 CHAPTER XII. DAN'S CHRISTMAS Where was Dan? In prison, alas for Mrs. Joe, how her heart would have ached if she had known that while old plum shone with Christmas cheer, her boy sat alone in his cell, trying to read the little book she gave him, with eyes dimmed now and then by the hot tears no physical suffering had ever rung from him, and longing with a homesick heart for all that he had lost. Yes, Dan was in prison, but no cry for help from him as he faced the terrible straight he was in, the dumb despair of an Indian at the stake, for his own bosom sin had brought him there, and this was to be the bitter lesson that tamed the lawless spirit and taught himself control. The story of his downfall is soon told, for it came, as so often happens, just when he felt unusually full of high hopes, good resolutions, and dreams of a better life. On his journey he met a pleasant young fellow, and naturally felt an interest in him, as Blair was on his way to join his elder brothers on a ranch in Kansas. Car playing was going on in the smoking car, and the lad, for he was barely twenty, tired with the long journey, the guyled the way with such partners as appeared, being full of spirits, and a little intoxicated with the freedom of the West. Dan, true to his promise, would not join, but watched with intense interest the games that went on, and soon made up his mind that the two men were sharpers anxious to fleece the boy who had imprudently displayed a well-filled pocketbook. Dan always had a soft spot in his heart for any younger, weaker creature whom he met, and something about the lad reminded him of Teddy, so he kept an eye on Blair and warned him against his new friends. Bamely, of course, who when all stopped overnight in one of the great cities, Dan missed the boy from the hotel, whether he had taken him for safekeeping, and learning who had come for him, went to find him, calling himself a fool for his pains yet unable to lead the confiding boy to the dangers that surrounded him. He found him gambling in a low place with the men, who were bound to have his money, and by the look of relief on Blair's anxious face when he saw him, Dan knew without words that things were going badly with him, and he saw the peril too late. I can't come yet. I've lost. It's not my money. I must get it back, or I dare not face my brothers," whispered the poor lad, when Dan begged him to get away without further loss. Shame and fear made him desperate, and he played on, sure that he could recover the money confided to his care. Seeing Dan's resolute face, keen eye, and travelled air, the sharpers were wary, played fair, and let the boy win a little, but they had no mind to give up their prey, and finding that Dan stood sentinel at the boy's back, and on a misglance was exchanged between them, which meant, we must get this fellow out of the way. Dan saw it, and was on his guard, for he and Blair were strangers. Evil deeds are easily done in such places, and no tales told, but he would not desert the boy, and still kept watch of every card till he plainly detected false play, and boldly said so. High words passed. Dan's igneneration overcame his prudence, and when the cheat refused to restore his plunder with insulting words and drawn pistol, Dan's hot temper flashed out, and he knocked the man down with a blow that sent him crashing head-first against a stove, to roll senseless and bleeding to the floor. A wild scene followed, but in the midst of it, Dan whispered to the boy, get away, and hold your tongue, don't mind me. Frightened and bewildered, Blair quitted the city at once, leaving Dan to pass the night in the lock-up, and a few days later to stand in court, charged with manslaughter, for the man was dead. Dan had no friends, and having once briefly told the story, held his peace, anxious to keep all knowledge of the sad affair from those at home. He even concealed his name, giving that of David Kent, as he had done several times before in emergencies. It was all over very soon, but as there were extenuating circumstances, his sentence was a year in prison, with hard labour. Dazed by the rapidity with which this horrible change in his life came upon him, Dan did not fully realise it till the iron door claimed behind him, and he sat alone in a cell, as narrow, cold, and silent as a tune. He knew that a word would bring Mr. Lori to help and comfort him, but he could not bear to tell of this disgrace, or see the sorrow and the shame it would cause the friends who hoped so much for him. No, he said, clenching his fist, I'll let them think me dead first. I shall be if I am kept here long, and he sprang up to pace the stone floor like caged lion, with a turmoil of wrath and grief, rebellion and remorse, seething in heart and brain, till he felt as if he should go mad, and beat upon the walls that shuck him away from the liberty which was his life. For days he suffered terribly, then, worn out, sank into a black melancholy, sadder to see, than his excitement. The warden of this prison was a rough man, who would won the ill will of all, by unnecessary harshness, but the chaplain was full of sympathy, and did his hard duty faithfully and tenderly. He labored with poor Dan, but seemed to make no impression, and was forced to wait till work had soothed the excited nerves, and captivity tamed the proud spirit that would suffer but not complain. Dan was put into the brush-shop, and feeling that activity was his only salvation, worked with a feverish energy that soon won the approval of the master, and the envy of less skillful mates. Day after day he sat in his place, watched by an armed overseer, forbidden any but necessary words, no intercourse with the men beside him, no change but from cell to shop, no exercise but the dreary marches to and fro, each man's hand on the other shoulder, keeping step with the dreary tramps so different from the ring-tread of soldiers. Silent, gaunt, and grim, Dan did his daily task, ate his bitter bread, and obeyed commands with a rebellious flash of the eye, that made the warden say, as a dangerous man, watch him, he'll break out some day. There were others more dangerous than he, because older in crime, and ready for any desperate outbreak to change the monotony of long sentences. These men soon divined Dan's mood, and in the mysterious way convicts and bent managed to convey to him before a month was over that plans were being made for a mutiny at the first opportunity. Thanksgiving Day was one of the few chances for them to speak together, as they enjoyed an hour of freedom in the prison-yard. Then all would be settled, and the rash attempt made, if possible, probably to end in bloodshed and defeat for most, but liberty for a few. Dan had already planned his own escape, and bided his time, growing more and more moody, fierce, and rebellious, as loss of liberty wore upon body and soul, for the sudden change from his free, healthy life to such a narrow, gloomy, and miserable one could not but have a terrible effect upon one of Dan's temperament and age. He brooded over his ruined life, gave up all his happy hopes and felt that he could never face dear old Plumfield again, or touch those friendly hands with the stain of blood upon his own. He did not care for the wretched man whom he had killed, for such a life was better ended, he thought, but the disgrace of prison would never be wiped out of his memory. Though the cropped hair would grow again, the gray suit easily be replaced, and the bolts and bars left far behind. It's all over for me. I've spoiled my life, now let it go. I'll give up the fight and get what pleasure I can anywhere, anyhow. They shall think me dead, and so still care for me, but never know what I am. Poor mother bear! She tried to help me, but it's no use. A firebrand can't be saved. And dropping his head in his hands, as he sat on his low bed, Dan would mourn over all he had lost in tearless misery, till merciful sleep would comfort him with dreams of the happy days, when the boys would play together. Or those still later and happier ones when all smiled on him, and Plumfield seemed to have gained a new and curious charm. There was one poor fellow in Dan's shop, whose fate was harder than his, for his sentence expired in the spring, but there was little hope for his living till that time, and the coldest hearted man pitied poor Mason as he sat coughing his life away in that closed place, and counting the weary days yet to pass before he could see his wife and little child again. There was some hope that he might be pardoned out, but he had no friends to bestow themselves in the matter, and it was evident that the great judge's pardon would soon end his patient pain forever. Dan pitied him more than he dared to show, and this one tender emotion in that dark time was like the little flower that sprung up between the stones of the prison-yard and saved the captive from despair in the beautiful old story. Dan held Mason with his work when he was too feeble to finish his task, and the grateful look that thanked him was a ray of sunshine to cheer his cell when he was alone. Mason envied the splendid health of his neighbor, and mourned to see it wasting there. He was a peaceful soul, and tried, as far as a whispered word or warning glance could do it, to deter Dan from joining the bad lot, as the rebels were called, but having turned his face from the light, Dan found the downward way easy, and took a grim satisfaction in the prospect of a general outbreak during which he might revenge himself upon the tyrannical warden and strike a blow for his own liberty, feeling that an hour of insurrection would be a welcome vent for the pent-up passions that tormented him. He attained many a wild animal, but his own lawless spirit was too much for him, till he found the curb that made him master of himself. The Sunday before Thanksgiving, as he sat in chapel, Dan observed several guests in the seats reserved for them, and looked anxiously to see if any familiar face was there, for he had a mortal fear that someone from home would suddenly confront him. No, all were strangers, and he soon forgot them in listening to the chaplain's cheerful words, and the sad singing of many heavy hearts. People often spoke to the convicts, so it caused no surprise when, on being invited to address them, one of the ladies rose and said she would tell them a little story, which announcement caused the younger listeners to pack up their ears and even the older ones to look interested, for any change in their monotonous life was welcome. The speaker was a middle-aged woman in black, with a sympathetic face, eyes full of compassion, and a voice that seemed to warm the heart, because of certain motherly tones in it. She reminded Dan of Mrs. Joe, and he listened intently to every word, because by chance they came at the moment when he needed a softening memory to break up the ice of despair which was blighting all the good impulses of his nature. It was a very simple little story, but it caught the men's attention at once. Being about two soldiers in a hospital during the late war, both badly wounded in the right arm, and both anxious to save these breadwinners and go home unmaimed, one was patient, docile, and cheerfully obeyed orders, even when told that the arm must go. He submitted, and after much suffering recovered, grateful for life, though he could fight no more. The other rebelled, would listen to no advice, and having delayed too long died a lingering death, bitterly regretting his folly when it was too late. Now, as all stories should have a little moral, let me tell you my, added the lady with a smile, as she looked at the row of young men before her, sadly wondering what brought them there. This is a hospital for soldiers wounded in life's battles. Here are six souls, weak souls, insane passions, blind consciences, all the ills that come from broken laws, bringing their inevitable pain and punishment with them. There is hope and help for everyone, for God's mercy is infinite, and man's charity is great. But penitence and submission must come before the cure is possible. Pay the forfeit manually, for it is just. But from the suffering and shame, ring new strength for a noble life. The scar will remain, but it is better for a man to lose both arms than his soul, and these hard years, instead of being lost, may be made the most precious of your lives, if they teach you to rule yourselves. Oh, friends, try to outlive the bitter past, to wash the sin away, and begin anew, if not for your own sakes, for that of the dear mothers, wives, and children who wait and hope so patiently for you. Remember them. And do not let them love and long in vain. And if there be any here so forlorn that they have no friend to care for them, never forget the father whose arms are always open to receive, forgive, and comfort his prodigal sons, even at the eleventh hour. There the little sermon ended, but the preacher of it felt that her few hearty words had not been uttered in vain, for one boy's head was down, and several faces wore the softened look which told that untender memory was touched. Dan was forced to set his lips to keep them steady, and drop his eyes to hide the sudden dew that dimmed them when waiting, hoping friends were