Hannah
is always out when I need her most."

She left the door ajar, and to their great de-
light they could hear every word that passed
between their aunt and the stranger.

'' Dr. Forsythe's compliments, and would it
be convenient for Miss Fanny and Mr. Rufus
Kedwin to dine with Miss Caroline Bryant that
evening? The doctor had sent the carriage for
the purpose of taking them to his house."

Rufus and Fanny looked at each other.
Could they believe their ears? A carriage for
the purpose of taking them to dine with Caro-
line Bryant !

''What in the world does it all mean? " mut-
tered Rufus.

Then came his aunt, excited and voluble. A
bustle of preparation followed, while that gen-

ENTERTAINING COMPANY. 277

tlemanly coachman paced back and forth on the
pavement, and the high-stepping horses arched
their necks and pawed the ground.

Before they had thoroughly realized what
wonderful thing had happened to them, Rufus
and Fanny were bowling along in a carriage
the like of which they had never entered before.
They had not yet recovered their senses enough
to talk to each other, and indeed their eyes were
so busily engaged in gazing out of the window
on the strange sights which everywhere pre-
sented themselves as soon as they were in one
of the main streets, that they had no desire to
talk. But the drive was long, and before they
had reached Dr. Forsythe's they found their
tongues again, and began once more to wonder
what it could all mean.

"Dear me ! " said Fanny, looking out at last
on the house, which seemed to her magnificent,
and which bore the name " Forsythe " on the
door-plate, "I must say I'm a little bit scared.
Rufus, do you suppose there could be some
mistake ? "

"What is there to be scared about?" growled
Rufus. "They sent for us, and here we are;

278 ENTERTAINING COMPANY.

if they hadn't wanted us they needn't have sent.
It will be fun to see Line, anyhow."

By the time their wraps were disposed of,
and they were seated in state in what seemed
to them a grand parlor, Caroline came. Was
it Caroline? It is true that not very many
weeks had passed since they had seen her, but
this young girl who came eagerly forward to
meet them wore such a pretty dress, and had
her hair done in such a new-fashioned way, and
altogether looked so much like what Fanny
called ' ' cityfied " that for a moment she was
almost abashed.

But there was no mistaking Caroline's greet'
ing. She was unaffectedly and heartily glad to
see them. She asked dozens of questions about
home and mother and Daisy and Ben. ''Just
to think," she said, looking at them, "that you
saw my mother and all of them only the other
day. O, dear ! I'm afraid you make me almost
homesick."

"I shouldn't think you need be homesick
here," said Rufus, looking around him with
intense curiosity. "Say, Line, what does it
all mean ? "

ENTERTAINING COMPANY. 279

''What?" asked Caroline, laughing.

"Why, this. How did you happen to ask us
to come here, and send a carriage for us, and
everything ? I thought you were a — a " —

Caroline interrupted him, laughing again.
"You thought I worked for my living, didn't
you ? Well, I do ; at least they say I do, only
it doesn't seem to me that I do anything at all
except go to school and study and have good
times."

Then came Dorothy, fair and sweet in her
white dress, and with her gentle, womanly ways.
She fascinated Fanny at once.

It was a day to be remembered forever in the
annals of the Kedwin family. From thence-
forth for years they dated their experiences
from ' ' that day when we took dinner at Dr.
Forsythe's, you know." Caroline showed them
all over the beautiful house ; they went to the
library, to the conservatory, to the music-room,
and saw pictures and flowers and books, and,
what was more to both of them, I am afraid,
than all of these, elegant furniture such as they
had never seen before.

Truth to tell. Dr. Forsythe would have been

2:0 ENTERTAINING COMPANY.

astonished had he known that they considered
everything about his establishment magnificent.
To those accustomed to the real elegance of
city life this was only a large, plain, pleasantly
furnished, cheerful house ; but to Fanny and
Rufus Kedwin it was paradise.

Caroline took them to her own room. There
the two stared about them in astonishment over
the beauty and elegance everywhere displayed.

''You don't say you have this all to your-
self ! " said Fanny. "I thought you slept with
Dorothy and took care of her."

''O, no indeed! Dr. Forsythe doesn't allow
any one to sleep with her ; he doesn't think it
is healthful ; but the nurse sleeps very close to
her, with folding doors between, and they are
left open. No, I do not have any care of her
at all at night; Dr. Forsythe says I am too
young to have any burden of care upon me
while I ought to be sleeping."

'' He must be tip- top," said Rufus.

''He is the best man I ever knew," said
Caroline promptly. Presently came the sum-
mons to dinner. The light and beauty of the
great dining-room, the many courses served

ENTERTAINING COMPANY. 281

with exquisite taste and care, especially the
elegant grandmother, hushed Rufus and Fanny
into almost utter silence. Perhaps, however,
the thing that astonished them most that even-
ing was the fact that the dignified table waiter
always said "Miss Caroline," and waited with
as much deference to see how he could ser^^e
her as he did before the grandmother herself.

After dinner came the wonderful ride through
the brilliantly-lighted streets of the city, the
young folks resting back luxuriously among the
cushions of the carriage. " Do you often have
a ride in this thing ? " Ruf us asked.

"Every pleasant day," said Caroline, in an
unconcerned tone. "Look, Ruf us ! there is
our school building ; that is where Dorothy and
I go every morning. That's my room up there
on the third floor. O, Fanny ! you don't know
what a splendid school it is."

" You take music lessons and all, don't
you?" asked Ruf us.

"Yes, indeed ! Oh ! I like the music teacher
ever so much. He has a quick, sharp way of
speaking, and some of the girls think he is
cross ; but he isn't, a bit. O, Fanny ! if you

282 ENTERTAINING COMPANY.

and Rufus and Ben could all be here at this
school wouldn't it be perfectly splendid ? " The
fact is^ their young hostess was in a perfect
flutter of delight. What a thing it had been
for Dr. Forsythe to invite them to dinner and
send the carriage for them and treat them* in
evei*y way as if they were distinguished guests !
*'He could not have done any more if I had
been his own daughter," Caroline reflected, as
she rode back alone, having bade a cordial
good-by to her friends and promised to come
and see them if she could. '' But it is a very
long way," she said, ''from our house, you
know, and we are very, very busy getting ready
for the holidays.'*

She did not hear what Rufus said as he went
grumblingly up his aunt's steps. "It seems to
me Line puts on a good many airs about ' we *
and ' us ' and ' the holidays ' and all. The
next thing you know she'll be getting stuck up,
and feel above us."

"I don't think she seemed a bit stuck up,'*
said the gentler Fanny, " and I had a real
good time, Rufus. I'm glad she has such a
nice place. Isn't Dorothy lovely? '*

ENTERTAINING COMPANY. 283

"She has all the nice times, she and Ben,"
he said, as they waited on the low white door-
steps for some one to let them into the house.
''I always said Ben Bryant had all the luck
there was in the world; some folks do have.
No such nice times as Line is having ever came
to you, Fanny, or ever will."

This time even Fanny could not help laugh-
ing a little. Certainly he had never found it
necessary to envy Line Bryant before.

To Caroline, sitting back among the cushions
watching the many scenes of interest, and think-
ing her thoughts, there came the memory of a
day when she stood looking disconsolately out
of the window watching a handsome carriage
pass, and said to Ben : ''I believe I could step
gracefully into a carriage if I had a chance. I
wonder if I ever will have a chance ? " Here
she was having her ''chance," and it had not
even occurred to her to notice whether she
stepped gracefully into the carriage or not.
She laughed a frank, glad laugh as she thought
of that foolish sentence, and of how little,
after all, graceful steps and matters of that
kind amounted to when one came to real living,

284 ENTERTAINING COMPANY.

and wondered whether her other dreams — fan-
cies that had been so numerous — if time should
ever bring them to pass for her as it had the
stepping into the handsome carriage — would
amount to as little as that did. Then she dis-
missed them from her mind altogether, and
gave herself up to the delights of the coming
Christmas, and the thought of the surprises she
was getting ready for mother and Daisy and
Ben ; she remembered how good Dr. Forsythe
was to make it possible for her to have such
surprises, and altogether was glad and thank-
ful and happy.

'* Hey ! " called a shrill voice on the sidewalk,
just as they were passing through one of the
side streets to reach a main avenue ; and lean-
ing forward Caroline saw a woman gesticulating
eagerly, apparently to the coachman. Joseph,
who seemed to have eyes on every side of him
when hp drove, saw her, and promptly reined
in his horses. Caroline, leaning forward,
heard: "Isn't that Dr. Forsythe's carriage?
I thought so. Is he inside? Look here, can't
you drive right straight home and tell him my
Dorry has got hurt dreadful? He's been to a

ENTERTAINING COMPANY. 2S5

fire ; it's his leg ; I guess it's broke ; and I
don't know what to do, and the folks don't
know what to do. I can't find no doctor that
knows what he is about. They have just sent
that little green fellow with white hair and no
eyebrows from the hospital, and he don't know
much, I guess. Anyhow, I'm most sure that
Dr. Forsythe would come if he knew. Can't
you let him know right straight off ? "

Joseph expressed his willingness to make all
possible speed home and report as to the
accident.

"You know me," said the woman, "don't
you? I'm Miss Perkins, the doll-maker. Dr.
Forsythe will know ; he knows just where I am,
and about Dorry, and everything."

"Miss Perkins, the doll-maker! " Caroline
had heard that name before. For the first time
since she had been in Philadelphia it dawned
upon her that she was in the city where lived
the woman who had made so many of Daisy's
doUs.

"Miss Perkins, Doll-maker," was to be found
on almost every dollie that Caroline's patient
fingers had dressed. She and Daisy had often

280 ENTERTAINING COMPANY,

■JTondered together about her ; how she came to
make dolls for a living, why she made them,
whether she had little children who loved to
watch her at work at them ; whether she learned
to love the dollies and think about them after-
wards, and wonder who their mothers were,
whether they were nicely cared for and their
clothes kept neat. Here was a chance to find
out. She had a ''Dorry," any way, and he was
in trouble. Caroline felt almost as eager to
get home as Miss Perkins had been to have
them, and offered to carry the message at once
to the doctor, while Joseph waited outside.

CHAPTER XX.

GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED. ,-

FOR a wonder the doctor was in, and at
leisure. He recognized Miss Perkins'
name at once, and himself opened the door and
called to Joseph that he might take him, in
a few minutes, to her house. Turning to
Caroline he asked: " Do you know anything
about her, Caroline ? Your face looks as though
some friend of yours had had an accident."

Then, very briefly, Caroline told the doll
story, and explained how often Daisy had
wondered about Miss Perkins.

' ' She has no one to care for but this poor
nephew of hers," the doctor explained; "but
he has given her more trouble than if she had
half a dozen children of the ordinary kind.
Dorry is inclined to live on the street altogether
too much for his good.
287

288 GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED.

" Would you like to go down there with nie
and see the doll-maker and her nephew? You
might possibly make yourself useful."

Startled as she was at the thought of a ride
with Dr. Forsythe alone, and a call upon stran-
gers, she yet could not resist the telnptation.
What a thing it would be to tell Daisy that she
had seen the doll-maker herself ! And perhaps
there would be dolls scattered around, in dif-
ferent stages of development, waiting to be
described.

On the whole, Caroline decided that it would
be a wonderful ending to a wonderful day.

*' Did you enjoy your visit with your
friends ? " was the first question Dr. Forsythe
asked, as the carriage rolled away.

''O, yes!" said Caroline eagerly. ''Dr.
Forsythe, I thank you so much. It was such
a wonderful chance to show Fanny Kedwin all
sorts of things that she wouldn't have had a
chance to see. And then besides " — and she
came to one of her full pauses.