spoken of. He was glad to be alone in his cell again, and sat thinking deeply, instead of trying to forget himself in sleep. It seemed as if those words were just what he needed to show him where he stood, and how fateful the next few days might be to him. Should he join the bad lot, and perhaps add another crime to the one already committed, lengthen the sentence already so terrible to bear, deliberately turn his back on all that was good, and mar the future that might yet be redeemed? Or should he, like the wiser man in the story, submit, bear the just punishment, try to be better for it, and though the scar would remain, it might serve as a reminder of a battle not wholly lost, since he had saved his soul, though innocence was gone. Then he would dare go home, perhaps, confess, and find fresh strength in the pity and consolation of those who never gave him up. Good and evil fought for Dan that night, as did the Angel and the Devil for Citrum, and it was hard to tell whether lawless nature or loving heart would conquer. Remorse and resentment, shame and sorrow, pride and passion made a battlefield of that narrow cell, and the poor fellow felt as if he had fiercer enemies to fight now than any he had met in all his wanderings. A little thing turned the scale, as it so often does in these mysterious hearts of ours, and a touch of sympathy helped Dan decide the course which would bless or ban his life. In the dark hour before the dawn, as he lay wakeful on his bed, a ray of light shone through the bars, the bolts turned softly, and a man came in. It was the Good Chaplain, led by the same instinct that brings a mother to her sick child's pillow, for long experience as nurse of souls had taught him to see the signs of hope and the hard faces about him, and to know when the moment came for a helpful word and the cordial of sincere prayer that brings such comfort and healing to tried in troubled hearts. He had been to Dan before at unexpected hours, but always found him sullen, indifferent or rebellious, and had gone away to patiently bite his time. Now it had come. A look of relief was in the prisoner's face as the light shone on it, and the sound of a human voice was strangely comfortable after listening to the whispers of the passions, doubts and fears which had haunted the cell for hours, dismaying Dan by their power and showing him how much he needed help to fight the Good Fight, since he had no armor of his own. Kent, poor Mason has gone. He left a message for you, and I felt him hell to come and give it now, because I think you were touched by what we heard today, and in need of the help Mason tried to give you, said the chaplain, taking the one seat and fixing his kind eyes on the grim figure in the bed. Thank you, sir. I'd like to hear it, was all Dan's answer, but he forgot himself in pity for the poor fellow dead in prison, with no last look at wife or child. He went suddenly, but remembered you, and begged me to say these words. Tell him not to do it, but to hold on, do his best, and when his time is, go outright to Mary, and she'll make him welcome for my sake. He's got no friends in these parts, and will feel lonesome, but a woman's always safe and comfortable when a fellow is down on his luck. Give him my love and a good bye, for he was kind to me, and God will bless him for it. Then he died quietly, and to-morrow will go home with God's pardon, since man's came too late. Dan said nothing, but laid his arm across his face, and lay quite still. Seeing that the pathetic little message had done its work even better than he hoped, the chaplain went on, unconscious, how soothing his paternal voice was to the poor prisoner, who longed to go home, but felt he had forfeited that right. I hope you won't disappoint this humble friend whose last thought was for you. I know that there is trouble brewing, and fear that you may be tempted to lend a hand on the wrong side. Don't do it, for the plot will not succeed, it never does, and it would be a pity to spoil your record, which is fair so far. Keep up your courage, my son, and go out at the years and better, not worse, for this hard experience. Remember a grateful woman waits to welcome, and thank you if you have no friends of your own. If you have, do your best for their sake, and let us ask God to help you, as he only can. Then, waiting for no answer, the good man prayed heartily, and Dan listened as he never had before. For the lonely hour, the dying message, the sudden uprising of his better self, made it seem as if some kind angel had come to save and comfort him. After that night there was a change in Dan, though no one knew it with the chaplain, for to all the rest he was the same silent, stern, unsocial fellow as before, and turning his back on the bad and the good alike found his only pleasure in the books his friends brought him. Slowly, as the steadfast drop wears away the rock, the patient kindness of this man, won Dan's confidence, and led by him, he began to climb out of the valley of humiliation towards the mountains, once, through all the clouds, one can catch glimpses of the celestial city where their all-true pilgrims sooner or later turn their wistful eyes and stumbling feet. There were many backslidings, many struggles with giant despair and fiery appallion, many heavy hours when life did not seem worth living, and masons escaped the only hope, but through all, the grasp of a friendly hand, the sound of a brother's voice, the unquenchable desire to atone for the past by a better future, and win the right to see home again, kept poor Dan to his great task, as the old year drew to its end, and the new waited to turn another leaf in the book, whose hardest lesson he was learning now. At Christmas, he yearned so for Plumfield, that he devised a way to send a word of greeting to cheer their anxious hearts, and comfort his own. He wrote to Mary Mason, who lived in another state, asking her to mail the letter he enclosed. In it he merely said he was well and busy, had given up the farm, and had other plans, which he would tell later, would not be home before autumn probably, nor right often, but was all right, and sent love and merry Christmas to everyone. Then he took up his solitary life again, and tried to pay his forfeit manfully. I don't expect to hear from Emile yet, and Nat writes regularly, but where is Dan? Only two or three postal since he went. Such an energetic fellow as he is could buy up all the farms in Kansas by this time, said Mrs. Joe one morning when the mail came in, and no card or envelope bore Dan's dashing hand. He never writes often, you know, but does his work and then comes home. Monsignor seemed to mean little to him, and he is probably prospecting in the wilderness for gets full of time. Answered Mr. Bear, deep in one of Nat's long letters from Leibzig. But he promised he would let me know how he got on, and Dan keeps his word if he can. I'm afraid something has happened to him. And Mrs. Joe comforted herself by patting Dan's head as he came at the sound of his master's name to look at her with eyes almost human and the wistful intelligence. Don't worry, Mum, dear. Nothing ever happens to the old fellow. He'll turn up all right, and come stocking in some day with a gold mine in one pocket and a prairie in the other as jolly as a grig, said Ted, who was in no haste to deliver off to her rightful owner. Perhaps he has gone to Montana and given up the farm plan. He seemed to like Indians best, I thought, and robbing to help his mother with her pile of letters and his cheerful suggestions. I hoped so, it would suit him best, but I am sure he would have told us his change of plan and sent for some money to work with. No, I feel in my prophetic bones that something is wrong, said Mrs. Joe, looking as solid as fate in a breakfast cap. Then we shall hear, ill news always travels fast. Don't borrow trouble, Joe, but hear how well Nat is getting on. I had no idea the boy would cover anything but music. My good friend Baumgarton has launched him well, and it would do him good if he lose not his head. A good lad, but new to the world, and Lipsig is full of snares for the unwary. God be with him. The professor read Nat's enthusiastic account of certain literary and musical parties he had been to, the splendors of the opera, the kindness of his new friends, the delight of studying under such a master as Bergman, his hopes of rapid gain, and his great gratitude toward those who had opened this enchanted world to him. That, now, is satisfactory and comfortable. I felt that Nat had unsuspected power in him before he went away. He was so manly and full of excellent plans, said Mrs. Joe, in a satisfied tone. We shall see. He will doubtless get his lesson and be the better for it. That comes to us all in our young days. I hope it will not be too hard for our good youngling. Enter the professor, with a wise smile, remembering his own student life in Germany. He was right, and Nat was already gaining his lesson in life with a rapidity that would have astonished his friends at home. The manliness over which Mrs. Joe rejoiced was developing in unexpected ways, and quiet Nat had plunged into the more harmless dissipations of the gay city, with all the ardour of an inexperienced youth taking his first sip of pleasure. The entire freedom and sense of independence was delicious, for many benefits began to burden him, and he longed to stand in his own legs and make his own way. No one knew his past here, and with a well-stocked wardrobe, a handsome summons the bankers, and the best teacher in Leipzig, he made his debut as a musically young gentleman, presented by the much-respected Professor Behr and the wealthy Lister Lawrence, who had many friends glad to throw open their houses to his protégé. Thanks to these introductions, his fluent German, modest manners, and undeniable talent, the stranger was cordially welcomed, and launched at once into a circle which many an ambitious young man strove in vain to enter. Aldous rather turned Nat's head, and as he sat in the brilliant opera house, or whisked an eminent Professor's amiable daughter down the room, trying to imagine she was daisy. He often asked himself if this gay fellow could be the poor homeless little street musician, who once stood waiting in the rain at the gates of Plumfield. His heart was true, his impulse was good, and his ambitions high, but the weak side of his nature came uppermost here. Vanity led him astray, pleasure intoxicated him, and for a time he forgot everything but the delight of this new and charming life. Without meaning to deceive, he allowed people to imagine him a youth of good family and prospects. He boasted a little of Mr. Lawrence's wealth and influence, of Professor Behr's eminence, and the flourishing college of which he himself had been educated. Mrs. Joe was introduced to the sentimental Fraulins who read her books, and the charms and virtues of his own dear mansion, and confided to sympathetic mamas. All these boyish boastings and innocent vanities were duly circulated among the gossips, and his importance much increased thereby, to his surprise and gratification, as well as some shame. But they bore fruit that was bitter in the end. For finding that he was considered one of the upper class, it very soon became impossible for him to live in the humble quarters he had chosen, or to lead the studious, quiet life planned for him. He met other students, young officers, and gay fellows of all sorts, and was flattered at being welcomed among them, though it was a costly pleasure, and often left a thorn of regret to vex his honest conscience. He was tended to take better rooms in a more fashionable street, leaving good frottetzel to lament his loss, and his artist-neighbor, Fraulin Vogelstein, to shake a gray ringlet, and predict his return, a sadder and a wiser man. The sum placed in his disposal for expenses, and such simple pleasures as his busy life could command, seemed a fortune to Net, though it was smaller than generous Mr. Lowry first proposed. Professor Beyer wise the counseled prudence, as Net was unused to the care of money, and the good man knew the temptations at a well foiled purse makes possible at this pleasure-loving age. So Net enjoyed his handsome little apartment immensely, and insensibly let many on accustomed luxuries creep in. He loved his music and never missed a lesson, but the hours he should have spent in patient practice were too often wasted at theatre, ball, beer-garden, or club, doing no harm beyond that waste of precious time and money on his own, for he had no vices, and took his recreation like a gentleman, so far. But slowly a change for the worse was beginning to show itself, and he felt it. These first steps along the flowery road were downward, not upward, and the constant sense of disloyalty which soon began to haunt him made Net feel, and the few quiet hours he gave himself, that all was not well with him, spite of the happy world in which he lived. Another month, and then I will be steady, he said more than once, trying to excuse the delay by the fact that all was new to him, that his friends at home wished him to be happy, and that society was giving him the polish he needed. But as each month slipped away it grew harder to escape, he was inevitably drawn on, and it was so easy to drift with the tide, that he deferred the evil day as long as possible. Winter festivities followed the more wholesome summer pleasures, and Net found them more costly, for the hospitable ladies expected some return from the stranger, and carriages, bouquets, theatre tickets, and all the little expenses a young man cannot escape at such times, told heavily on the purse which seemed bottomless at first. Taking Mr. Lorry for his model, Net became quite a gallant, and was universally liked. For through all the newly acquired heirs and graces, the genuine honesty and simplicity of his character plainly shown, winning confidence and affection from all who knew him. Among these was a certain amiable old lady with a musical daughter, well-born but poor, and very anxious to marry the aforesaid daughter to some wealthy man. Net's little fictions concerning his prospects and friends charmed the nadige fra, as much as his music and devoted manners did dissent mental menna. Their quiet parlours seemed home-like and restful to Net, when tired of gayer scenes, and the motherly interest of the elder lady was sweet and comfortable to him, while the tender-blue eyes of the pretty girl were always so full of welcome when he came, as though he had no interest in his mother, and so he was very anxious to marry the aforesaid daughter to some wealthy man. Net's little fictions concerning his prospects and friends charmed the nadige fra, as much as his music and devoted manners did dissent mental menna. The pretty girl were always so full of welcome when he came, of regret when he left, and of admiration when he played to her, that he found it impossible to keep away from this attractive spot. He meant no harm, and feared no danger, having confided to the fra mamma that he was betrothed, so he continued to call, little dreamy when ambitious hopes the old lady cherished, nor the parallel there was in receiving the adoration of a romantic German girl, till it was too late to spare her pain and himself great regret. Of course some inkling of these new and agreeable experiences got into the volume in his letters, he was never too gay, too busy, or too tired to write each week, and while Daisy rejoiced over his happiness and success, and the boys laughed at the idea of old churper coming out as a society man, the alders looked sober, and said among themselves, he is going too fast, he must have a word of warning, or trouble may come. The Mr. Laurie said, oh let him have his fling, he's been depended and repressed long enough, he can't go far with the money he has, and I've no fear of his getting into debt, he's too timid and too honest to be reckless. It is his first taste of freedom, let him enjoy it, and he'll work the butter by and by, I know, and I'm sure I'm right. So the warnings were very gentle, and the good people waited anxiously to hear more of hard study, and less of splendid times. Daisy sometimes wondered, with the pang of her faithful heart, if one of the charming minas, hildegards, and lotchins mentioned were not stealing her gnat away from her, but she never asked, always wrote calmly and cheerfully, and looked in vain for any hint of change in the letters that were worn out with much reading. Month after month slipped away, till the holidays came with gifts, good wishes, and brilliant festivities. Nat expected to enjoy himself very much, and did it first, for a German Christmas is a spectacle worth seeing. But he paid dearly for the abandon with which he threw himself into the gayities of that memorable week, and on New Year's Day the reckoning came. It seemed as if some malicious fairy had prepared the surprises that arrived, so unwelcome were they, so magical the change they wrought, turning his happy world into a scene of desolation and despair, as suddenly as a transformation at the pantomime. The first came in the morning, when duly armed with costly bouquets and bonbons, he went to thank Mina and her mother for the braces embroidered with forget-me-nots, and the silk socks knit by the old lady's nimble fingers, which he had found upon his table that day. The fromama received him graciously, but when he asked for the daughter, the good lady frankly demanded what his intentions were, adding that certain gossip which had reached her ear made it necessary for him to declare himself or come no more, as Mina's peace must not be compromised. A more panic-stricken youth was seldom seen than Nat, as he received this unexpected demand. He saw too late that his American style of gallantry had deceived the irish girl, and might be used with terrible effect by the artful mother if she chose to do it. Nothing but the truth could save him, and he had the honor and honesty to tell it faithfully. A sad scene followed, for Nat was obliged to strip off his fictitious splendor, confess himself only a poor student, and humbly asked pardon for the thoughtless freedom with which he had enjoyed their two confiding hospitality. If he had any doubts of Froschamberg's motives and desires, they were speedily set at rest by the frankness with which she showed her disappointment, the vigor with which she scolded him, and the scorn with which she casted off when her splendid castles in the air collapsed. The sincerity of Nat's penitence softened her a little, and she consented to a farewell word with Mina, who had listened at the keyhole, and was produced drenched in tears, to fall on Nat's bosom, crying, Oh, thou dear one, never can I forget thee, though my heart is broken! This was worse than the scolding, for the stout lady also wept, and it was only after much German gush and twaddle that he escaped, feeling like another werther, while the deserted Lottie consoled herself with the bonbons, her mother with the more valuable gifts. The second surprise arrived as he dined with Professor Baumgarten. His appetite had been effectually taken away by the scene of the morning, and his spirits received another damper when a fellow student cheerfully informed him that he was about to go to America, and to make it his agreeable duty to call on the Libre Herve, Professor Ber, to tell him how gaily his parage was desponding himself at Liebsic. Nat's heart died within him as he imagined that effect these glowing tails would have it plum-field. Not that he had willfully deceived them, but in his letters many things were left untold, and when Carlson added, with a friendly wink, that he would merely hint at the coming betrothal of the fair Minna and his heart's friend, Nat found himself devoutly hoping that this other and inconvenient heart's friend might go to the bottom of the sea before he reached plum-field to blast all his hopes by these tails of a misspent winter. Collecting his wits, he cautioned Carlson with what he flattered himself as a Mephistophelian art, and gave him such confused directions that it would be a miracle if he ever found Professor Ber. But the dinner was spoiled for Nat, and he got away as soon as possible to wander disconsolently about the streets, with no heart for the theatre or the supper he was to share with some gay comrades afterwards. He comforted himself a little by giving alms to sundry beggars, making two children happy with gilded gingerbread, and drinking a lonely glass of beer, in which he toasted his daisy, and wished himself a better year than the last had then. Going home at length, he found a third surprise awaiting him in the shower of bills which descended upon him like a snowstorm, burying him in an avalanche of remorse, despair, and self-disgust. These bills are so many and so large that he was startled and dismayed, for, as Mr. Ber wisely predicted, he knew little about the value of money. It would take every dollar at the bankers to pay them all at once, and leave him penniless for the next six months, unless he wrote home for more. He would rather starve than do that, and his first impulse was to seek help at the gaming-table, with or his new friends that often tempted him. But he had promised Mr. Ber to resist what then had seemed an impossible temptation, and now he would not add another fault to the list already so long. Borrow he would not, nor beg. What could he do? For these appalling bills must be paid, and the lessons go on, or his journey wasn't in the many as failure. But he must live, meantime, and how? Bad Don was remorse for the folly of these months. He saw too late whether he was drifting, and for hours paged up and down his pretty rooms, thundering at a slow of despond, with no helping hand to pull him out. At least he thought so till letters were brought in, and among fresh bills lay one well-worn envelope, with an American stamp in the corner. Ah, how welcome it was! How eagerly he read the long pages full of affectionate wishes from all at home! For everyone had set a line, and as each familiar name appeared, his eyes grew dimmer and dimmer till, as he read the last. God bless my boy, Mother Bear. He broke down, and laying his head on his arms, blistered the paper with a rain of tears that eased his heart, and washed away the boyish sins that not lay so heavy on his conscience. Dear people, how they love and trust me, and how bitterly they would be disappointed if they knew what a fool I had been. I'll fiddle in the streets again before I'll ask for help from them. Cried Nat, brushing away the tears of which he was ashamed, although he felt the good they had done. Now he seemed to see more clearly what to do, for the helping hand had been stretched across the sea, and love, the dear evangelist, had lived him out of the slow, and shone in the narrow gate, beyond which deliverance lay. When the letter had been reread, and one corner where a daisy was painted, passionately kissed, Nat felt strong enough to face the worst, and conquer it. Every bill should be paid, every saleable thing of his own sold, these costly rooms given up, and once back with a thirsty foe, Tedsel, he would find work of some sort by which to support himself, as many another student did. He must give up the new friends, turn his back on the gay life, seize to be a butterfly, and take his place among the grubs. It was the only honest thing to do, but very hard for the poor fellow to crush his little vanities, renounce the delight so dear to the young, own his folly, and step down from this pedestal to be pitied, laughed at, and forgotten. It took all Nat's pride and courage to do this, for his was a sensitive nature, a steam was very precious to him, and failure very bitter, and nothing but the inward contempt for meanness and deceit kept him from asking help, or trying to hide his need by some dishonest advice. As he sat alone that night, Mr. Bear is where it's came back to him with curious clearness, and he saw himself a boy again at Plumfield, punishing his teacher as a lesson to himself, when timidity had made him lie. He shall not suffer for me again, and I won't be a sneak if I am a fool. I'll go and tell Professor Baumgarten all about it, and ask his advice. I'd rather face a loaded cannon, but it must be done. Then I'll sell out, pay my debts, and go back where I belong. Better be an honest pauper than a jackdaw among peacocks. And Nat smiled in the midst of his trouble, as he looked about him at the little elegancies of his room, remembering what he came from. He kept his word manfully, and was much comforted to find that his experience was an old story to the Professor, who approved his plan, thinking wisely that the discipline would be good for him, and was very kind in offering help and promising to keep the secret of his folly from his friend Beer till Nat had redeemed himself, and was very kind in offering help and promising to keep the secret of his folly from his friend Beer till Nat had redeemed himself. The first week of the New Year was spent by a prodigal in carrying out his plan with penitent dispatch, and his birthday found him alone in the little room high up at Fra Tetzel's, with nothing of his former splendor, but sundry and saleable keepsakes from the books of maidens, who mourned his absence deeply. His male friends had ridiculed, pitied, and soon left him alone, with one or two exceptions, who offered their purses generously, and promised to stand by him. He was lonely and heavy-hearted, and sat brooding over his small fires who remembered the last New Year's Day at Plumfield, when at this hour he was dancing with his daisy. A tap at the door roused him, and with a careless, herein, he waited to see what climbed so far for his sake. It was the good Fra, proudly bearing a tray, on which stood a bottle of wine, and an astonishing cake bedecked with sugar-plums of every hue, and crowned with candles. Fra Lynn Vogelsain followed, embracing a blooming rose-tree, above which her gray curls waved, and her friendly face beam joyfully as she cried, Dear Herb Black, we bring you greetings and a little gift or two in honor of this ever-to-be remembered day. Best wishes, and may the New Year bloom for you as beautifully as we your hard-won friends desire. Yes, yes, and truth we do, Dear Herb, added Fra Tetzel, each of this with joy made cushion, and drink to the health of the far way beloved ones and the good one. Amused, yet touched by the kindness of the good souls, Nat thanked them both, and made them say to enjoy the humble feasts with him. This they gladly did, being motherly women filled with pity for the dear youth, whose straights they knew, and having substantial help to offer, as well as kind words and creature comforts. Fra Tetzel, with some hesitation, mentioned a friend of hers who, forced by illness to leave his place in the orchestra of a second-rate theater, would gladly offer it to Nat, if he could accept so humble of position. Blushing and toying with the roses like a shy girl, good old Vogelsain asked if in his leisure moments he could give English lessons in the young lady's school where she taught painting, adding that a small but certain salary would be paid him. Gratefully, Nat accepted both offers, finding it less humiliating to be helped by women than by friends of his own sex. This work would support him in a frugal way, and certain musical judgery promised by his master assured his own teaching. Delighted with the success of their little plot, these friendly neighbors left him with teary words, warm hand-graphs, and faces beaming with feminine satisfaction at the hearty kiss Nat put on each faded cheek as the only return he could make for all their helpful kindness. It was strange how much better the world looked after that, for hope was a better cordial than the wine, and good resolutions brimmed as freshly as the little rose-tree that filled the room with fragrance, as Nat woke the echoes with the dear old airs, finding now, as always, his best comforter in music, to whom henceforth he swore to be a more loyal subject. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Susie G. Joe's Boys by Louisa May Alcott, CHAPTER XIV Plays at Plumfield As it is, as impossible for the humble historian of the March family to write a story without theatricals in it, as for our dear Miss Young, to get on with less than twelve or fourteen children in her interesting tales, we will accept the fact, and at once cheer ourselves after the last afflicting events, by proceeding to the Christmas plays at Plumfield, for they influence the fate of several of our characters, and cannot well be skipped. When the college was built, Mr. Lorry added a charming little theatre which not only served for plays, but declamations, lectures, and concerts. The drop curtain displayed Apollo, with the muses grouped about him. And as a compliment to the donor of the hall, the artist had given the guard a decided resemblance to our friend, which was considered a superb joke by everyone else. Home talent furnished stars, stock company, orchestra, and scene painter, and astonishing performances were given on this pretty little stage. Mrs. Joe had been trying for some time to produce a play which should be an improvement upon the adaptions from the French then in vogue, curious mixtures of fine toilets, false sentiment, and feeble wit, with no touch of nature to redeem them. It was easy to plan plays full of noble speeches and thrilling situations, but very hard to write them. So she contented herself with a few scenes of humble life in which the comic and pathetic were mingled, and as she fitted her characters to her actors, she hoped the little venture would prove that truth and simplicity had not entirely lost their power to charm. Mr. Lorry helped her, and they called themselves Bumont and Fletcher, enjoying their joint labour very much, for Bumont's knowledge of dramatic art was of great use in curbing Fletcher's two aspiring pen, and they flattered themselves that they had produced a neat and effective bit of work as an experiment. All was ready now, and Christmas Day was as much enlivened by last rehearsals, the panics of timid actors, the scramble for forgotten properties, and the decoration of the theatre. Evergreen and Holly from the woods, blooming plants from the hot house on Parnassus, and flags of all nations made it very gay that night in honour of the guests who were coming, chief among them, Miss Cameron, who kept her promise faithfully. The orchestra tuned their instruments with unusual care. The scene-shifters set their stage with lavish elegance. The prompter heroically took his seat in the stifling nook provided for him, and the actors, dressed with trembling hands that dropped the pins, and perspiring brows whereon the powder wouldn't stick. Beaumont and Fletcher were everywhere, feeling that their literary reputation was at stake, for sundry friendly critics were invited, and reporters, like Mosquitos, cannot be excluded from any earthly scene, be it a great man's deathbed or a dye museum. Has she come? was the question asked by every tongue behind the curtain, and when Tom, who played an old man, endangered his respectable legs among the footlights to peep, announced that he saw Miss Cameron's handsome head in the place of honour, a thrill pervaded the entire company, and Josie declared with an excited gasp that she was going to have stage fright for the first time in her life. I'll shake you if you do, said Mrs. Joe, who was in such a wild state of dishevelment with her varied labours that she might have gone on as mad wildlife without an additional rag or crazy elf-lock. You'll have time to get your wits together while we do our piece. We are old stages, and calm as clocks, answered Demi, with a nod towards Alice, ready in her pretty dress and all her properties at hand. But both clocks were going rather faster than usual, as heightened colour, brilliant eyes, and a certain flutter under the laces and velvet coat betrayed. They were to open the entertainment with a gay little piece which they had played before and did remarkably well. Alice was a tall girl, with dark hair and eyes, and a face which intelligence, health, and a happy heart made beautiful. She was looking her best now, for the brocades, plumes, and powder of the marquise became her stately figure, and Demi, in his court suit, with sword, three-cornered hat, and white wig, made as gallant a barren as one would wish to see. Josie was the maid, and looked her part to life, being as pretty, pert, and inquisitive as any French sobrette. These three were all the characters, and the success of the piece depended on the spirit and skill with which the quickly changing moods of the quarrelsome lovers were given, their witty speeches made to tell, and by play suited to the courtly period in which the scene was laid. Few would have recognised sober John and studious Alice in the dashing gentlemanic ochetish lady, who kept the audience laughing at their caprices, while they enjoyed the brilliant costumes, and admired the ease and grace of the young actors. Josie was a prominent figure in the plot, as she listened at keyholes, peeped into notes, and popped in and out at all the most inopportune moments, with her nose in the air, her hands in her apron pockets, and curiosity pervading her little figure from the topmost bow of her jaunty cap to the red heels of her slippers. All went smoothly, and the capricious mochise, after tormenting the devoted baron to her heart's content, owned herself conquered in the war of wits, and was just offering the hand he had fairly won when a crash startled them, and a heavily decorated side-scene swayed forward, ready to fall upon Alice. Demi sought and sprung before her to catch and hold it up, standing like a modern Samson with the wall of a house on his back. The danger was over in a moment, and he was about to utter his last speech, when the excited young scene-shifter, who had flown up a ladder to repair the damage, leaned over to whisper, all right, and released Demi from his spread eagle attitude. As he did so, a hammer slipped out of his pocket to fall upon the upturned face below, inflicting a smart blow and literally knocking the baron's part out of his head. A quick curtain robbed the audience of a pretty little scene not down on the bill, for the mochise flew to staunch the blood with a cry of alarm. Oh, John! You're hurt! Lean on me! Which John gladly did for a moment, being a trifle dazed, yet quite able to enjoy the tender touch of the hands busyed about him, and the anxiety of the face so near his own. For both told him something which he would have considered cheaply won by a rain of hammers and the fall of the whole collage on his head. Nan was on the spot in a moment with the case that never left her pocket, and the wound was neatly plastered up by the time Mrs. Joe arrived, demanding tragically, Is he too hurt to go on again? If he is, my play is lost. I'm all the fitter for it, Auntie, for here's a real instead of a painted wound. I'll be ready. Don't worry about me. And catching up his wig, Demi was off, with only a very eloquent look of thanks to the mochise, who had spoiled her gloves for his sake, but did not seem to mind at all, though they reached above her elbows and were most expensive. How are your nerves, Fletcher? asked Mr. Lorry as they stood together during the breathless minute before the last bell rings. About as calm as yours, Beaumont, answered Mrs. Joe, gesticulating wildly to Mrs. Meg to set her cap straight. Bear up, partner. I'll stand by you whatever comes. I feel that it ought to go, for, though it's a mere trifle, a good deal of honest work and truth had gone into it. Doesn't Meg look the picture of a dear old country woman? She certainly did, as she sat in the farmhouse kitchen by a cheery fire, rocking a cradle and donning stockings, as if she had done nothing else all her life. Grey hair, skillfully drawn lines on the forehead, and a playing gown with cap, little shawl, and check apron, changed her into a comfortable, motherly creature, who found favor the moment the curtain went up, and discovered her rocking, darning, and crooning an old song. In a short soliloquy about Sam, her boy, who wanted to enlist, dolly, her discontented little daughter, who longed for city ease and pleasures, and poor and lazy, who had married badly, and came home to die, bequeathing her baby to her mother, lest its bad father should claim it. The little story was very simply opened, and made effective by the real boiling of the kettle on the crane, the ticking of a tall clock, and the appearance of a pair of blue worsted shoes which waved fitfully in the air to the soft babble of a baby's voice. Those shapeless little shoes won the first applause, and Mr. Laurie, forgetting elegance and satisfaction, whispered to his co-ajutor. I thought the baby would fetch them. If the dear thing won't squall in the wrong place, we are saved, but it is risky. Be ready to catch it, if all Meg's cuddlings prove in vain, answered Mrs. Joe, adding, with a clutch at Mr. Laurie's arm as a haggard face appeared at the window, here's Demi, oh, I hope no one will recognize him when he comes on as the son. I'll never forgive you for not doing the villain yourself. I can't run the thing and act too. He is capitally made up, and likes a bit of melodrama. This scene ought to have come later, but I wanted to show that the mother was the heroine as soon as possible. I'm tired of lovesick girls and runaway wives. We'll prove that there's a romance in old women also. Now he's coming. And in slouched a degraded looking man, shabby, unshaven, and evil-eyed, trying to assume a masterful heir as he dismayed the tranquil old woman by demanding his child. A powerful scene followed, and Mrs. Meg surprised even those who knew her best by the homely dignity with which she at first met the man she dreaded. Then, as he brutally pressed his claim, she pleaded with trembling voice and hands to keep the little creature she had promised the dying mother to protect. And when he turned to take it by force, quite a thrill went through the house as the old woman sprung to snatch it from the cradle and holding it close to fight him in God's name to tear it from that sacred refuge. It was really well done, and the round of applause that greeted the fine tableau of the indignant old woman, the rosy, blinking baby clinging to her neck, and the daunted man who dared not execute his evil purpose with such a defender for helpless innocence, told the excited authors that their first scene was a hit. The second was quieter and introduced Josie as a bonny country lass setting the supper table in a bad humour. The pettish way in which she slapped down the plates, hustled the cups, and cut the big brown loaf, as she related her girlish trials and ambitions, was capital. Mrs. Joe kept her eye on Miss Cameron, and saw her not approval several times at some natural tone or gesture, some good bit of bi-play, or a quick change of expression in the young face, which was as variable as an April day. Her struggle with the toasting fork made much merriment, so did her contempt for the brown sugar, and the relish with which she sweetened her irksome duties by eating it. And when she sat, like Cinderella on the hearth, tearfully watching the flames dance on the homely room, a girlish voice was heard to exclaim impulsively, poor thing, she ought to have some fun. The old woman enters, and mother and daughter have a pretty scene, in which the latter coaxes and threatens, kisses and cries, till she wins the reluctant consent of the former to visit a rich relation in the city. And from being