"Yes," said the doctor encouragingly, "and
then besides " —

She turned toward him with a bright little

GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED. 289

laugh, and a flush on her face. " I don't know
quite how to put the 'besides.' I don't know
whether it was nice in me, or not, to feel a
little glad that they should see what a pretty
room I had, and how sweet Dorothy is, and
how good everybody is to me."

"There is nothing especially wicked about
that," said the doctor, with his grave smile,
' ' provided you let it stop at just the right
point. If you were glad because you thought
they would be relieved, and would have a
pleasant story to tell your mother, and it would
cheer her heart, and because it would help them
to get a little better view of life than they had
had, that is one thing. But suppose you had
been glad because you knew they would be dis-
contented because their uncle's house didn't
happen to be situated quite so pleasantly as
they thought yours was, or because their uncle's
horses didn't go so fast as ours do, that, you
could see, would be quite another matter."

Caroline's flush deepened, and she answered
only with respectful silence. Truth to tell, she
was only too conscious that there was at least
a little bit of this feeUno- lurking in her heart.

290 GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED.

Not 80 much for Fanny as for Rufus Kedwin ;
he had been such a hopeless boaster, and had
said such disagreeable things about her to Ben ;
she could hardly help a little feeling of triumph
over him.

The doctor's next question startled her so
that she nearly tumbled from her seat.

*' Are your young friends Christians?"

" O, no, sir!" she answered; "I don't be-
lieve they think much about such things. Their
mother isn't a Christian, Dr. Forsythe ; they
don't go to church, any of them, nuicli. Their
mother keeps boarders, and she has to work
very hard, and Fanny and Rufus don't like to
go to church. They go to Sunday-school, but
they don't attend church except when they
can't help it. But that doesn't surprise me
very much. I didn't use to like to go when I
was at home. Our minister is — well, I don't
know what he is, Dr. Forsythe. He is just as
different from your minister as anything can be."

'' Going to church ought not to be a matter
of liking or not liking the minister, you know,"
said Dr. Forsythe, with his kind smile. ''We
are supposed to go to church to worship God ;

GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED. 291

but I grant you that most people think too
much of the minister part — as to whether he is
agreeable or not, T mean. But my question
reminds me of a more important one which I
have been intending to ask for some time,
How is it with Caroline Bryant, is she a
Christian? "

Silence for what seemed to Caroline a long
embarrassing time ; then she said, speaking
low : "I don't know. Dr. Forsythe ; I know I
was not when I was at home. Mother and
Daisy and Ben are, and I know it used to
almost provoke me sometimes that Ben thought
so much about these things. He didn't seem
to belong to me so much, you know. But since
I have come here, and have heard little Dorothy
read in the Bible, and heard her pray, and heard
you pray, Dr. Forsythe, I feel very differently.
But I don't feel at all sure that I am a Christian.
I want to be, I think I try to be ; but I am not
even quite sure what it is to be a Christian."

"It is a very simple matter," said Dr. For-
sythe, " and one that can be decided in a few
minutes. You may not be a Christian now,
but if you honestly want to be there is no

292 GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED.

reason in the world why you should not become
one before you leave this carriage to-night."

Caroline looked her surprise. " I thought
Christians had to be very different from other
people?"

"A Christian," said the doctor, "is one who
takes the Lord Jesus Christ for his pattern,
and tries to think and speak and act as he
would have him. Now you can see that it
rests with you to decide whether you desire to
do this, and intend to do it. Sometimes people
have a passing wish to become Christians, but
it is not strong enough to stay with them and
rule their lives. They do not come to a posi-
tive decision. They think, and hope, and say
'Perhaps' to-day, and to-morrow forget all
about it ; and the next day think a little again,
but fail to bring themselves to that one point
where the soul says, with all the power that
is in it, 'I will.' Just as soon as you reach
that point, my dear Caroline, you become a
Christian."

But Caroline still looked bewildered. "Do
not people have to have their hearts changed ? "
she asked timidly.

GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED. 293

"Indeed they do ; but that is the Lord's part ;
we have nothing to do with it. What he has
given to us is to decide. Let me see if I can
not make it plain by iUustratiou. You know
when I asked you to come and stay with us at
our house, and care for Dorothy, and be a
helper to us all, you thought about it a great
deal, and was doubtful. One hour you felt as
if you would come, and the next hour as if you
would not for anything ; and I, meantime, did
not know what your decision was, could not
plan for you in any way. But there came a
moment when the thing was settled, when you
said to me, ' I will, come. Dr. Forsythe, and do
the best I can.' Do you not see that there was
one moment when the question was unsettled,
and the next it was settled, so far as you were
concerned, and for that matter so far as I was
concerned? for the moment I received your
answer I knew how to arrange.

"The illustration is faulty, for our Father
in Heaven knows what our decision will be.
Nevertheless, from our side it is plain enough.
He has seen fit to give this part of ^he matter
to US; We must eome to a conclusion - We

294 GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED.

must decide, and once for all, that as for us
we are resolved to take Jesus Christ for our
pattern and serve him as well as we can. The
question is, is Caroline Bryant resolved to do
this? Does she mean to decide it to-night?"

Silence for a minute, then Caroline's voice,
low but firm, "I want to. Dr. Forsythe." He
turned his kind gray eyes upon her and smiled.

"The question is, will you? " he said. "Are
you so sure you want to that you are willing to
bow your head now and here, and say : ' Jesus
Christ, I have decided to take thee for my pat-
tern, to try to serve thee in all that I say or do
or think. Wilt thou take me froni this moment
and make me thine own ? '

**I do not mean, of course, that you must
use just those words, but that is the thought
which you will express. Are you willing to do
this ? " It required a struggle to answer. Caro-
line felt that she was willing to say the words,
but to say them before Dr. Forsythe was
another matter. She hesitated and looked up
at him almost pitifully, with eyes full of tears.
But he had no further word to speak, and sim-
ply waited. Suddenly she came to a fixed re^

GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED. 295

solve. She wanted to be a Christian, she meant
to be one ; if this was the way she would do it.
What if she did blunder and stammer and get
the words all mixed up? Dr. Forsythe would
not care, and surely Jesus Christ would not, if
she really meant them with her heart. Down
went her head into her hands, and a tremulous,
yet very distinct voice murmured: "Jesus
Christ, I want to be thine own ; I want to serve
thee ; I want to speak and act and think just
what thou wouldst have me ; and if thou wilt
take me, I will begin to serve thee now."

Instantly Dr. Forsythe's voice took up the
story : " Lord Jesus, thou hast heard the words
of this thy young servant ; take her from this
moment for thine own forever, and help her in
all ways to honor the Saviour to whom she be-
longs. This thou hast promised, and this we
believe thou wilt perform. Amen." Just as
the last word was spoken the carriage drew up
before a little house, and the doctor, springing
out, gave his hand to Caroline. She followed
him up the steps, and while he waited for his
ring to be answered, wiped the tears from her
eyes.

2% GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED.

Dorry's case was soon disposed of. " It is
a broken leg, without any doubt," said Dr.
Forsytbe cheerily, ' ' but we will have him com-
fortable in a few days, and in a few weeks as
well as ever ; and in the meantime he will be
out of mischief ; " this last spoken in lower
tones to the long-suffering aunt, Miss Perkins.

"Yes," she said, with a little quivering
attempt at a smile, ' ' I thought of that if he
gets along all nice and right it will be a good
thing for him, maybe. It might teach him a
lesson, you know. He was where he hadn't
ought to have been, or it wouldn't have hap-
pened. Dorry don't mean to do wrong. Doctor ;
it is just kind of mischief ; he is so brimful of
mischief — that's what is the matter."

'' It will do him good to rest from it a little
while,'* said the doctor, drawing on his gloves,
*'and in the meantime the young people will
have to look after him a little. My friend
Caroline, here, will come and cheer him up, I
fancy, once in a while — eh, Caroline ? "

"I shall be very glad to, sir," said Caroline,
" if I can."

She had held the lamp for which the doctor

GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED. 297

called, the gas not being in the right place to
throw light where it was needed, and had
watched with bated breath, the swift, skillful
fingers as they cared for the injured limb, and
had felt very sorry for the pale-faced boy.
Caroline liked boys — was used to boys. Had
not Ben and she been companions always?
She thought of several things she might do to
cheer Dorry, so the smile was free and glad with
which she answered the doctor's question.

"Bless your heart ! " said Miss Perkins, pat-
ting her lovingly on the shoulder ; "it would
be worth a fortune to my Dorry if some nice
young folks like you would take a little notice
of him ; he is that fond of company that he
don't know what to do with himself. It isn't
any wonder that he loves to be in the streets
when he ought to be at home ; you see there's
nobody but me to keep him company. If you
will come and see him once in a while I'll never
forget it of you, never."

Christmas morning was as bright as though
it had been a May day instead of December.
With the first gray streaks of dawn Caroline

298 GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED.

awakened, and lay still in very gladness to
think over it all.

It would not do to be lonely or sad to-day,
even though she was far away from home.
This was to be a rare Christmas Day, to be
remembered in all her after years; the first
time she could think of herself as certainly a
Christian. The days in which she had been
indifferent to this matter were past; the days
in which "she had been troubled in her con-
science about the subject, and angry with her-
self and angry with others were past ; the days
in which she said, with timid voice, *'I hope,"
**I think," were past.

Since the evening when she took that never-
to-be-forgotten ride with Dr. Forsythe, and
bowed her head in the carriage and gave her-
self away to Jesus, there had been in her heart
a glad solemn feeling that she belonged to him.

'' I am a servant of Jesus Christ." She said
the words often to herself, almost startled at
first, but rejoicing in them. She said the words
again this Christmas morning aloud steadily,
with a glad ring in her voice. How glad
mother would be, and Daisy and Ben. She

GItJSAT QUESTIONS SETTLED. 299

had written to them the story. She knew it
would make their Christmas bright.

Then there were other lovely experiences
connected with this day. Such a wonderful
box as she had sent, addressed to her mother ;
or rather boxes, for there were several of them.
In the first place, the great "Pictorial, Un-
abridged Dictionary," which had long been the
desire of Ben's heart, had actually gone to him
by express.

A letter of his which in an unguarded mo-
ment she had given Dorothy to read, had made
mention of this desire in such a comical way
that Dorothy had questioned and cross-ques-
tioned, and by degrees had gotten the whole
story. Then a few days before Christmas she
had announced her determination.

"I am going to send a Christmas present to
Ben. I like him very much, and am most sure
he would like me ; and I like the dictionary,
too. It is so interesting to find new words
in it. I am going to send him the Pictorial
Edition, with red-lettered edges and all. Papa
said I might if I wanted to, and I want to ever
so much. You needn't say a word, Caroline,

300 GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED.

I am just pleased to do it ; that's the reason 1
am doing it. Won't it be fun ? "

So the dictionary had gone, with the other
things. The "other things" grew and grew,
in a wonderful manner.

There had been a white wool dress for Daisy,
as like Dorothy's as possible, even to the soft,
creamy satin ribbon around the waist. That,
too, had to do with Dorothy.

It had been Caroline's ambition to make
Daisy a new dress, taking every stitch in it
herself. To this end she had taken her mother
into the secret, and secured patterns and meas-
urements and careful directions. To be sure
the dress was to be only a neat pretty calico,
suitable for spring. The great charm of it
was to be Caroline's own work on it ; and new
dresses were not so common to Daisy Bryant
that a pretty calico had by any means lost its
charms.