a little thunder-cloud, Dolly becomes bewitchingly gay and good, as soon as her willful wish is granted. The poor old soul has hardly recovered from this trial when the sun enters, in army blue, tells he is enlisted and must go. That is a hard blow, but the patriotic mother bears it well, and not till the thoughtless young folks have hastened away to tell their good news elsewhere, does she break down. Then the country kitchen becomes pathetic, as the old woman sits alone, mourning over her children, till the gray head is hidden in the hands as she kneels down by the cradle to weep and pray, with only baby to comfort her fond and faithful heart. Sniffs were audible all through the latter part of this scene, and when the curtain fell, people were so busy wiping their eyes that for a moment they forgot to applaud. That silent moment was more flattering than noise, and as Mrs. Joe wiped the real tears off her sister's face, she said as solemnly as an unconscious dab of rouge on her nose permitted, Meg, you have saved my play. Oh, why aren't you a real actress and I a real playwright? Don't gush now, dear, but help me dress Josie. She is in such a quiver of excitement I can't manage her, and this is her best scene you know. So it was, for her aunt had written it especially for her, and little Joe was happy in a gorgeous dress, with a train long enough to satisfy her wildest dreams. The rich relation's parlour was in festival array, and the country cousin sails in, looking back at her sweeping flances with such artless rapture that no one had the heart to laugh at the pretty Jay in borrowed plumes. She has confidences with herself in the mirror, from which it is made evident that she has discovered all is not gold but glitters, and has found greater temptations than those a girlish love of pleasure, luxury and flattery bring her. She is sought by a rich lover, but her honest heart resists the allurements he offers, and in its innocent perplexity Wish's mother was there to comfort and counsel. A gay little dance, in which Dora, Nan, Bess, and several of the boys took part, made a good background for the humble figure of the old woman in her widow's bonnet, rusty shawl, big umbrella, and basket. Her naive astonishment, as she surveys the spectacle, feels the curtains, and smooths her old gloves, during the moment she remains unseen, was very good. But Josie's unaffected start, when she sees her, and the cry, Why, there's mother, was such a hardy little bit of nature, it needed the impatient tripping over her train, as she ran into the arms, that seemed now to be her nearest refuge. The lover plays his part, and ripples of merriment greeted the old woman's searching questions, and blunt answers during the interview, which shows the girl how shallow his love is, and how near she had been to ruining her life, as bitterly as poor Elizie did. She gives her answer frankly, and when they are alone, looks from her own bedisen self to the shabby dress, work worn hands, and tender face, crying with a repentant sob and kiss, Take me home, mother, and keep me safe. I've had enough of this. That will do you good, Maria. Don't forget it, said one lady to her daughter, as the curtain went down, and the girl answered, Well, I'm sure I don't see why it's touching, but it is, as she spread her lace handkerchief to dry. Tom and Nan came out strong in the next scene, for it was a ward in an army hospital, and surgeon and nurse went from bed to bed, feeling pulses and ministering doses, and hearing complaints with an energy and gravity which convulsed the audience. The tragic element, never far from the comic at such times and places, came in when, while they bandaged an arm, the doctor told the nurse about an old woman who was searching through the hospital for her son, after days and nights on battlefields, through ambulances, and among scenes which would have killed most women. She will be here directly, and I dread her coming, for I'm afraid the poor lad who is just gone is her boy. I'd rather face a cannon than these brave women with their hope and courage and great sorrow, says the surgeon. Oh, these poor mothers break my heart, adds the nurse, wiping her eyes on her big apron, and with the words, Mrs. Meg came in. There was the same dress, the basket and umbrella, the rustic speech, the simple manners, but all were made pathetic by the terrible experience which had changed the tranquil old woman to that haggard figure with wild eyes, dusty feet, trembling hands, and an expression of mingled anguish, resolution, and despair which gave the homely figure a tragic dignity and power that touched all hearts. A few broken words told the story of her vain search, and then the sad quest began again. People held their breath as, led by the nurse, she went from bed to bed, showing in her face the alternations of hope, dread, and bitter disappointment as each was passed. On a narrow cot was a long figure covered with a sheet, and here she paused to lay one hand on her heart and one on her eyes as if to gather courage to look at the nameless dead. Then she drew down the sheet, gave a long, shivering sigh of relief, saying softly, Not my son, thank God, but some mother's boy, and stooping down she kissed the cold forehead tenderly. Somebody sobbed there, and Miss Cameron shook two tears out of her eyes, anxious to lose no look or gesture as the poor soul, nearly spent with the long strain, struggled on down the line. But her search was happily ended for as if her voice had roused him from his feverish sleep. A gaunt, wild-eyed man sat up in his bed, and stretching his arms out to her, cried in a voice that echoed through the room. Mother! Mother! I knew you'd come to me! She did go to him with a cry of love and joy that thrilled every listener as she gathered him in her arms with the tears and prayers and blessing such as only a fond and faithful old mother could give. The last scene was a cheerful contrast to this, for the country kitchen was bright with Christmas cheer. The wounded hero with black patch and crutches well displayed sat by the fire in the old chair whose familiar creek was soothing to his ear. Pretty Dolly was stirring about, gaily trimming dresser, settle, high chimney-piece, and old-fashioned cradle with mistletoe and holly, while the mother rested beside her son with that blessed baby on her knee. Refreshed by a nap and nourishment, this young actor now covered himself with glory by his ecstatic prancings and coherent remarks to the audience and vain attempts to get to the footlights as he blinked approvingly at these brilliant toys. It was good to see Mrs. Meg pat him on the back, cuddle the fat legs out of sight, and appease his vain longings with a lump of sugar till Baby embraced her with a grateful ardour that brought him a round of applause all for his little self. A sound of singing outside disturbs the happy family, and, after a carol in the snowy moonlight, a flock of neighbours troop in with Christmas gifts and greetings. Much bi-play made this a lively picture, for Sam's sweetheart hovered round him with a tenderness the marquise did not show the baron, and Dolly had a pretty bit under the mistletoe with her, rustic adorer, who looked so like Han Pegaty in his cow-hide boots, rough jacket, and dark beard and wig that no one would have recognized Ted but for the long legs, which no extent of leather could disguise. It ended with a homely feast brought by the guests, and as they sat around the table, covered with donuts and cheese, pumpkin pie, and other delicacies, Sam rises on his crutches to propose the first toast, and holding up his mug of cider says, with a salute and a choke in his voice, Mother, God bless her! All drink it standing, Dolly with her arm round the old woman's neck as she hides her happy tears on her daughter's breast, while the irrepressible Baby beat rapturously on the table with a spoon, and crowed audibly as the curtain went down. They had it up again in a jiffy to get a last look at the group about that central figure, which was showered with bouquets, to the great delight of the infant Roshius, till a fat rosebud hit him on the nose, and produced the much dreaded squall, which fortunately only added to the fun at that moment. Well, that will do for a beginning, said Beaumont, with a sigh of relief as the curtain descended for the last time, and the actors scattered to dress for the closing piece. As an experiment it is a success, now we can venture to begin our great American drama, answered Mrs. Joe, full of satisfaction and grand ideas for the famous play, which, we may add, she did not write that year, owing to various dramatic events in her own family. The owl's dark marbles closed the entertainment, and, being something new, proved amusing to this very indulgent audience. The gods and goddesses on Pernassus were displayed in full conclave, and, thanks to Mrs. Amy's skill in draping and posing, the white wigs and cotton flannel robes were classically correct and graceful, though sundry modern additions somewhat marred the effect, while adding point to the showman's learned marks. Mr. Laurie was Professor Owlsdark in cap and gown, and, after a high-flown introduction, he proceeded to exhibit and explain his marbles. The first figure was a stately Minerva, but a second glance produced a laugh, for the words, woman's rights adorned her shield, a scroll bearing the motto, vote early and often, hung from the beak of the owl perched on her lance, and a tiny pestle and mortar ornamented her helmet. Attention was drawn to the firm mouth, the piercing eye, the awe-inspiring brow, of the strong-minded woman of antiquity, and some scathing remarks made upon the degeneracy of her modern sisters who fail to do their duty. Mercury came next, and was very fine in his airy attitude, though the winged legs quivered, as if it was difficult to keep the lively god in his place. His restless nature was dilated upon, his mischievous freaks alluded to, and a very bad character given to the immortal messenger boy, which delighted his friends, and caused the marble nose of the victim to curl visibly with scorn, when the rice of applause greeted a particularly hard hit. A charming little heavey stood next, pouring nectar from a silver teapot into a blue china teacup. She also pointed a moral, for the professor explained that the nectar of old was the beverage which shears, but does not inebriate, and regretted that the excessive devotion of American women to this classic brew proved so harmful, owing to the great development of brain their culture produced. A touch at modern servants, in contrast to this accomplished table-girl, made the statue's cheeks glow under the chalk, and brought her a hearty round as the audience recognized Dolly, and the smart sobrette. Jove, in all his majesty followed, as he and his wife occupied the central pedestals in the half-circle of immortals. A splendid Jupiter, with hair well set up off the fine brow, and brosial beard, silver thunderbolts in one hand, and a well-worn ferrule in the other. A large stuffed eagle from the museum stood at his feet, and the benign expression of his august countenance showed that he was in a good humor, as well he might be, for he was paid some handsome compliments upon his wise rule, the peaceful state of his kingdom, and the brood of all accomplished palaces that yearly issued from his mighty brain. Cheers greeted this, and other pleasant words, and caused the thunderer to bow his thanks, for Jove nods, as everyone knows, and flattery wins the heart of gods and men. Mrs. Juno, with her peacocks, darning needle, pen, and cooking spoon, did not get off so easily, for the professor was down on her with all manner of mirth-provoking accusations, criticisms, and insults even. He alluded to her domestic infelicity, her meddlesome disposition, sharp tongue, bad temper, and jealousy, closing, however, with a tribute to her skill in caring for the wounds and settling the quarrels of belligerent heroes, as well as her love for youths in Olympus and on earth. Gales of laughter greeted these hits, varied by hisses from some indignant boys, who would not bear, even in joke, any disrespect to dear mother bear, who, however, enjoyed it all immensely, as the twinkle in her eye and the irrepressible pucker of her lips betrayed. A jolly Bacchus, a stride of his cask, took Vulcan's place, and appeared to be very comfortable with a beer mug in one hand, a champagne bottle in the other, and a garland of grapes on his curly head. He was the text of a short temperance lecture aimed directly at a row of smart young gentlemen who lined the walls of the auditorium. George Cole was seen to dodge behind a pillar at one point. Dolly nudged his neighbour at another, and there was laughter all along the line as the professor glared at them through his big glasses, and dragged their Bacchanalian orgies to the light, and held them up to scorn. Seeing the execution he had done, the learned man turned to the lovely Diana, who stood as white and still as the plaster stag beside her, with sandals, bow, and crescent. Quite perfect, and altogether the best piece of statuary in the show. She was very tenderly treated by the paternal critic, who, merely alluding to her confirmed