But plans had grown beyond all of Caroline's
hopes or expectations. It was Mrs. Forsythe
who asked her about it one day, Dorothy
having told her what Caroline was doing for
her little sister. It was she who had said.

GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED. 301

*' Wouldn't you like to make Daisy a dress like
Dorothy's? There was a very large pattern of
white cashmere the last time, quite enough to
make two dresses, and Dorothy will not need
two alike. I should be very glad to have you
take it, if you will, and make little Daisy a
dress just like hers. I think Dorothy would
like it. She has fallen in love with your little
sister, Caroline."

And the plan, which at first so startled Caro-
line, had been so lovingly urged, and Dorothy
was so eager over it, that it ended in two
dresses going instead of one. A delicate spring
calico — white, with blue sprigs in it — and this
soft, creamy white wool, finished at throat and
wrists just like Dorothy's own, and tied around
the waist with a soft white satin sash, just as
she wore hers.

Caroline could fancy Daisy in it, and it made
her heart beat to think how sweet she would
look.

Her own plans for Ben had been to get him
a new necktie, and a pocket-handkerchief ; for
Ben, like all boys of his age, liked neckties —
fresh ones, bright ones — and as for handker-

302 GttEAT QUESTIONS SETTLED.

chiefs, he never seemed able to find one when
he wanted it.

This, too, became known in the household,
and Dr. Forsythe took it up. " Neckties? " he
said; '' that is a good idea. I always used to
be bothered about those two things when I was
a boy. See here, let us give Ben a necktie and
handkerchief surprise. Mamma and I will each
send him one. Who will join us? "

To Caroline's unutterable surprise even the
stately grandmother smilingly consented to be
one of the number, and of course Dorothy was
delighted with the scheme. So instead of one,
went five beautiful new neckties, and five fine
handkerchiefs to Ben.

Caroline laughed over them as she lay in bed
and thought it all out that morning. How sur-
prised Ben would be, and how nice it was that
he could have them to go with his new suit ;
for Ben had an entire new suit, '' spick and
span." Only a few days before he had written
her about it, after this fashion :

" If Rufus Kedwin were at home he would say I was in luck.
What do you think? I have a new gray suit, coat, vest and
pantaloons, and they fit me to a T. Where did I get them?

GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED. 303

Thereby hangs a tale. Last Tuesday night I staid late, ever
so late, at the office. There was some extra copying to be
done, which was needed in a hurr}-, so I offered to stay and
help. I sent a little chap to tell mother, so she wouldn't be
scared, and pitched in. It was between eleven and twelve
o'clock when I started for home. As I turned the corner by
Peterson's — the clothing store, you know — I saw a bright
light. I thought to myself that somebody must be sick to be
lighted up like that so late ; but the more I looked the more
the light worried me. It didn't seem like a lamp; it would
flare up, and then die down. I thought perhaps there was a
fire in the grate. At last I concluded to cross the road and
investigate, and it was a lucky thing I did. There was a fire
in the grate which had been covered when the folks went to
bed; but it had crept around, somehow, to the woodwork,
nobody seems to know exactly how; and the long and short
of it is that the fireboard and everything near it that was burn-
able was ablaze. Well, I made a rumpus, of course ; rang the
bell, and knocked and yelled all at once. Mr. Peterson and
the clerks came flurrying down, and we had a great time. I
didn't get home until two o'clock, and mother was beginning
to be frightened. As good fortune would have it, Mr. Peter-
son was pleased to think that I saved his house ; and between
you and me I guess I did, for there was nobody stirring any-
where around, and they said the building would have been in
a blaze in a very few minutes more. Well, ma'am, what did
Mr. Peterson do but send for me the next morning, invite me
into the back room, and fit me out to as nice a suit as ever a
fellow had in his life, overcoat and all! Did you ever hear
the like of that? I don't suppose he knew how much I needed
it, or rather how much mother needed it. I got along with the
old clothes better than she did, I verily believe. Of course I
was glad enough to get them, but mother was so glad, Line,
that she cried."

And then Line had cried over this letter, and
)aughed over it, too, and laughed again this

304 GREAT QUESTIONS SETTLED.

morning, to think how pleased Ben would be
with the neckties and handkerchiefs, to go with
the new suit.

" And the dictionary," she said aloud, " oh !
that dictionary. Won't it be just too splendid
for anything ? "

CHAPTER XXI.

*' MERRY CHRISTMAS."

BUT, after all, the gift which had gone care-
fully boxed to her mother, Caroline be-
li(ived would be the crowning delight of this
Christmas Day. That had been such a surprise
that even now it almost took away her breath
just to think of it. She had been in the sewing-
room one day getting some directions from that
good woman about Daisy's dress — for to tell
the truth she proved to be a most helpful prac-
tical adviser about that dress. Mrs. Packard
was sewing busily on the machine, and Caro-
line, watching her, thought, as she had a hun-
dred times before: ''If mother only had a
sewing machine ! " But this thought she kept
to herself. "Is that another machine over in
the corner? " was the only thing she said aloud.
"Yes," said Mrs. Packard, reaching the end
305

306 ''MERRY CHRISTMAS."

of her seam and stopping to cut the thread, *'it
is ; and it is a machine that I don't like a bit,
either. That is, I don't know anything about
it, and don't want to. When I first came here
the woman who had been sewing for these folks
got that machine ready, and bragged it up, and
thought of course I was going to sew on it. It
was new-fangled in every way to me, and I
didn't like it at all. I worried and bothered
over it for a day or two, and then Dr. Forsythe
came in and asked how I liked it, and I told
the truth, as I generally do ; and that very day
he sent up the kind of machine I was used to,
and told me to shove the other one into a cor-
ner and let it go. He said a woman who had
to do all the sewing for an entire family ought
at least to have the comfort of sewing on the
kind of machine she was used to and liked.
There aren't many men like Dr. Forsythe in
this world, my dear."

Caroline heartily assented to this truth, then
went over and examined the discarded machine.
"Why, it is just the kind my mother likes
best ! " she said, with a little squeal of delight
which ended in a sigKi

*' MERRY CHRISTMAS.'' 307

Watchful Mrs. Packard, who had become a
good friend to CaroUne, heard the sigh. "Does
your mother sew on a machine ? " she asked.

'' No, ma'am," said Caroline, with a slight
laugh, "not very often. When she goes to
Mrs. Hammond's to sew, and to one or two
other places where they have machines, she
does ; and this is the kind they have, and she
likes it ever so much ; but at home she sews by
hand."

" My land! " said Mrs. Packard, " I should
think that would be hard work. She can't ac-
complish very much sewing, it appears to me."

"She does," said Caroline firmly, "accom-
plish ever so much sewing. She sews hard all
winter long ; makes dresses and shirts and
underclothing, and all sorts of things for peo-
ple, taking every stitch by hand."

" For the land's sake ! " said Mrs. Packard,
"what in the world does she do it for? Nobody
does that any more."

Caroline laughed a little sorrowfully. " She
does it just as we do a good many things, Mrs.
Packard, because she has to ; she hasn't any
machine of her own, and we children haven't

808 "MEBRY CHRISTMAS:'

got old enough yet to buy her one ; but we are
going to some day. That is the first thing Ben
and I are going to do."

Mrs. Packard kept her own counsel, and
Caroline went away unaware that she had said
anything of special interest to anybody.

Neither did she connect this conversation
with the question which Dr. Forsythe asked
her one day. How did her mother employ her
time in the winter? Did she use a sewing ma-
chine? What sort of a sewing machine would
she use if she could have her choice? He
ended by presenting the machine which stood
unused in the corner to Caroline, with full per-
mission to do with it what she pleased. Of
course he knew what she would please to do,
and himself planned that the machine should
be sent to the Rooms to be put in thorough
order, properly packed and forwarded to Mrs.
Bryant. Had there ever been a Christmas Day
like this for her daughter Caroline ? That young
lady purposely refrained from turning herself in
bed to take a look at certain packages which
she felt pretty sure were piled on her chair or
table, her object being to have the delights of

"MERRY CHRISTMAS." 309

the day last just as long as possible. First, she
must give her thoughts to mother and Ben and
Daisy.

Oh ! I omitted to say that six new dollies
carefully dressed, and with their elaborate ward-
robes packed in a trunk, had also been for-
warded to Daisy. These were for the store, of
course. Perhaps it is not necessary to tell you
how heartily Dorothy entered into those plans,
and how very helpful her box of silks and laces,
as well as her skillful little fingers, had been in
the work.

Dr. Forsythe had arranged that instead of a
family gathering in the mother's room to receive
the Christmas morning gifts, each person should
have his ©r hers in their own room. Dorothy
had demurred a little at this, and Caroline had
wondered over it, until the doctor had told her
in a grave aside his reasons.

' ' There is less nervous strain and excitement
about the matter planned in that way," he said.
' ' If our little girl receives her presents when
quite alone and all is quiet around her, she will
have opportunity to get over the first excitement ;
and excitement is something which we must

310 ''MERRY CHRISTMASr

guard her against, you know. It is becoming
increasingly important that we should do so."

At last Caroline gave a spring from her bed
and set about the business of dressing, resolved
that until hair and bath were disposed of, and
she was ready all but her dress, she would not
look at a single gift.

" I know I have some things there," she said,
with a laugh, and resolutely turning her back
to the chair, ' ' but I hope I have self-control
enough to let them alone until the proper minute.'*

The "proper minute" came at last, and
Caroline found her powers of self-control taxed
to their utmost. Every gift there was a sur-
prise. She dived first into a medium-sized box,
and found it to be a very handsome one, silk
lined, from the stately grandmother; a glove
and handkerchief box, with six pairs of gloves,
and one dozen fine hemstitched handkerchiefs,
with her initials carefully worked in the corners.

What a wonderful gift to come to Caroline
Bryant! Six pairs of gloves at once, for a
girl who had gone even to church many a time
bare-handed, because her gloves were so shabby
she was not willing to wear them.

''MEBKY CIIBISTMAS." 311

Then came a large box, so large that she
could but wonder what it could contain. A
card lay on the top, addressed in a delicate
hand: "For my Caroline, with Mrs. For-
sythe's dear love."

The little squeal with which .Caroline discov-
ered the contents was quickly suppressed, lest
Dorothy should hear. A new dress, soft, fine
and beautiful ; in color a very dark maroon,
beautifully made and beautifully trimmed. To
one sleeve was pinned a paper which said, again
in Mrs. Forsythe's writing: "To be put on
early on Christmas morning, and worn through
the day."

The doctor's gift was a Bible. How elegant
it was Caroline did not know. She only knew
the covers were soft, the paper was as thin al-
most as a cobweb, yet seemed very strong ; and
while it was small enough in size to be conven-
iently carried to church and Sunday-school, it
contained so many other things besides the
Bible that her amazement was very great over
the thought that so much could be put into so
small a space, and yet have the print so clear
and beautiful. "It had as much in it as the

312 "MERRY CHRISTMAS."

large family Bible at home — Grandmothei-'s,
you know," wrote Caroline to her mother, "yet
that is as much as ten times larger than this."
Her full name in gold letters gleamed from the
back.

Instinctively she had left Dorothy's little
package to the last. "It is small and sweet,
like herself," she said, clasping the tiny white
box, and wondering what treasure the fair dar-
ling had bestowed upon her. This time her
voice did penetrate to Dorothy's room, and
made her laugh. How could it be helped?

What should lie gleaming at her from the
delicate folds of cotton which surrounded it,
but a tiny chatelaine watch ticking away with
all its might !