spinsterhood, fondness for athletic sports, and irracular powers, gave a graceful little exposition of true art, and passed on to the last figure. This was Apollo, in full fig, his curls skillfully arranged to hide a well-whiten patch over the eye, his handsome legs correctly poised, and his gifted fingers about to draw divine music from the silvered graderian, which was his liar. His divine attributes were described, as well as his little follies and failings, among which were his weakness for photography and flute playing, his attempts to run a newspaper, and his fondness for the society of the muses, which ladderslap produced giggles and blushes among the girl graduates, and much mirth among the stricken youths, for misery loves company, and after this they began to rally. Then, with a ridiculous conclusion, the professor bowed his thanks, and after several recalls the curtain fell, but not quickly enough to conceal mercury, wildly waving his liberated legs, hebe dropping her teapot, Bacchus taking a lovely roll on his barrel, and Mrs. Juno wrapping the impertinent Owlsdark on the head with Jove's ruler. While the audience filed out to supper in the hall, the stage was a scene of dire confusion, as gods and goddesses, farmers and barons, maids and carpenters, congratulated one another on the success of their labours. Assuming various costumes, actors and actresses soon joined their guests to sip bounteous draughts of praise with their coffee, and cool their modest blushes with ice-cream. Mrs. Meg was a proud and happy woman when Miss Cameron came to her, as she sat by Josie, with Demi serving both, and said so cordially that it was impossible to doubt the sincerity of her welcome words. Mrs. Brooke, I no longer wonder where your children get their talent. I make my compliments to the Baron, and next time you must let me have little dolly as a pupil when we're at the beach. One can easily imagine how this offer was received, as well as the friendly commendation bestowed by the same kind critic on the work of Dumont and Fletcher, who hastened to explain that this trifle was only an attempt to make nature and art go hand in hand, with little help from fine writing or imposing scenery. Everybody was in the happiest mood, especially little dolly, who danced like a will of the wisp, with light-footed mercury and Apollo, as he promenotted with the maquis on his arm, who seemed to have left her coquetry in the green room with her rouge. When all was over, Mrs. Juno said to Jove, to whose arm she clung, as they trudged home along the snowy paths. Fritz, dear, Christmas is a good time for new resolutions, and I've made one never to be impatient or fretful with my beloved husband again. I know I am, though you won't own it, but Laura's fun had some truth in it, and I felt hit in a tender spot. Henceforth I am a model wife, else I don't deserve the dearest, best man ever born. And being in a dramatic mood, Mrs. Juno tenderly embraced her excellent Jove in the moonlight, to the great amusement of sundry lingerers behind them. So all three plays might be considered successes, and that merry Christmas night a memorable one in the March family. For Demi got an unspoken question answered, Josie's fondest wish was granted, and thanks to Professor Owl's dark jest, Mrs. Jo made Professor Bear's busy life quite a bed of roses by the keeping of her resolution. A few days later she had her reward for this burst of virtue in Dan's letter, which set her fears at rest, and made her very happy, though she was unable to tell him so, because he sent her no address. End of Chapter 14, recording by Susie G. Chapter 15 of Joe's Boys. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Erin Hastings. Joe's Boys by Louisa May Alcott. Chapter 15. Waiting. My wife, I have bad news for thee, said Professor Bear, coming in one day early in January. Please tell it at once. I can't bear to wait fritz, cried Mrs. Joe, dropping her work and standing up as if to take the shot bravely. But we must vade and hope, hearts dearest, come, and let us bear it together. A male ship is lost, and as yet no news of him. It was well Mr. Bear had taken his wife into his strong arms, for she looked ready to drop, but bore up after a moment, and sitting by her good man heard all that there was to tell. Tidings had been sent to the ship-owners at Humberg by some of the survivors, and telegraphed it once by Franz to his uncle. As one boatload was safe, there was hope that others might also escape, though the gale had sent two to the bottom. A swift sailing steamer had brought these scanty news, and happier ones might come at any hour. But kind Franz had not added that the sailors reported the captain's boat as undoubtedly wrecked by the falling mast, since the smoke hid its escape, and the gale soon drove all far asunder. But this sad rumor reached Plumfield in time, and deep was the morning for the happy-hearted Commodore never to come singing home again. Mrs. Joe refused to believe it, stoutly insisting that Emil would outlive any storm, and yet turn up safe and gay. It was while she clung to this hopeful view, for poor Mr. Bear was much afflicted by the loss of his boy, because his sister's sons had been his so long he scarcely knew a different love for his very own. Now was a chance for Mrs. Juneau to keep her word, and she did, speaking cheerly of Emil, even when hope waxed faint, and her heart was heavy. If anything could comfort the bears for the loss of one boy, it would have been the affection and sorrow shown by all the rest. Franz kept the cable busy with his varying messages, Nat sent loving letters from Leipzig, and Tom harassed the shipping agents for news. Even Busy Jack wrote them with unusual warmth. Dolly and George came often bearing the loveliest flowers and the daintiest bonbons to cheer Mrs. Bear and sweeten Josie's grief. While good-hearted Ned travelled all the way from Chicago to press their hands and say with a tear in his eye, I was so anxious to hear all about the dear old boy I couldn't keep away. That's right, comfortable, and shows me that if I didn't teach my boys anything else, I did give them the brotherly love that will make them stand by one another all their lives, said Mrs. Joe, when he had gone. Rob answered reams of sympathizing letters, which showed how many friends they had, and the kindly praises of the lost man would have made Emil a hero and a saint had they all been true. The elders bore it quietly, having learned submission in life's hard school, but the younger people rebelled. Some hoped against hope and kept up, others disbared at once, and little Josie, Emil's pet cousin and playmate was so broken-hearted, nothing could comfort her. Nandost in vain, Daisy's cheerful words went by like the wind, and Bess's devices to amuse her all failed utterly. To cry in mother's arms and talk about the wreck which haunted her even in her sleep was all she cared to do, and Mrs. Meg was getting anxious when Miss Cameron sent Josie a kind note, bidding her to learn bravely her first lesson in real tragedy, and be like the self-sacrificing heroines she loved to act. That did the little girl good, and she made an effort in which Teddy and Octu helped much, for the boy was deeply impressed by the sudden eclipse of the firefly, whose light and life all missed when they were gone, and lured her out every day for long drives behind the black mare, who shook her silvery bells till they made such merry music Josie could not help listening to it, and whisked her over the snowy roads at a pace which set the blood dancing in her veins, and sent her home strengthened and comforted by sunshine, fresh air, and congenial society. Three aids young sufferer seldom can resist. As Emil was helping Nurse Captain Hardy, safe and well, aboard the ship, all this sorrow would seem wasted, but it was not, for it drew many hearts more closely together by a common grief, taught some patience, some sympathy, some regret for faults that lie heavy on the conscience when the one sinned against is gone, and all of them the solemn lesson to be ready when the summons comes. A hush lay over Plumfield for weeks, and the studious faces on the hill reflected the sadness of those in the valley. Sacred music sounded from Parnassus to comfort all who heard. The brown cottage was besieged with gifts for the little mourner, and Emil's flag hung at half mast on the roof where he last sat with Mrs. Joe. So the weeks went heavily by till suddenly, like a thunderbolt, out of a clear sky came the news all safe, letters on the way. Then up went the flag, out rang the college bells, bang went, Teddy's long unused cannon, and a chorus of happy voices cried, thank God, as people went about laughing, crying, and embracing one another in a rapture of delight. By and by the longed four letters came, and all the story of the wreck was told briefly by Emil, eloquently by Mrs. Hardy, gratefully by the captain, while Mary added a few tender words that went straight to their hearts and seemed the sweetest of all. Never were letters so read, passed around, admired, and cried over as these, for Mrs. Joe carried them in her pocket when Mr. Bear did not have them in his, and both took a look at them when they said their prayers at night. Now the professor was heard humming like a big bee again as he went to his classes, and the lines smoothed out of Mother Bear's forehead while she wrote this real story to anxious friends, and let her romances wait. Now messages of congratulation flowed in, and beaming faces showed everywhere. Rob amazed his parents by producing a poem which was remarkably good for one of his years, and Demi said it to music that it might be sung when the sailor boy returned. Teddy stood on his head literally, and tore about the neighborhood on octu, like a second Paul Revere, only his tidings were good. But best of all, little Josie lifted up her head as the snow drops did, and began to bloom again, growing tall and quiet, with the shadow of past sorrow to tone down her former vivacity, and show that she had learned a lesson in trying to act while her part on the real stage, where all have to take their share in the great drama of life. Now another sort of waiting began, for the travelers were on their way to Humberk, and would stay there a while before coming home, as Uncle Hermon owned the Brenda, and the captain must report to him. Eamol must remain to Franz's wedding, deferred until now because of the season of mourning. So happily ended. These plans were doubly welcome and pleasant after the troublesome times which went before, and no spring ever seemed so beautiful as this one, for, as Teddy put it, now is the winter of our discontent made glorious by these sons of bear. Franz and Eamol being regarded in the light of elder brothers by the real sons of bear. There was great scrubbing and dusting among the matrons as they set their houses in order not only for Class Day, but to receive the bride and groom who were to come to them for the honeymoon trip. Great plans were made, gifts prepared, and much joy felt at the prospect of seeing Franz again, though Eamol who was to accompany them would be the greater hero. Little did the dear soul's dream what a surprise was in store for them as they innocently laid their plans, and wished all the boys could be there to welcome home their eldest and their Casablanca. While they wait and work so happily, let us see how our other absent boys are faring as they too wait and work and hope for better days. Nat was toiling steadily along the path he had wisely chosen, though it was by no means strewn with flowers. Quite thorny was it, in fact, and hard to travel after the taste of ease and pleasure he had got when nibbling at forbidden fruit. But his crop of wild oats was a light one, and he resolutely reaped what he had sowed, finding some good wheat among the tares. He taught by day, he fiddled night after night in the dingy little theatre, and he studied so diligently that his master was well pleased and kept him in mind as one to whom preferment was due, if any chance occurred. Gay friends forgot him, but the old one stood fast, and cheered him up when haimwe and weariness made him sad. As spring came on things mended, expenses grew less, work pleasanter, and life more bearable than when wintry storms beat on his thinly clad back and frost pinched the toes that patiently trudged in old boots. No debts burdened him. The year of absence was nearly over, and if he chose to stay, Herr Bergmann had hopes for him that would bring independence for a time at least. So he walked under the lindens with a lighter heart, and in the May evenings went about the city with a band of strolling students, making music before houses where he used to sit as guest. No one recognized him in the darkness, though old friends often listened to the band, and once Minna threw him money, which he humbly received as part of his penance, being morbid on the subject of his sins. His reward came sooner than he expected, and was greater than he deserved, he thought, though his heart leaped with joy when his master one day informed him that he was chosen, with several other of his most promising pupils, to join the musical society which was to take part in the great