"It is such a trouble to be always looking at
the schoolroom clock," said the card lying by
the side of the watch; and underneath: "For
my dear, darling Caroline, from Dorothy."

I am sure you will excuse Caroline for being
so wildly excited that it seemed almost impos-
sible to get into her new dress and be ready for
breakfast. So interested was she in her own
belongings, and especially in viewing herself

''MEBRT CHRISTMAS:' 313

in the glass when the new dress was properly
adjusted, that she well-nigh missed the package
pushed quite under her chair ; and when at last
she spied it she stopped wonderingly, and said
aloud: "What can that be? There are cer-
tainly no more presents this morning! I al-
most hope there are not. I do not see how I
could bear any more." Still, she stooped and
drew out a neat, square-looking package, done
up in brown paper, and read, between excla-
mations of astonishment and bewilderment, the
address : *' Benjamin F. Bryant, with Christmas
greetings from Dr. Forsythe and Dorothy."

What could that mean? If any person liv-
ing had had Christmas greetings from Dr.
Forsythe and Dorothy it was surely Benjamin
Bryant. Had she not seen them herself go off
by express?

While she stood staring and wondering, a
slip of paper in the corner of the package
caught her attention. She drew it forth and
read: "To be opened by Caroline, and deliv-
ered by her to Ben at her convenience."

"Dear me!" she said, half- laughing, half-
crying, "at my convenience. If Ben doesn't

814 ''MERRY CHRISTMAS."

get it, whatever it is, until I can deliver it to
him, I am afraid he will have to wait a long
time. I must look this minute and see what
the dear boy has. Oh ! oh ! what people they
are ! "

It seems a pity to have to tell you that Caro-
line Bryant sat flat on the floor, new dress and
all, and made her eyes red by crying for joy
for the contents of that package.

Behold, it was a new stenograph, of very
dainty finish, packed neatly in its own leathern
case ! Such a present as that she was sure
meant a great deal to Ben — meant more suits
of clothes, and books, and comforts for mother
and Daisy ; for Ben, with such a knowledge of
the stenograph as he would soon have when it
was in his possession, would be able to earn his
living. Dr. Forsythe had said so.

"What will he say?" she said, meaning Ben.
"I wonder if I shall write to him about it, or
keep it until I go, or what I ought to do ? It
does not seem as though I ought to keep it
from him until 'spring. O, Ben! you don't
know what is coming to you."

While she was bathing her eyes, trying to

''MERRY CHRISTMAS.'' 315

take away the redness which the happy tears
had brought, there came a gentle tap at her
door. She made all speed to open it, and there
stood Dr. Forsythe.

*' Merry Christmas!" he said, interrupting
her eager " O, Dr. Forsythe!" then laughing
over her "Oh! I forgot — Merry Christmas.

"Dr. Forsythe," she continued eagerly, "I've
seen them all, and I don't know what I shall
do ! I don't know how to say what I think and
feel, and I couldn't say it any way."

" Never mind," said Dr. Forsythe ; "it isn't
necessary, and besides, there isn't time. We
have delayed breakfast this morning to give
you young people time to get over your first
fever, but it is getting late. It seems to me I
haven't seen that dress on before. It is very
becoming. Now I will agree to imagine all the
rest of the things that you would like to say,
because I want you to go down to the back
parlor for me on an errand. The fact is, there
is a little present there for you which has been
omitted ; or at least it was not convenient to
put it into your room. You will find it in the
back parlor by the south window."

316 "MERRY CHRISTMAS."*

*' Another present!" said Caroline; "bow
can I possibly have another present? I have
everything now that anybody could want."

"Very well," he said, smiling, "you may do
as you like about accepting the present after
you see it. If you think you would like it and
like to keep it with you to-day you may do so,
if not, just let it be where it is in the corner,
and I'll attend to it ; but run right down now,
please, and see about it."

"Is it marked?" asked Caroline, almost
breathless with excitement, as she ran down
the stairs. Then Dr. Forsythe laughed merrily.

" No, it isn't marked," he said ; "at least it
hasn't your name on it. I think you will recog-
nize it. If you do not, come back and I will
go and assist you."

Caroline sped through the hall on swift feet,
her brain in a whirl of wonderment. " What
could there be in the back parlor for her, after
all the elegant presents she had received ? "

She pushed open the door and made all speed
toward the south window, looking curiously on
the floor, on the chairs, under the sofa as she
passed. No package was to be seen ; nothing

*'MEBBY CHBISTMAS.'' 317

but the usual furniture of the room. "Perhaps
he meant in the window-seat," the searcher
said, and put out her hand to push aside the
curtain, drew it suddenly back, giving a faint
scream the while, and was folded in Ben's arms.
Such a time as there was in the back parlor
for the next five minutes may be better imag-
ined than described. "I came last night on
the twelve o'clock," Ben explained, in answer
to her bewilderment. "Yes, I have been in the
house all night ; they would not let me disturb
you. The doctor said you would not get any
more sleep if I did ; and I was tremendously
sleepy myself. O, yes ! they expected me ; I
came with Mr. Holden. He got a pass for me.
The superintendent of the road is a particular
friend. He is going on to New York to visit
Miss Webster — Mr. Holden is, you know, not
the superintendent. Dr. Forsythe wrote to me
to come. He said I was to be your Christmas
surprise ; and he came himself in the carriage
to the depot, and asked Mr. Holden to come
and spend the night with us ; but he couldn't,
he was expected in New York this morning; I
say, Line, isn't he magnificent though?"

318 ''MERRY CHRISTMAS."

Caroline knew he meant Dr. Forsythe, and
not Mr. Holden, though well aware that his
adjective would do to apply to either gentleman.

"Well," she said, catching her breath and
speaking almost hysterically, ' ' I was never so
surprised in all my life. Did you ever see any
thing so wonderful ? O, Ben ! how nice you
look in your new coat. And the neckties got
there in time for you to wear one, didn't they?
How nice that was of mother to get them out
for you. O, Ben, Ben ! it's too good to be-
lieve," and she reached up and kissed his brown
cheeks ecstatically.

" It is a high old time," said Ben, " and no
mistake. I thought when my Christmas pres-
ents came that Christmas had done everything
it could for me, for once ; and I wondered what
mother meant by giving me my presents the
night before. You see she and Mr. Holden
got this up, and didn't say anything to me
until about an hour before the train started.
Line, I don't know that I ever saw anybody in
my life that clothes made such a difference in ;
you are just as pretty as a picture, did you
know it? What do Fanny Kedwin and Rufus

"MERRY CHRISTMAS." 319

say to all this? Where are they,- by the way?
Will I be likely to see them ? "

"You'll be likely to take dinner with them,"
said Caroline complacently. " Dr. Forsythe
has invited Fanny and Rufus to come here to
dinner at five o'clock this afternoon. He asked
me if I would like to have them come, and of
course I would, because they seem like a bit of
home ; and another thing I knew they would
enjoy it. They are having kind of a lonesome
time at their uncle's. Their cousins are older
than they ; and then, I don't think Rufus and
Fanny are dressed well enough to suit them,
and they go off and have good times and leave
those two alone with their aunt. Dr. Forsythe
is going to send the carriage for them, and make
everything just as pleasant as he can.

" O, Ben! you must come right away.
There is the bell for prayers, and I haven't
kissed Dorothy good-morning yet. You can't
think how sweet she is. Sometimes my heart
just aches to have Daisy see her ; they would
love each other so much ! "

' ' Daisy has named her dearest doll after her
already," said Ben, following his sister down

320 ''MERRY CHRISTMAS.''

the long hall, and halting her just before the
dining-room door was opened to say: *'Look
here, Line, this is new business to me, being in
a city house, you know ; you must catch hold
of my coat tail or something, if I don't do just
right. I suppose I'll make a hundred mistakes.'*

"No, you won't," said Caroline cheerily ; "it
isn't half so dreadful as I thought it would be.
You just have to be kind and pleasant, and
think about other people's comforts instead of
your own, just as you always do, Ben, and then
you are all right. Of course there are little
things to notice at the table ; but it is easy to
notice how other people do and do like them.
I've gotten over some of my silliness, Ben,
since I've been here."

And then Caroline laughed to herself glee-
fully, not over anything which had just been
talked about, but over the state of mind Ben
would be in if he only knew what was waiting
up in her room for him at that minute.

The ordeal of breakfast was gotten through
with very nicely. Caroline found herself proud
of, instead of being embarrassed for the manly
boy who sat erect in his chair and answered

''MERRY CHRISTMAS.'' 321

promptly all questions that were put to him,
not merely with a "yes, sir," and "no, sir,"
but volunteering little bits of interesting items
connected with his journey, or with the town in
which he lived. Also he showed the most re-
spectful attention when the grandmother spoke,
and when the meal was over and she was about
to leave the room, sprang forward and opened
the door for her. This was no more, it is true,
than he was in the habit of doing for his own
mother ; but some boys wouldn't have thought
of it. Therein Ben found he had an advantage
over many country boys who make their first
visit to city homes ; he had been brought up to
be respectful to his mother, and indeed to all
persons older than himself.

To his satisfaction he found that the training
in this and many other small matters which he
had received in his own quiet home, stood him
in good stead when he came where they used
what Fanny Kedwin called " cityfied ways."

CHAPTER XXn.

LUCK.

CHRISTMAS DAY was one long-drawn-out
delight to the young people. The only
mar to the pleasure of the occasion was Rufus
Kedwin's ill-concealed envy, joined to the often
repeated sentence, ' ' I never saw anything
like the luck you and Line have, Ben Bryant,
never! "

"I think as much," Fanny would occasionally
add ; but her thoughts did not dwell on the sub-
ject, like her brother's. What held her to un-
bounded interest was Caroline's dress. " O,
Line!" she said, "what a perfectly lovely
dress that is ! I never expected to see you in
such an elegant rig."

''I am sure I never expected it," answered
Line, laughing. "I don't know what I have
done to have these people so good to me. It
322

''LUCK.'' 323

isn't anything that I have done. It is just be-
cause they are all so lovely themselves they
can't help being good to other people. Did
you ever see anybody so sweet as little
Dorothy?"

* ' And she gave you that watch, all with her
own money," said Fanny, feasting her eyes
upon the dainty little creature which was drawn
out for the dozenth time for exhibition. "She
must have lots to spend ; I suppose they all
have lots of money. It's easy enough to be
generous when you have plenty of money to do
with. I'd like to give away things myself, if I
ever had anything to give."

'' I never could understand," said Rufus
loftily, ' ' why some folks should have all the
money and other folks all the hard work, any
more than I can understand why some folks
have all the luck, and other folks get along the
best way they can. Nobody ever gave me a
suit of clothes or ever will. Fanny will be an
old woman before she will have a watch, I dare
say."

"Oh! come now," said Ben, " don't you
keep up that old croak, Rufus Kedwin. I am

324 ''LUCK.''

sure you have had ' luck.' How long since you
and Fanny had tickets sent you to come to
Philadelphia?"

''They are no great things," said Rufus,
determined to look on the dark side. ''They
didn't cost my uncle a single cent. One of the
directors of the road gave them to him for
something he did."

This amused both Ben and Caroline, and they
laughed merrily.

" What earthly difference does that make? "
asked Ben, when he could speak again. "Do
you calculate the value of your gifts by the
money they cost somebody else ? "

"It makes a great difference to me," said
Rufus gloomily. "It is easy enough to give
things that don't cost anything. You don't
care who gets them. But when it comes to
watches and machines, that is something like.
Loqk at that thing of yours now; that cost
lots of money, I'll be bound, and you can earn
some money with it, just as likely as not. If
I had it I know I could. Who do you suppose
will ever think of giving me a stenograph?
And here is Line getting music lessons and

''LUCE.'' 326

new dresses and things, and living like a prin-
cess ; I tell you it's all luck."