festival in London the next July. Here was not only honour for the violinist, but happiness for the man as it brought him nearer home, and would open a chance of further promotion and profit in his chosen profession. Make thyself useful to Bachmeister there in London with thy English, and if all goes well with him he will be glad to take thee to America, whether he goes in the early autumn for winter concerts. Thou hast unveiled these last months, and I have hopes of thee. As the great Bergmann seldom praised his pupils, these words filled Nant's soul with pride and joy, and he worked yet more diligently than before to fulfil his master's prophecy. He thought the trip to England happiness enough, but found room for more when early in June Frans and Emil paid him a flying visit, bringing all sorts of good news, kind wishes, and comfortable gifts for the lonely fellow who could have fallen on their necks and cried like a girl at seeing his old mates again. How glad he was to be found in his little room busy at his proper work, not living like an idle gentleman on borrowed money! How proud he was to tell his plans, assure them that he had no debts, and received their praises for his improvement in music, their respect for his economy, and steadfastness and well-doing. How relieved when having honestly confessed to shortcomings they only laughed and they also had known like experiences, and were the wiser for them. He was to go to the wedding late in June and join his comrades in London. As best man he could not refuse the new suit Frans insisted on ordering for him, and a check from home about that time made him feel like a millionaire, and a happy one, for this was accompanied by such kind letters, full of delight in his success, he felt that he had earned it, and waited for his joyful holiday with the impatience of a boy. Dan, meantime, was also counting the weeks till August, when he would be free. But neither marriage bells nor festival music awaited him. No friends would greet him as he left the prison. No hopeful prospect lay before him. No happy homegoing was to be him. Yet his success was far greater than that, though only God and one good man saw it. It was a hard one battle. But he would never have to fight so terrible one again, for though enemies would still assail from within and from without, he had found the little guidebook that Christian carried in his bosom, and love, penitence, and prayer, the three sweet sisters, had given him the armor which would keep him safe. He had not learned to wear it yet, and chafed against it, though he felt its value, thanks to the faithful friend who had stood by him all that bitter year. Soon he was to be free again, worn and scarred in the fray, but out among men in the blessed sun and air. When he thought of it, Dan felt as if he could not wait, but must burst that narrow cell and fly away as the cat-as-worms he used to watch by the Brookside shed their stony coffins to climb the ferns and soar into the sky. Night after night he lulled himself to sleep with planning howl when he had seen Mary Mason, according to his promise. He would steer straight for his old friends the Indians, and in the wilderness hide his disgrace and heal his wounds. Working to save the many would atone for the sin of killing one, he thought, and the old free life would keep him safe from the temptations that beset him in cities. By and by, when I'm all right again, and have something to tell that I'm not ashamed of, I'll go home, he said, with a quicker beat of the impetuous heart that longed to be there so intensely, he found it as hard to curb as one of his unbroken horses on the plains. Not yet. I must get over this first. They'd see and smell and feel the prison taint on me if I went now, and I couldn't look them in the face and hide the truth. I can't lose Ted's love, Mother Bear's confidence, and the respect of the girls, for they did respect my strength anyway, but now they wouldn't touch me. And poor Dan looked with a shutter at the brown fist he clutched involuntarily, as he remembered what it had done since a certain little white hand had laid in it confidingly. I'll make him proud of me yet, and no one shall ever know of this awful year. I can wipe it out, and I will, so help me God. And the clenched hand was held up as if to take a solemn oath that this lost year should yet be made good, if resolution and repentance could work the miracle. Please visit LibriVox.org. Athletic sports were in high favor at Plumfield, and the river where the old punk used to wavle about with a cargo of small boys, or echo to the shrill screams of little girls trying to get lilies, now was alive with boats of all kinds, from the slender wary to the trim pleasure craft, gay with cushions, awnings, and fluttering pennants. Everyone rode, and the girls as well as the youths had their races, and developed their muscles in the most scientific manner. The large level meadow near the old willow was now the college play grabbed, and here baseball battles raged with fury, varied by football, leaping, and kindred sports fitted to split the fingers, break the ribs, and strain the backs of the two ambitious participants. The gentler pastimes of the damsels were at a safe distance from the Champ de Mars. Croquet mallets clipped under the elms that fringed the field, rackets rose and fell energetically in several tennis courts, and gates of different heights were handy to practice the graceful bound by which every girl expected to save her life some day, when the mad bull, which was always coming but never seemed to arrive, should be bellowing at her heels. One of these tennis grounds was called Joe's Court, and here the little lady ruled like a queen, for she was fond of the game, and being bent on developing her small self to the highest degree of perfection, she was to be found at every leisure moment with some victim hard at it. On a certain pleasant Saturday afternoon she had been playing with Bess and beating her, for, though more graceful, the princess was less active than her cousin, and cultivated her roses by quieter methods. Oh dear, you are tired in every blessed boy's at that stupid baseball match, what shall I do, sighed Josie, pushing back the great red hat she wore, and gazing sadly round her from war worlds to conquer. I'll play presently when I'm a little cooler, but it is dull work for me, as I never win, answered Bess, fanning herself for the large leaf. Josie was about to sit down beside her on the rustic seat and wait, when her quick eye saw far off two manly forms arrayed in white flannel. Their blue legs seemed bearing them towards the battle going on in the distance, but they never reached the fray, for with a cry of joy Joe raced away to meet them, bent on securing this heaven-sent reinforcement. Both paused as she came flying up, and both raised their hats, but oh, the difference there was in the salutes. The stat youth pulled his off lazily, and put it on again at once, as if glad to get the duty over. The slender being, with the crimson tie, lifted his with a graceful bend, and held it aloft while he accosted the rosy breathless maid, thus permitting her to see his raven locks smoothly parted, with one little curl upon the brow. Dolly prided himself upon that bow, and practiced it before his glass, but did not bestow it upon all alike, regarding it as a work of art, fit only for the fairest and most favored of his female admirers, for he was a pretty youth, and fancied himself in Adonis. Eager Josie evidently did not appreciate the honor he did her, for with a nod she begged them both to come along and play tennis, not go and get all hot and dirty with the boys. These two adjectives won the day, for Stuffy was already warmer than he liked to be, and Dolly had on a new suit which he desired to keep immaculate as long as possible, conscious that it was very becoming. Charmed to oblige, answered the polite one with another bend. You play, I'll rest, added the fat boy, yearning for repose and gentle converse with the princess in the cooling shade. Well, you can comfort best, for I've beaten her all to bits, and she needs amusing. I know you've got something nice in your pocket, George. Give her some, and Dolphus can have her racket. Now then, fly round, and driving her prey before her, Josie returned in triumph to the court. Casting himself ponderously upon the bench, which creaked under his weight, Stuffy, as we will continue to call him, though no one else dared to use the old name now, promptly produced the box of confectionery, without which he never traveled far, and regaled best with candid violets and other dainties, while Dolly worked hard to hold his own against a most accomplished antagonist. He would have beaten her if an unlucky stumble, which produced an unsightly stain upon the knee of those new shorts had not distracted his mind and made him careless. Much elated at her victory, Josie permitted him to rest and offered ironical consolation for the mishap which evidently weighed upon his mind. Don't be an old Betty. It can be cleaned. You must have been a cat in some former state. You're so troubled about dirt, or a tailor and lived for clothes. Come now. Don't hit a fellow when he is down, respond to Dolly from the grass where he and Stuffy now lay to make room for both girls on the seat. One hand could check for spread under him, and his elbow leaned upon another, while his eyes were sadly fixed upon the green and brown spot which afflicted him. I like to be neat and don't think it's civil to cut about an old shoes and gray flannel shirts before ladings. Our fellows are gentlemen and dress as such, he added, rather meddled at the word tailor, for he owed one of those two attractive persons an uncomfortably big bill. So are ours, but good clothes alone don't make a gentleman here. We require a good deal more, flash Josie, in arms if once to defend her college. You will hear of some of the men in old boots and gray flannel, when you and your fine gentlemen are twiddling your ties and sending your hair in obscurity. I like old boots and wear them, and I hate dandies. Don't you best? Not when they're kind to me and belong to our old set, answered best, with a nod of thanks to Dolly, who is carefully removing an inquisitive caterpillar from one of her little russet shoes. I like a lady who is always polite and doesn't snap a man's head off if he has a mind of his own. Don't you, George? asked Dolly, with his best smile for best and a Harvard stare of disapprobation for Josie. A tranquil snore was stuffy soul reply, and a general laugh restored peace for the moment. But Josie loved to harass the lords of creation who asserted themselves too much, and bided her time for another attack till she had secured more tennis. She got another game, for Dolly was a sworn knight of Dames, so he obeyed her call, leaving best to sketch George as he lay upon his back. His stout legs crossed and his round red face partially eclipsed by his hat. Josie got beaten this time and came back, rather cross, so she walked the peaceful sleeper by tickling his nose with a straw till he sneezed himself into a sitting posture and looked wrathfully about for that confounded fly. Come, sit up and let us have a little elegant conversation. You howling swells ought to improve our minds and manners, for we are only poor country girls and dowdy gowns and hats began the gadfly, opening the battle with a sly quotation from one of Dolly's unfortunate speeches about certain studious damsels who cared more for books than finery. I didn't mean you, your gowns are all right and those hats, the latest thing out, began poor Dolphus, convicting himself by the unconscious exclamation. Caught you that time. I thought you fellows were all gentlemen, civil as well as nice, but you are always sneering at girls who don't dress well and that is a very unmanly thing to do. My mother said so, and Josie felt that she had dealt a shrewd blow at the elegant youth who bowed at many shrines if they were well decorated ones. Caught you there, old boy, and she's right. You never hear me talk about clothes in such twaddle, said Stuffy, suppressing a yawn and feeling for another bonbon we're with to refresh himself. You talk about eating and that is even worse for a man. You will marry a cook and keep a restaurant some day, laughed Josie down on him at once. This fearful prediction kept him silent for several moments, but Dolly rallied and wisely changing the subject carried war into the enemy's camp. As you wanted us to improve your manners, allow me to say that young ladies in good society don't make personal remarks or deliver lectures. Little girls who are not out do it and think it witty, but I assure you it's not good form. Josie paused a moment to recover from the shock of being called a little girl when all the honors of her fourteenth birthday were fresh upon her, and Bess said in the lofty tone which was infinitely more crushing than Josie Perthens, that is true, but we have lived all our lives with superior people, so we have no society talk like of your young ladies. We're so accustomed to sensible conversation and helping one another by telling our faults that we have no gossip to offer you. When the princess reproved the