Some portions of this speech were much less
polite than they might have been, if Rufus had
been a thoughtful boy. It is true Caroline's
little presents to him and to Fanny had not
cost a great deal of money, but they had cost
her a great deal of care and thought, and some
hours of work, and it seemed rather hard to
be almost told that they weren't of any con-
sequence. However, she was used to Rufus
Kedwin.

Ben, at the mention of his wonderful and
beloved machine, fingered the keys lovingly,
and smiled down upon it.

" This is a great big thing," he said ; " I am
willing to own it. It is the biggest thing I ever
had in my life. I thought when my Pictorial
Dictionary came I had got to the highest possi-
ble notch, but I am bound to believe this is a
little ahead — though I wouldn't say so if that
sweet little mouse of a Dorothy were here —
because as you say, Rufus, I can make it earn
something for the rest of the folks, as well as
give pleasure to me. But I'll tell you what it

826 **LUCKV

is, old fellow ; I offered to teach you the alpha-
bet, you know, and show you the new-fashioned
way of spelling, and all that ; and I'll repeat
the offer, and teach you how to write on this
thing just as soon as I learn myself ; then two
of us will understand it, you see."

Rufus eyed it gloomily. "What goodwill
that do me? " he said gruffly. '' I haven't any
machine, and am not likely to have. I don't
see any earthly use in bothering my brains
learning how to use it. If there was any pros-
pect of my ever having one that would be
another matter."

Dr. Forsythe, who unknown to the young
people was in his reception-room, which opened
from the back parlor, now came forward and
joined them, entering into conversation with
Caroline's guests in a genial way, as he knew
well how to do. Then as he turned to go he
laid his hand kindly on Rufus's shoulder. "I
overheard some of the things you said, my
young man," he said pleasantly; " heard your
opinions about luck, and matters of that kind.
I am a good deal older than you, and naturally
know a little more of life ; and I am inclined

''LUCK." 327

to think you will take it kindly if I give you a
little advice."

Rufus blushed, and stammered something
which was intended to be an assent, and the
doctor continued : ' ' What a great many peo-
ple are disposed to call ' luck ' is merely a natu-
ral working out of circumstances, bound to
follow almost as a matter of course. For in-
stance, in regard to these two young friends of
yours; I heard enough to lead me to under-
stand that in your opinion they have, in somo
respects, been ' lucky.' If I were to be asked
my judgment in the matter I should say 'No,
they have been faithful. They have done the
best they could under the circumstances in
which Providence has placed them, and the
natural result has followed.'

*'Our friend Caroline is naturally a very
grateful little woman, and imagines that she
has received some wonderful gifts. The actual
fact is that what she has done and is doing
every day of her life for my little daughter
could not be paid for in money, could not be
estimated at a money value. The gifts which
she has received are only the tokens of our

328 ''LUCK."

gratitude to her for being at all times and in
all places faithful, efficient and trustworthy.
That is a great deal to say of one so young as
she ; but it is. due to her that I say it, here and
now. Her mother and her friends have reason
to be proud of her. Not that faithfulness is a
thing which should be so rare as to win our ad-
miration, but I am sorry to say it has been my
experience in life that it is very rare to find
one who in all things does the best he knows.

''As for Ben here, there is a sense in which
he may be said to have earned his stenograph ;
at least I should never have thought of giving
him one if I had not been surprised and inter-
ested by hearing that he had set himself to work
in an earnest, business-like fashion to learn to
read its characters, at a time when he had not
the least idea that he would ever possess a ma-
chine ; and had held so steadily and so success-
fully to his work that his sister here tells me
she has been in the habit, for the last few
weeks, of writing her letters to him on the
machine, and that his replies have shown that
he had no difficulty in reading the letters.
That, to me, showed a degree of perseverance

''luck:' 329

and pluck which seemed worthy of recognition.
Therefore I presented his sister with a machine
for his benefit and for mine.

*' I have no doubt but that some time in the
future he will make me satisfactory copies of
valuable work by the aid of this very machine.
So you see there is an element of selfishness in
my plans," he added, smiling. *'But the thing
which I wished you specially to understand,
was, that both Benjamin and Caroline have
brought about by their own force of character
the things which seemed to you to have been
brought about by a series of happenings. And
really, my dear boy, this is a history of most
lives. As a rule we secure in this world what
we work for. We reach the heights that we
have climbed for. And now, having preached
to you all a little sermon, I will invite you to
take a ride. After making a call on our friend
Dorry, Joseph will drive wherever you direct,
and you can have from two to three hours of
sightseeing before dinner. Mrs. Packard says
the baskets are ready, Caroline, and the car-
riage will be at the door by the time you are
all ready for it."

330 ^'LUCK."

They found Miss Perkins in a flutter of de-
light over the Christmas presents which had
already reached her, having been sent the night
before, in order that Dorry might have as early
a Christmas as any boy in the city. The bas-
kets which Caroline had in charge had to do
with Miss Perkins' and Dorry 's Christmas din-
ner; and Caroline knew there wouldn't be a
better dinner served in the city than would
come out of those same baskets.

Dorry, who had reached what Dr. Forsythe
called '•'the comfortable stage," but which to
himself was a very restless and uncomfortable
period, was shyly glad to see them all. He and
Caroline were very good friends, she having
been there several times since the accident;
but Don-y's heart went out immediately to Ben,
and the look out of his large eyes was so wist-
ful when Ibey rose to go, that Ben, taking a
swift second thought, drew Caroline aside.

''Look here," he said, "suppose you drive
on for half an hour without me, and let me try
to cheer up this little chap? He has had a
lonesome day so far. I guess he's a boy who
is used to rampaging around wherever he has a

''luck:' 331

mind, and to lie on a bed and keep still with
only his aunt to talk to is treinendously hard
work. I was sick myself once, and even with
mother and Daisy on hand it was as much as I
could do to endure it."

"Oh! but, Ben," said Caroline, in distressed
undertone, "how can I spare you to-day? It's
Christmas, you know, and I haven't seen you
for so long; and T was going to take you a
beautiful ride."

"I know it," he said cheerily; "but there
is to-morrow and the next day — I am not go-
ing back until Saturday — and I only planned
for half an hour. There will be a good hour
and a half after that. I think it will be the
right thing to do. Line, don't you? "

"I suppose so," she said, with a half -laugh;
"but right things are real hard sometimes. I
feel just as selfish as an owl."

Ben laughed gleefully. "I don't believe
owls are selfish," he said; "you mean the his-
torical piggy, don't you?"

Miss Perkins, when she understood the situ-
ation, was divided between delight and dismay
— delight that Dorry was to have a little com-

832 ''LUCK.''

pany all lo himself, and dismay that Ben was
to use up part of his Christmas ride.

"It is very good of you," she said eagerly;
"there isn't a boy in a hundred that would do
it, or even think of it, I am sure of that.
Dorry will be delighted. Ever since he got
through looking at his Christmas presents he
hasn't known what to do with himself, poor
boy. I could go out and get my lovely dinner
started if you were here to keep him company ;
but then, it is too bad for you to lose your ride,
as you are here just for a few days with your
sister. It isn't to be thought of for a moment."

"All right," said Ben cheerily, "we won't
say anything more about it. There is the car-
riage, Line; get yourself started as quick as
possible. Miss Perkins, you go out and start
that Christmas dinner. I am afraid it won't be
ready in time. Dorry is going to be famously
hungry, I know. He and I will have the jolli-
est kind of a time for the next half-hour."

There was no escaping Ben's cheery determi-
nation to manage the programi^ie according to
his own fancy. Even Caroline, when she saw
the look in Dorry's eyes, decided that the sac-

''LUCK." 333

rifice was worth making; and only Rufus, as
he went down the steps, grumbled in undertone
to Fanny : ' ' Ben Bryant wouldn't be happy if
he couldn't manage everything and everybody."

" Well, he's a real nice manager," said
Fanny, "to plan for other people and not for
himself 'most always."

A great deal can be said in a half-hour.
Poor Dorry hadn't been so " heartened up," as
Miss Perkins called it, since the accident. For
one thing it was a great relief to tell somebody
all about it in his own way ; a boy, who would
be interested in all the particulars, and ask all
the questions, and give him a chance to prove
that he wasn't doing anything so very dread-
fully out of the way, but was actually being
a very helpful personage when the accident
happened.

" She thinks I ought never to go near a fire,"
he said, twisting his head restlessly on the pil-
low. "And for that matter, that I oughtn't to
cross a street when there was a horse within a
mile either way, and I oughtn't to get on to
a street car till it has stood five minutes
stock still. The fact is, that there aren't many

834 "LUCK,''

things that a fellow can do, according to her
notions."

Ben laughed merrily. ''I can guess how it
is," he said in a sympathetic tone. ''She is a
woman, and women are not used to being out
in the street where the crowds are, and they
oughtn't to be. I know all about it. My father
has been dead for a good many years, and I
have had my mother to think about and to take
care of, just as you have your aunt. One of
the ways I have of taking care of her, which
helps her more than anything I can do, I be-
lieve, yet awhile, is keeping her from worrying,
you know, by letting her understand that there
are certain things I won't do. I go an eighth
of a mile out of my way every day of my life,
just to avoid crossing the railroad at a certain
point where my mother thinks it's dangerous.
It isn't, you know, any more than it is at any
other point, but mother thinks so, and she can't
help it ; and as I have her to take care of, why,
of course I save her worrying about that.

"There must be as many as a dozen things
that I do, or don't do, just for the sake of sav-
ing mother. She likes it, and it doesn't hurt

"LUCK.'' 335

me, and it's about as good a way as any to
help along."

New lessons these for Dorry ! Miss Perkins
will have reason to bless the hour when Ben
Bryant gave up his ride in the handsome car-
riage, and staid to visit with her boy.

So he had his aunt to look after and take
care of, had he ? Such an idea had never en-
tered his busy, restless little brain before.
That he should cease jumping off street cars
when they were in motion, or running across
the roads directly under horses' feet, or walk-
ing down town on the railroad track, in order
to help take care of his aunt, was an entirely
new idea. Up to this point, if he thought any
thing about it, he would have supposed that his
mission in life was to worry his aunt. That is,
he had imagined that if he failed to do any of
these manly things he would be a baby, instead
of a boy. Here was a great tall fellow, talking
in a business-like way about taking care of his
mother, and actually giving up his own ways,
and taking extra steps and a great deal of
trouble, just so she wouldn't be worried when
there was nothing to be worried about.

336 ''LUCK."

*' You are a kind of a queer chap," he said,
eying Ben reflectively. '' Say, honor bright,
ain't you different from other fellows ? "

Ben laughed merrily. '' I don't know about
that," he said; "I'll tell you what I do think,
though, that I have better times than most
folks. I don't know another boy of my age
who has as downright good a time as I do.
I didn't use to think so. I used to growl a
good deal because I hadn't money, and couldn't
go to school, and couldn't do forty other things
that I wanted to. But things are changed with
me."

"I tell you what," said Dorry emphatically,
''I think you are queer. Do you really work
every single evening, either for the man you
are working for, or else studying at home ? "

''Every evening but Thursday," said Ben.
"On Thursdays I don't do a great deal of
studying ; I am later at the oflSce than I am on
other days, and I get home just in time to eat
my supper, and dress for prayer meeting.
And after we come home from prayer meeting
there is almost always a letter from my sister
10 read ; then we talk it over and have good

''LUCK,'' 337

times together, and I have sort of given up the
idea of studying Thursday night, and have
made a pleasure evening of it."

''A pleasure evening! " repeated Dorry, al-
most a contemptuous note in his voice; ''I
told you you were queer. I suppose you like
to go to prayer meeting, too ? "

" Yes," said Ben gravely, *' I like it; not as
well as I might under some circumstances.
They don't appear to me to know how to man-
age a prayer meeting in the church that I go to
in a way to interest young folks a great deal ;
but then, I should go all the same if I didn't
like it even as well as I do. I am not such a
baby, I hope, as not to be able to go to a prayer
meeting once a week because some of the talk
they give is dull, and some of it is beyond me
so I can't understand it. If I couldn't under-
stand a dozen words they said, I should hope I
would have sense enough to go."

" I don't see why. What's the use in a fel-
low going where he doesn't understand any
thing, and doesn't enjoy it?"

"Oh! well, there are some things to enjoy,
Dorry. I haven't in a good while listened to a

338 ''LUCK.''

prayer that hadn't a great deal in it for me.
And I like the singing first rate, and the words
of the hymns I like. You see, my boy, I be-
long to the family ; and it is a kind of family
gathering that we have once a week. Some of
the aunts and uncles and cousins I like better
than others, but I have a kind of general inter-
est in them all, and don't want to be away when
the time comes for the family gathering. Don't
you know how it would be, going out to a
Christmas dinner? There might be two or
three cousins that you wouldn't like very well,
and maybe an uncle or so who wasn't exactly
to your mind ; but after all it would be the
Christmas gathering of the relations, and you
wouldn't like to be counted out."

''I'd go there for the dinner," said Dorry,
with a laugh.

"No, you wouldn't. If they sent you the
same kind of dinner exactly, and you had to
eat it on the corner of the table at home alone,
you wouldn't like it half so well."

"I don't know what you are talking about,
anyhow," said Dorry. "A Christmas dinner
and a prayer meeting are two different things."

'' luck:' 330

*' That's so," said Ben gravely; 'Til tell
you what I mean, Dorry. I'm a servant of
Jesus Christ, and I like to go where he is talked
about, and where people gather who are in the
same service. We are soldiers, you see, and
he is our Captain. If you belong you under-
stand it; and if you don't, why, you don't."

Dorry's head was turning restlessly on his
pillow again ; the conversation was getting too
grave for him- Ben hastened to change it.

"Do you like machines?" he asked briskly.
*' I've got a new one, a Christmas present, the
cutest thing out — a stenograph. Did you ever
lieeit?"

*' Never heard of it," said Dori-y promptly.
*' What is it for?"

*'To write with. It makes five little dashes,
all exactly alike, and yet you can read them
after you have learned how ; just as you <ian
read another language, you kikow."

" That's nice," said D^orry, interested at
once ; *^ I always thought it would be fun to
know some language that other folks didn't/'

" So did I," said Ben, ''and it is great fun.
That is one reason I like Latin so well. This

840 "LUCK."

stenograph is a big thing; it is a shorthand
writer, you know. When you have learned
how, you can write down what a speaker says,
every word of it, and take notes at the office,
and do all sorts of work with it. I expect to
earn money with mine."

'* rd like to see it," said Dorry, his face
aglow with interest. ''I always did like ma-
chines first rate. I used to think I could make
one if I had a chance. One of these days I am
going to try."

*'Good!" said Ben, ''I understand that; I
have had just such notions myself. Why
wouldn't it be a good scheme for you to learn
to read the stenograph while you are lying here
on your back? I learned the alphabet and all
about it before I ever saw a machine. My sis-
ter Line saw the one that they use at Dr. For-
sythe's, and she sent me a slip of paper that
had most all the letters on it. That's the way
I learned. If I were you I'd pitch in and learn
it lying here. It would be great fun; then
when I go home I'll write you letters on my
machine. You can read them, and nobody else

''LUCK." 341

«' All right," said Dorry, with more energy
than he had used since he had been sick. "I'd
like that first rate. Is it hard to learn? "

"Oh! it takes pluck and patience,'* said
Ben. "A little chap that hadn't much in him
wouldn't learn it. He'd give it up, tired out,
before he'd got half-way through the alphabet ;
but of course you won't."

No, Dorry wouldn't, after that speech ! Ben
fumbled in his pocket and brought out a little
roll of stenograph paper, such as he was pretty
sure to have about him.

"Here," he said, "are a couple of Bible
verses that Line sent me to learn to read on.
They are real good, because they have so many
of the letters in them. The verses are written
on the stenograph, you understand; and I
copied them on this card from my sister
Line's letter, and carried the card around with
me in my vest pocket for weeks before I was
sure of every letter. I'll leave them all with
you, and day after to-morrow I'll come again,
if I can, and see how you've got along.
The carriage has come for me now, and I'll
have to go."

842 ''LUCK.''

''You'll bring the machine with you when
you come, won't you?" said Dorry wistfully;
and receiving a hearty promise that this should
be done, Ben took his departure. The verses
on the card were especially calculated to teach
a lesson to a boy like Dorry. These were the
words :

"Be not wise in thine own eyes. Fear
the Lord and depart from evil." " In all thy
ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy
patha."

CHAPTER XXIII.

ANOTHER "SIDE-TRACK.

BEN'S brief holiday sped away. He and
Rufus and Fanny went home ; school
duties commenced again, and all things were
as before.

No, not quite as before. Rufus and Fanny
had learned some lessons of life which they
were not likely to forgat. They had discovered
that a girl could be honestly earning her own
living, and yet be as highly thought of by those
whose opinion was worth having as though she
were doing nothing.

Ben had his beloved stenograph, and worked
at every leisure moment with such purpose that
before spring he had a triumph. At the office
one afternoon he found Mr. Welborne very
much annoyed.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," said
343

344 ANOTHER *' SIDE-TRACK.''

that gentleman impatiently. ''Here's Harris
sent word that he is sick, and cannot copy
these notes of his ; and there isn't a person in
town, so far as I know, who can do it for him."

Mr. Welborne was not talking to Ben, but
to his junior partner; but Ben had turned at
the first sound of Mr. Harris's name, giving a
keen glance at the notes to be copied. As he
suspected, they were stenograph notes. As
soon as he had finished distributing the letters
which he had in his hand into their proper
places he came toward Mr. Welborne.

'•I beg your pardon," he said hesitatingly;
''but if there isn't anybody else I think I could
copy those notes for you."

"You!" said Mr. Welborne, with a smile;
"I know you are a most accommodating chap,
but I am afraid these notes will be too much
for you. They are on a shorthand machine."

"I know it," said Ben; "I have seen Mr.
Harris work. I can read the stenograph."

"You can! How long since? Where did
you learn ? "

"I learned early in the winter. My sister,
who is in Philadelphia, sent me the alphabet

ANOTHER ''SIDE-TRACK.'' 345

and the Manual, and I learned how to read it
before I ever saw a machine. Then at Christ-
mas time I had a present of one, and have
been writing on it ever since."

''The mischief! You have! and I never
knew anything about it. Can you take down
letters at dictation ? "

' ' I think I can, sir. Mother has dictated a
great many to me for practice, and I have writ-
ten them out afterwards and got every word."

"Glad to hear it," said Mr. Welborne com-
placently. ''Harris is sick oftener than I have
any patience with. The trouble is, he is sick
of the business and wants to get out. Do set
to work on these notes, then. They are impor-
tant ones, and if you can make a fair copy,
and can take dictations, I can afford to give
you pleasanter employment and better pay than
I have been doing."

A boy does not work industriously on a
stenograph for three months for nothing. The
notes were almost as easily read by Ben as
though they had been in print. By nine o'clock
that evening he was able to give an excellent
typewritten copy of them to the gratified lawyer.

346 ANOTHER "SIDE-TRACK.''

From that time business was brisk for Ben
Bryant, and the work was such as delighted his
heart, and in itself was no small education ;
for Mr. Welborne's notes were dictated in
choice English, and were on important sub-
jects. He made a prompt advance in Ben's
wages — such a surprising advance as caused
great rejoicing at home, and some grumbling
on the part of Rufus in regard to " people who
were always in luck."

With Caroline the time sped away on swift
wings. So busy was she with her studies, and
with her loving care of Dorothy ; so happy and
proud was she with Mrs. Forsythe's increasing
interest in her and pleasure in her ministrations ;
so glad was she, as the weeks flew on, over the
near prospect of home once more, that she was
the only one in the household, perhaps, who did
not realize Dr. Forsythe's increasing gravity,
and notice the tender, almost pathetic gaze
which he sometimes fixed on Dorothy's fair
face. It did trouble Caroline sometimes to
think that Dorothy seemed not so strong as she
was in the fall. "But it is the spring days,"
she said to herself. ''Nobody feels as strong,

ANOTHER '' SIDE-TBACK." '6^7

I suppose ; at least nobody who is not real
well. I am sure I feel as strong as I ever did
in my life, but of course Dorothy could not be
expected to."

April passed swiftly, and May followed in
its train, and the days of June were speeding
so fast that examinations were just at the door,
and Caroline had had her trunk brought from
the storeroom, and was beginning to put in
packages preparatory to the home-going.

''Just to think," she had begun to say to
herself, ' ' that I shall really see mother and
Ben and Daisy in a few days more."

Then, one evening after school. Dr. Forsythe
called her as she was passing his office door.
He was alone, and as he closed the door and
sat down in front of the seat to which he had
motioned her, his kind face was graver than
usual.

"I have something to say to you, Caroline,
which I have been putting off for several days
— weeks, indeed — because I feared you might
not like to hear it."

Caroline, startled, wondering, yet managed
to say that she should hardly think it possible

348 ANOTUEB ^SIDE-TRACK,''

that Dr. Forsythe could say anything that she
did not like.

He smiled in reply, a grave, sad smile, and
then spoke hurriedly. ''You cannot in the
nature of things be expected to like it, and I
have been in great doubt whether to speak it
or not ; but I have finally resolved to make the
effort. I will not keep you in suspense. The
plain, sad truth is, Caroline, that our little
daughter is failing. We cannot have her with
us long. It is increasingly apparent to me
every day. You know we are planning for the
seaside, and hope something from the sea air ;
but not very much, after all, so far as she is
concerned. Can you guess what I am about
to say? Can you imagine how her father and
mother shrink from separating her from the
young friend who has been so constantly with
her during this long winter, and been to her
such a comfort and help? Neither she nor we
can ever forget. If you could find it in your
heart, Caroline, to give up home and mother,
and go to the seashore with us, I do not say it
would prolong our daughter's life, but I cannot
help seeing that it would make the days she

ANOTHER '' side-track:' 349

spends with us brighter, happier. At the same
time' I know it is a great thing to ask. I know
what it must have been to you to have been so
long away from your mother. I know, better
than you may imagine I do, the sacrifice it is
to give up mother. I do not ask it of you,
Mrs. Forsythe does not; glad as she would be
to give Dorothy this additional pleasure, she
shrank from the thought of making the request.
I have not written to your mother, of course.
It is only very lately that I decided to speak at
all, and I will not now say anything to her until
you have come to a decision. We must go
next week ; it ought to have been sooner, but
Dorothy's heart is so set upon being present at
the closing exercises of the public school, that
I do not like to disappoint her. I leave the
matter with you to think about. Remember,
we realize how much we ask, and we shall not
feel that you have done wrong — indeed will
not feel hurt at all — if you decide that you
cannot really give up mother and home this
summer, and go with us. Try to think as
quickly as you can, and let me hear to-morrow,
if possible, what your impressions are."

350 ANOTHER ''SIDE-TRACK:'

'He hurried through the last sentence because
somebody was already tapping at the door.
With a bow and smile to Caroline he answered
the summons.

Poor Caroline need not have waited until the
next day to give her answer. She knew before
he had completed his sentence what she must
decide to do. It made her heart almost stop
beating to think of being all the long summer
without seeing mother ; but at the same instant
came the terror of the thought, What if she
should never see Dorothy again !

Could it be possible that her father thought
that she would not live longer than this one
summer?

Perhaps it was not strange that the first thing
this girl far away from home did, when she
reached her room, was to lock the door, throw
herself on the bed, bury her head in the pil-
lows, and burst into a perfect passion of tears.
It seemed to her that from any point of view
there was enough to cry for.

It was nearly an hour afterwards that she
stood brushing her hair before the mirror, hav-
ing bathed her eyes with the hottest water she

ANOTHER *' SIDE-TRACK." 351

could endure. In a few minutes the dinner bell
would ring, and she must go down and meet
them all, and they would know she had been
crying, and Dr. Forsythe would know the
reason. She was sorry for that. She would
not trust herself to talk to him, but had re-
solved to write him a little note that very night.

*' There is no use in waiting," she said aloud,
to see how the words would sound ; '' I am not
to go home, I know I am not. It is the right
way to dp, mother will think, and so will Ben,
and even poor little Daisy. After all they have
done for me, and after the way Dorothy loves
me, it would be just cruel not to give her what
she wants. I know mother will think I ought
to stay with her all summer. I may just as
well write the note to-night as to wait until to-
morrow morning, because I am sure what it is
right to do."

Therefore the note was written in Caroline's
best hand, very brief and to the point :

Dear Dr. Forsythe :

"1 will go with Dorothy if my mother thinks best, and 1
am almost sure she will. I will write to her to-night; and
please do not think it makes me feel very badly. I love
Dorothy so much that it would be hard to be away from her."

3S2 ANOTHER ''SIDE-TRACK:'

Matters shaped themselves exactly as Caro-
line had expected they would. The letter home
was written, and the Bryant family held a
solemn convention over its contents. None of
them was as much excited and startled as they
had been over their disappointment in the fall.

After the second reading of the letter they
all sat quiet for some minutes ; then Mrs. <
Bryant said inquiringly, with a sad little smile,
"Well, children?"

''Well," said Ben, heaving a long-drawn
sigh, ' ' I suppose it's the right thing to do,
mother, isn't it ? That poor little Dorothy ! "

''What does our Daisy say?" asked Mrs.
Bryant tenderly.

Daisy's face was grave ; her hands were
clasped in her lap, and her eyes had a far-
away, sorrowful look. " Mother," she said at
last, her lips quivering, but her voice low and
composed, "I love my Line, and I want her
very much ; but if that little Dorothy is going
to Heaven pretty soon she ought to have Line,
I think, this summer. Perhaps she needs her
to help her get ready."

So the question was settled, and Caroline's

ANOTHER '' SIDE-TRACK." 358

trunk, instead of being packed for home, was
packed for the seaside with all sorts of new
and dainty summer things, such as she was
sure would have driven Fanny Kedwin half-
frantic with envy. And one summer day she
took that long-planned journey on the cars.
Not a very long journey, for the seacoast which
Dr. Forsythe chose was but a few hours' ride
from Philadelphia, but long enough for Caroline
to realize the sharp contrast between herself as
a traveler now, and eight months before.

In the first place, it was a very different car
which they occupied — a ''drawing-room car,"
Dorothy called it — with easy-chairs and sofas,
and a private room at one end, where a luxu-
rious bed was made up for Mrs. Forsythe.

It is not my intention to tell you much about
that summer at the seaside ; it was a very full,
bright summer, and despite the shadow which
hung low over the household, there were some
sweet, glad days. Dorothy rallied a little under
the influence of the sea breeze, and took what
were for her long walks to the beach, and liked
nothing better than to sit in the sand with
Caroline beside her, watchful over the wraps

864 ANOTnEB '"SIDE-TRACK."

and the sun-umbrella, that it was at exactly
the right angle to shade her from the sun's
glare, and watch the bathers, as they rose gaily
over the tops of the waves, or the never-ceas-
ing tide as it came rolling in. At intervals
Caroline left her and wandered along the beach
to bring beautiful shells, and delicate stones,
pearly tinted, blue and amber. Long, quiet,
restful days they were, when Dorothy seemed
at peace with all the world, the only trouble
she had being the one which she often put into
words : '* I'm so sorry, Caroline dear, that you
have to be away from your mother and Daisy
and Ben all summer. But you will go to them
in the fall, and have a nice long vacation."

This was the utmost Caroline ever allowed
her to say about the sacrifice, and was quick to
assure her with kisses and caresses that she
was having a lovely time, that she had never
seen the sea before, and had always wanted
to, and that she wouldn't be away from her
dear little Dorothy these summer days for any
thing, and that mother and Daisy and Ben
felt so too. Then Dorothy would smile her
sweet, fair smile, and say gently: "You are

ANOTHER ''SIDE-TRACKS 355

all good to me; everybody always was. It is
a very sweet world, Caroline, and sometimes I
try to think how Heaven can be any sweeter ;
if Jesus were not there it could not be. But
the best of it is he is there, isn't he? Caroline,
do you sometimes feel in a hurry to see him ? "

Caroline, awe-stricken, could only confess
that she never had felt that way ; she supposed
it was because she was always well, and never
had a "tired feeling." Then she would bring
a new shell, or a stone, and try to turn Doro-
thy's thoughts away from the grave subject.
So the days moved on.

"I think she is better," said Caroline one
evening, in answer to Dr. Forsythe's quick,
questioning look. It was Saturday evening,
and he had come up from the city to spend a
Sabbath with his family. Caroline, according
to her custom, had gone to the station to meet
him, in order that he might have the earliest
possible news of Dorothy. "I really think,
Dr. Forsythe, that she is stronger than she
was; her appetite has been better, and she
looks more like herself, for a few days, than
she has since we have been here. But she has

356 ANOTHER "SIDE-TRACK.'*

been in a great hurry to see you ; she has asked
two or three times to-day if we felt pretty sure
that nothing would hinder you from coming."

"I had hard work to get away," he said
gravely ; ' ' but I felt impressed that I must
come to-night."

''Dr. Forsythe," said Caroline earnestly, as
they walked up the street together, ' ' don't you
think perhaps, now that the very warm weather
is over, and the pleasant September days are
coming, that Dorothy may grow stronger, and
be real well again this winter ? "

Dr. Forsythe smiled — that tender, grave
smile which she had learned to know so well.
''We never can be sure," he said quietly.
"With a disease like hers we never can be
sure just when the end will come ; but I have
seen nothing this summer to encourage me,
thus far."

It was a very quiet Sabbath. Dr. Forsythe
did not go to church, as had been his custom
every Sabbath during the season, but staid
with his wife and Dorothy, sending Caroline
and the grandmother away by themselves. It
was noticeable that Dorothy talked to her father

ANOTHER ''SIDE-TRACK.'' 857

this time even more than usual, and seemed not
to be quite happy when he was out of her sight.
Yet the day passed very peacefully, and on
Monday morning Dorothy certainly seemed, as
Caroline had said, stronger than she had for
weeks. "I believe the child is getting better,"
said the grandmother, with decision. "Her
face is less pallid than it was, and this morning
she really has a little color. I felt sure the
seaside would do her good. Can't you see she
is improved. Doctor? You are always so de-
spondent, so inclined to look on the dark side."

The doctor smiled. " Am 1?" he said. '' I
have need to find a bright side, if there is one,
surely. She is all we have, mother."

To Dorothy's eager question as to whether
her father must take the early train, and
whether he was sure that he could plan to
come down on Saturday just a little earlier
than usual, so that they might have a visit
together on the beach before sunset, he an-
swered, with a smile that he tried to make
bright and cheery : ' ' We needn't discuss those
points to-day, Dorothy ; I am going to take a
vacation and stay over. I arranged with Dr.

358 ANOTHER ''SIDE-TRACK.''

Boydner to look after my patients, and assured
him that for the one working day of the three
hundred and sixty-five I was to be at leisure,
and give myself to the delights of my family.
Dorothy, I have brought with me a new toy
that I think you will enjoy. It was brought up
from the station Saturday evening, after you
and Caroline had retired, and is in my private
room all ready for exhibition. Come to me as
soon as you have had your breakfast, and I
promise you a delightful entertainment."

CHAPTER XXIV^.

AT LAST.

THE '* new toy " was nothing more nor less
than a phonograph, a machine in which
Dr. Forsythe had been deeply interested for
sorr^e time, and whose mechanical workings he
had studied with great care. He now took the
deepest interest in explaining in detail, both to
Dorothy and Caroline, the practical working of
this wonderful little instrument ; then unlocked
its gate, put in a cylinder, turned on the power,
and called upon Dorothy to talk to it.

''What shall I say, papa?" she asked, a
pretty pink flush of excitement on her fair
cheek.

*' Say anything you please, daughter. Speak

in your natural tone of voice, just as though

you were talking to me, and use any words you

please ; you can talk to mamma, if you choose,

359

360 AT LAST.

or to grandmother or Caroline. It will take
down every word you utter."

Sure enough it did, and was an object of
absorbing interest to Dorothy all the morning.
Cylinder after cylinder was placed at intervals
during the day, and she was permitted to talk
to them ; to sing, in her sweet, clear voice, one
of her favorite hymns ; to recite a poem of
which both she and her mother were especially
fond, and to say all manner of loving words.
It was noticeable that Dr. Forsythe, though he
had explained the economy of the invention,
by showing them how to pare a cylinder after
it had once been used and copied, so that it
might be used again and again, even to the
number of seventy times or more, would care-
fully set away in a box on an upper shelf every
one to which Dorothy had spoken, with direc-
tions that they on no account be disturbed.

To the astonishment and delight of his daugh-
ter. Dr. Forsythe announced the next morning
that he intended to take another play day. *'I
feel a year or two younger on account of this
one," he said smilingly, "and I have tele-
graphed Dr. Boydner that he need not expect

AT LAST. a«l

me to-day. He said I would become so fasci-
nated with the phonograph that I wouldn't be
able to tear myself away, so he will understand
at least one of my reasons."

Another long bright day, full of interest and
satisfaction to Dorothy, was spent by the little
family of which Caroline seemed to herself to
have become a part. Mrs. Forsythe, whom the
sea breezes had really improved, was able to
rest on the couch in the doctor's room and en-
joy with them the ''talking machine," as Doro-
thy had named it, which did not in the least
lose its charm. Later in the day, after the
mother had been carried in her husband's strong
arms to her own room for a rest, Dorothy and
Caroline were alone together. Dorothy had
be«n lying back among the pillows, resting
also. Suddenly she roused herself and looked
toward the phonograph.

" Caroline, put a cylinder in the talking ma-
chine, please. I want to talk a letter to papa
and mamma. I know why papa doesn't want
any of those up on the shelf pared ; he wants
to keep his little Dorothy's voice to talk to him
next winter. Isn't it nice that he can ? Now

362 AT LAST.

I will talk a letter to him and mamma that they
will not know anything about, until some day
you will tell them, and it will please them very
much." Caroline had no words to answer.
Silently she fitted the cylinder into the machine,
pushed up the chair for Dorothy, arranged the
pillow at her back, turned on the power, and
stood waiting to see what she was to do next.

''Now," said Dorothy, smiling up at her,
"would you just please to go into the other
room and leave me all alone a little while? I
want to talk some words to papa and mamma
just for them, you know. They are good-by
words, Caroline, that I don't know how to say
to them, because it makes them feel badly ; but
some day they will like to put the cylinder in
this machine and hear it say the words in hiy
own voice."

Tears were choking Caroline's voice so that
she could not answer, except by kisses, which
she left on the two fair cheeks as she moved
softly away. She waited at the door outside
for Dorothy's call, and presently it came.

"I've finished it," said Dorothy, in a tone
of intense satisfaction; "a nice long talk.

AT LAST. 36S

Put it away, Caroline, on the very top shelf,
and put a little slip of paper inside marked
' Dorothy's talk to papa and mamma.' I've
said some sweet good- by words to them. It is
very nice ; I am so glad papa brought the
phonograph down to me, so I could talk to it
for them. I meant to write a little letter, but
this is a great deal nicer, isn't it, Caroline ? be-
cause they can hear my voice say the words.
Now let us go to mamma's room and see the
sun set. There will be a lovely sunset to-night,
I think ; those clouds over there are beginning
to reflect it already."

In a few moments more she was cosily settled
on a couch in her mother's room, her head rest-
ing on the pillow beside her mother's, one hand
clasped in her father's, and her face turned
toward the glowing west. It was a wonderful
sunset — unlike any which Caroline had ever
remembered before. They talked about it for
a few minutes, called one another's attention to
the lovely gold, the glowing crimson, with its
background of violet shading into even darker
hues, and the clouds took strange shapes like
castles and towers burnished with gold.

364 AT LAST.

''There's a door," said Dorothy suddenly,
her eyes fixed on the glory. "The door of
Heaven, and it is wide open ; it looks as though
there were angels standing in the door beckon-
ing. Do you see them, papa? Look, mamma,
look, Caroline ; angels and angels, ever so many
of them, right in the door and all about it.
Ah ! there, they have gone, and the door is shut."

She was still again. They were all very still.
A strange hush seemed to have fallen upon
them, broken first by the sound of a stifled
sob, for grandmother was crying. A moment
more and Dr. Forsythe arose, turned on the
gas, which had been but a faint glimmer, and
bent over Dorothy. She lay just as she had
when the twilight began ; face close to her
mother's on the pillow, one hand clasped in
hers. But Dr. Forsythe, bending low till his
lips touched hers, said tremulously, "Our dar-
ling has gone in, and the door is shut."

There was a sad journey back to Philadelphia,
can'ying with them the precious body whose soul
went home in that twilight, when to her the
doors of Heaven seemed to open, and the
angels came to meet her.

AT LAST. 366

Those had been sad, anxious days which fol-
lowed. Mrs. Forsythe, shocked by the blow,
which with all her preparation had at last come
suddenly, for a few days sank rapidly, and it
seemed for a time as though she, too, was go-
ing aw^ay. But she rallied, and tried bravely
to take nourishing food, and to sleep and rest,
and not wear out her heart with weeping.

'*I must not go yet," she said to Caroline,
with a faint smile; "it would be too hard for
the doctor. He cannot spare Dorothy and me
both at once. Dorothy would want me to stay
and comfort him. I must try to grow strong."

Once during those trying days had Dr. For-
sythe paused in his busy, anxious life, to lay a
kind hand on Caroline's shoulder, and say earn-
estly : "Child, you are a comfort to us. I
hardly see how we could have done without
you. It will be a blessed memory to us always
that you were with our little girl to the last
moment — went to the very door with her.
We can never forget it, Caroline. You have a
blessed mother, I know, and no one must step
in and take her place ; but next to her, my
child, think of Dorothy's father and mother as

866 AT LAST.

your own. You will always be to us a dear
older daughter. For your own sake, as well as
for the sake of the one you loved, we shall de-
light to plan for you as if you were indeed our
very own."

Mrs. Forsythe said it differently. Caroline
was one evening arranging the pillows, just as
some way she had a talent for doing, and Doro-
thy's mother reached up, put a fair arm around
her neck, drew her head close down to the pil-
low, and said: "Dear little girl! Dorothy's
Caroline and my Caroline. Love us for her
sake, won't you? You must go home very
soon ; that is right, of course ; it is hard to
have kept you so long. But when you have
had a good long rest and visit come back to us,
dear. Think of your school duties, and home
life with us. Pet me instead of Dorothy, dear ;
I need it. We cannot try to get along without
you, and I am glad there is no need ; for you
should be in school, and there are no better
ones than we can offer you."

At last the morning came, and the hour and
the moment, when Caroline Bryant was actually
seated in the Philadelphia train on her way

AT LAST. 367

home, whirling over the road which she had
traveled, a desolate little girl, so many months
before. How different everything looked to
her; how utterly different everything was. She
thought of that forlorn little girl, in a torn,
soiled dress that had done duty all day in the
woods, in a pair of heavy shoes much the worse
for wear, gloveless, and without wraps or bag-
gage of any sort. What a different picture was
the trim maiden who occupied a seat in the par-
lor car, clothed from head to foot in the most
becoming and appropriate of traveling costumes
— hat and gloves and all her belongings match-
ing exquisitely — and at her side a modern
traveling bag carefully stocked with every con-
venience that a young traveler could possibly
need.

Conductor Brinker made many stops at her
seat ; opened her window for her or closed it,
drew down the shade or put it up as occasion
suggested, and did everything he could think
of for her comfort. But there was a respect-
ful air about it all, an air of deference such as
he showed to ladies ; he even called her ^' Miss"
when he brought her some bright flowers which

868 AT LAST.

she had caught sight of by the roadside and
admired.

Caroline smiled, and answered promptly : '*I
am just Caroline, Mr. Brinker; don't call me
anything else. Here is a paper of bonbons
which I wish you would take to Daisy and
Bubby. I was going around to say good-by
and leave them, but I hadn't time, so I thought
I would bring them along and give them to
you."

Great was Conductor Brinker' s pleasure at
this. ''Bubby would be tickled to death," he
declared. He remembered her, of course he
did ! He talked about her for days after the
last time she was there. And Daisy was very
well ; getting to be a right good smart girl, her
father said. ''Goes to school regular as clock-
work. Means to grow up a smart lady like
her Caroline," and he smiled broadly.

As the day wore away, and the train neared
the familiar station which meant home and
mother and Ben and little Daisy to this home-
sick heart, Caroline had much to do to maintain
her dignity. She felt at times as though she
must tell all the passengers her story. How

AT LAST. 869

she had gone to Philadelphia oh ! ever and ever
so long ago, without any intention on her part,
and staid without any expectation of doing so,
and been s-ide-tracked a great many times when
she was about to start for home, but that now
she was really and truly within three miles of
home ! However, she did nothing of the kind,
but sat erect, with her cheeks growing pinker
and pinker, and looked steadily out of the win-
dow. They passed the Junction, which had
caused her so much trouble, without so much
as a halt.

The sun was set, and the street lamps were
being lighted as they rolled into the station ; at
last she was at home. Outside were mother,
and Ben, and Daisy, and Mr. Holden, and
Mrs. Kedwin, and Fanny and Rufus ! She
could see them, every one, even before the
train stopped. She tapped on the window and
fluttered her handkerchief, and Ben caught a
glimpse of it. Before she could make her way
to the platform he was beside her.

What a home-coming was that !

"My darling!" said Mrs. Bryant, folding
both arms about her, and giving her such a

370 AT LAST.

long, long kiss that Daisy felt as though her
turn were never coming. "My darling, we
have you indeed ! "

*'Why, Line Bryant," said Fanny Kedwin,
" how you are rigged up ! Dear me, I should
think you were going to a party.'* But Caro-
line was being smothered in Daisy's arms, hear-
ing her soft, tremulous voice murmur, "My
Line," and had no ears for Fanny Kedwin.

They came over that evening, Fanny and
Rufus, with their mother. "The children had
to come," said Mrs. Kedwin. "I told them
they ought to stay away one night and give
you a chance to visit with your folks ; but they
were that crazy to see you that they couldn't
give it up. My sakes. Line ! but you have
grown into a fine lady, sure enough. ' Fine
feathers make fine birds,' that's a fact. They
have got good taste, I'll say that for them, and
you are a pretty girl, anyhow. Clothes look
well on you."

Caroline laughed and blushed, while Ben
gravely gave it as his opinion that clothes
looked pretty well on most people.

"Are you going back there?" asked Fanny

AT LAST, 871

a little later, as Caroline obliged herself to go
away from her mother's side and sit down by
the young folks for a little talk.

*'Say, Line, Ben says you are going back'
there. Are you?"

"Yes,'* said Caroline ; "I am going back to
school. The schools are splendid there, you
know, and I am to go through ; complete my
education and graduate, if I want to."

" O, my sakes ! " said P^anny, '^ what luck.'*

"I think as much," said Rufus. "Say, you
folks, do you know that it is exactly a year ago
to-day that we went nutting? "

"That's a fact," said Ben, considering for a
moment. "Line, it took you a whole year to
get home from a nutting excursion ; just think
of it!"

' ' And only think of all the things that have
happened since," said Rufus. "I tell you
what it is. Line Bryant, I am the one to be
thanked for all your feathers, ruffles and
watches, and I don't know what not. If it
hadn't been for me going off that night leaving
you asleep, and all that, it wouldn't any of it
ever have happened, I never thought of that

372: AT LAST.

before. AH the good luck yoir have had this-
year has come through me."

' ' You were uever williug to take the blame
before," said Ben, laughing. *'If you hadn't
put her on the wrong train the going to sleep
wouldn't have done any harm. But never
mind, it's all over now. She's got back, if it
has taken her a long time to do it."

Caroline's smile came through a mist of tears.
She could not talk so glibly of all that had hap-
pened as they could. The year had been full
of blessing to her, and it seemed to her that
she could never be grateful enough for having
known and loved her Dorothy, but the pain of
parting from her, and of doing without her,
was too recent for her to be able to laugh and
talk cheerily of all the " happenings " of that
year.

*'I suppose they gave you lots of things?"
said Fanny, not being able to get away from
the practical part of the matter.

"Is that your best dress you traveled in?
O, my sakes ! a nicer one than that ? Well,
they spent lots of money on you, that's a fact."

Caroline was silent, and half-indignant.

AT LAST. 873

How rude and unrefined and almost coarse
this old friend of hers had grown ! The year
seemed not to have changed her in the least
for the better. She had had in mind to tell
them about the beautiful soft white dresses,
and blue dresses, and wraps and hats, which
with loving thoughtfulness Mrs. Forsythe had
sent to Daisy. "They are all my Dorothy's
things," she had said, when she took the key
of the large trunk from under her pillow and
handed it to Caroline. " They will just fit your
Daisy. I cannot have them lie and grow yellow
and creased and moth-eaten, perhaps, because
my darling has gone to Heaven and will need
them no more. I would a great deal rather
Daisy had them. Besides, she wanted it so.
She sent them to Daisy herself. That was one
of the messages in her letter, Caroline."

Caroline had thought to tell about the letter
given to the "talking machine," and to describe
some of the pretty things in the trunk, and tell
them how sweet Dorothy had looked in them,
but Fanny's sordid views and disagreeable ways
of talking closed her lips. She felt sure that
they would not understand.

874 AT LAST.

*' You are great folks for luck," said Rufus,
with a sigh ; "I always said so, and if this
year doesn't prove it I don't know what does.
To think that because that train was twenty
minutes late all this should have happened ! "

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