boy seldom resented it, so Dolly held his peace and Josie burst out following her cousin's lead which she thought a happy one. Our boys like to have us talk with them and take kindly any hints we give. They don't think they know everything and are quite perfect at eighteen, as I've observed the Harvard men do, especially the very young ones. Josie took immense satisfaction in that return shot, and Dolly showed that he was hit by the nettle tone in which he answered, with a supercilious glance at the hot, dusty and noisy crowd on the baseball ground. The class of fellows you have here need all the polish and culture you can give them, and I'm glad they get it. Our men are largely from the best families all over the country, so we don't need girls to teach us anything. It's a pity you don't have more of such fellows as ours. They value and use well what college gives them and aren't satisfied to slip through, getting through all the fun they can and shirking the work. Oh, I've heard you men talk, and heard your fathers say they wish they hadn't wasted time and money just that you might say you'd been through college. As for the girls, you'll be much better off in all ways when they do get in and keep you lazy things up to the mark, as we do here. If you have such a poor opinion of us, why do you wear our color? asked Dolly, painfully conscious that he was not improving the advantages his alma mater offered him, but banned to defend her. I don't. My hat is scarlet, not crimson, much you know about a color, scoffed Josie. I know that a cross cow would soon send you scampering if you flaunted that red tile under her nose, retorted Dolly. I'm ready for her. Can you a fine young ladies do this for you either? And burning to display her latest accomplishment, Josie ran to the nearest gate, put one hand on the top rail and vaulted over as lightly as a bird. Best shook her head and stuffy, languidly applauded that Dolly, scorning to be braved by a girl, took a flying leap and landed on his feet beside Josie, saying calmly, Can you do that? Not yet, but I will buy and buy. As his fall looked a little crestfallen, Dolly relented and affably added sundry feats of a like nature, quite unconscious that he had fallen into a dreadful snare for the dull red paint on the gate, not being used to such vigorous handling, came often streaks upon his shoulders when he turned a backward swing and came up smiling to be regarded with the aggravating remark. If you want to know what crimson is, look at your back. It's nicely stamped on and won't wash out, I think. The deuce it won't, cried Dolly, trying to get an impossible view and giving it up in great disgust. I guess we'd better be going, Dolph, said peaceable stuffy, feeling that it would be wise to retreat before another skirmish took place, as his side seemed to be getting the worst of it. Don't hurry, I beg. Stay and rest. You must need it after the tremendous amount of brainwork you've done this week. It is time for our Greek. Come, Bess, good afternoon, gentlemen. And with a sweeping courtesy, Josie led the way, with her hat belligerently cocked up and her racket borne like a triumphal banner over one shoulder. For having had the last word, she felt that she could retire with the honors of war. Dolly gave Bess his best bow with the chill on and stuffy subsided luxuriously with his legs in the air murmuring in a dreamy tone. Little Joe is as cross as two sticks today. I'm going in for another nap. Too hot to play anything. So it is. One of Spitfire was right about these beastly spots, and Dolly sat down to try dry cleansing with one of his handkerchiefs. A sleep, he asked after a few moments of this cheerful occupation, fearing that his chum might be too comfortable when he was at a fume himself. No, I was thinking that Joe wasn't far wrong about shirking. It is a shame to get so little done when we ought to be grinding like Morton and Tory and that lot. I never wanted to go to college, but my governor made me. Much good it will do either of us, answered stuffy with a groan, for he hated work and saw two more long years of it before him. Gives a man prestige, you know. No need to dig. I mean to have a gay old time and be a howling swell if I choose. Between you and me though, there would be no end jolly to have the girls alone. Study be hanged. But if we've got to turn the grindstone, it would be mighty nice to have some of the little deers to lend a hand, wouldn't it now? I'd like three this minute. One to fan me, one to kiss me, and one to give me some iced lemonade, side stuffy, with a yearning glance toward the house where no sucko are appeared. How would root beer do as the voice behind them, which made dolly spring-dose feet and stuffy rollover like a startled porpoise? Setting on the style that crossed the wall, nearby was Mrs. Joe, with two jugs slung over her shoulder by a strap, several tin mungles in her hand, and an old-fashioned sun bonnet on her head. I knew the boys would be killing themselves with ice water, so I strolled down with some of my good wholesome beer. They drink like fishes, but silence is with me, so my cruise still holds out. Have some? Yes, thanks very much, let us pour it, and dolly held the cup while stuffy joyfully filled it, both very grateful, but rather afraid she had heard what went before the wish she fulfilled. She proved that she had by saying, as they stood drinking her help while she sat between them, looking like a middle-aged vivandier with her jugs and mugs. I was glad to hear you say you would like to have girls at your college, but I hope you will learn to speak more respectfully of them before they come, for that will be the first lesson they will teach you. Really, ma'am, I was only joking, began stuffy, gulping down his beer in a hurry. So was I, I'm sure I'm devoted to him, stuttered dolly, panic-stricken, for he saw that he was in for a lecture of some sort. Not in the right way. Frivolous girls may like to be called little deers and things of that sort, but the girls who love study wish to be treated like reasonable beings, not dolls to flirt with. Yes, I'm going to preach, that's my business, so stand up and take it like men. Mrs. Joe laughed, but she was an earnest. For by various hints and signs during the past winter she knew that the boys were beginning to see life in the way she especially disapproved. Both were far from home, had money enough to waste, and were as inexperienced, curious, and credulous as most lads of their age, not fond of books, therefore without the safeguard which keeps many studious fellows out of harm, one self-indulgent, indolent, and so used to luxury that pampering of the senses was an easy thing. The other, vain, as all comely boys are, full of conceit and so eager to find favor in the eyes of his comrades that he was ready for anything which would secure it. These traits and foibles made both peculiarly liable to the temptations, which just sailed pleasure-loving and weak-willed boys. Mrs. Joe knew them well and had dropped many a warning word since they went to college, but till lately they seemed not to understand some of her friendly hints. Now she was sure they would, and meant to speak out, for long experience with boys made her both bold and skillful in handling some of the dangers usually left to silence, till it is too late for anything but pity and reproach. I'm going to talk to you like a mother, because yours are far away, and there are things that mothers can manage best if they do their duty. She solemnly began from the depths of the sunbonnet. Great Scott, we're in for it now, thought Dolly in a secret dismay, while Stuffy got the first blow by trying to sustain himself with another mug of beer. That won't hurt you, but I must warn you about drinking other things, George. Over-eating is an old story, and a few more fits of illness will teach you to be wise, but drinking is a more serious thing and leads you to worse harm than any that can afflict your body alone. I hear you talk about wines as if you knew them, and cared more for them than a boy should, and several times I've heard jokes that meant mischief. For heaven's sakes, don't begin to play with this dangerous taste for fun, as you say, or because it's the fashion and the other fellows do. Stop at once, and learn that temperance in all things is the only safe rule. Upon my honor, I only take wine and iron. I need a tonic, Mother says, to repair the waste of brain tissue while I'm studying, protested Stuffy, putting down the mug as if at British fingers. Good beef and oatmeal will repair your tissues much better than any tonic of that sort. Work and plain fare are what you want, and I wish I had you here for a few months out of harm's way. I'd bant in you, and fit you to run without puffing, and get on without four or five meals a day. What an absurd hand that is for a man. You ought to be ashamed of it. And Mrs. Joe caught up the plump fist with deep dimples in each knuckle, which was fumbling distressfully at the buckle of the belt girt around a waste far too large for a youth of his age. I can't help it. We all grow fat. It's in the family, said Stuffy in self-defense. All the more reason you should live carefully. Do you want to die early or be an invalid all your life? No man. Stuffy looked so scared that Mrs. Joe could not be hard upon his budding sins, for they lay at his over-indulgent mother's doorline in a great measure. So she softened the tone of her voice and added with a little slap on the fat hand, as she used to do when it was smelling up the pilfer of lumps of sugar from her bowl. Then be careful, for a man writes his character in his face, and you don't want gluttony and intemperance in yours, I know. I'm sure I don't. Please make out a wholesome bill of fare, and I'll stick to it if I can. I am getting stout, and I don't like it, and my liver's torpid, and I have palpitations and headache. Overwork, my mother says, but it may be overeating. And Stuffy gave a sigh of mingled regret for the good things he renounced, and relief as he finished loosening his belt as soon as his hand was free. I will. Follow it, and in a year you'll be a man and not a meal bag. Now Dolly, and Mrs. Joe turn to the other culprit, who shook in his shoes and wished he hadn't come. Are you studying French as industriously as you were last winter? No, man, I don't care for it. That is, I'm busy with Greek just now, answered Dolly, beginning bravely, quite in the dark as to what that odd question meant, till a sudden memory made him stutter and look at his shoes with deep interest. Oh, he doesn't study it, only reads French novels and goes to the theatre when the opera bouffée is here, said Stuffy, innocently confirming Mrs. Joe's suspicions. So I understood, and that is what I want to speak about. Ted had a sudden desire to learn French in that way, from something you said, Dolly. So I went myself, and was quite satisfied that it was no place for a decent boy. Your men were out in full force, and I was glad to see that some of the younger ones looked as ashamed as I felt. The older fellows enjoyed it, and when we came up, they were waiting to take those painted girls to supper. Did you ever go with them? Once. Did you like it? No, I came away early, stammered Dolly, with a face as red as his splendid tie. I'm glad you have not lost the grace of blushing yet, but you will soon, if you keep up this sort of study and forget to be ashamed. The society of such women will unfit you for that of good ones, and lead you into trouble and sin and shame. Oh, why don't the city fathers stop that evil thing when they know the harm it does? It made my heart ache to see those boys who want to be at home and in their beds, going off for a night of riot, which would help to ruin some of them forever. The youths looked scared at Mrs. Joe's energetic protest, against one of the fashionable pleasures of the day, and waited in conscious, stricken silence. Suffy glad that he never went to those gay suppers, and Dolly deeply grateful that he came away early, with a hand on either shoulder. An old terrace smooth from her brow. Mrs. Joe went on her most motherly tone, anxious to do for them what no other woman would, and do it kindly. My dear boys, if I didn't love you, I would not say these things. I know they are not pleasant, but my conscience won't let me hold my peace when a word may keep you from two of the greatest sins that curse the world, and send so many young men to destruction. You are just beginning to feel the allurement of them, and soon it will be hard to turn away. Stop now, I beg of you, and not only save yourselves, but help others by a brave example. Come to me if things worry you, don't be afraid or ashamed. I have heard many sadder confessions than any you are ever likely to bring me, and been able to comfort many poor fellows, going wrong for want of a word and time. Do this, and you will be able to kiss your mothers with clean lips, and by and by have the right to ask innocent girls to love you. Yes, thank you. I suppose you're right, but it's pretty hard work to toe the mark when ladies give you wine, and gentlemen take their daughters to see Amy, said Dolly, for seeing tribulations ahead, though he knew it was time to pull up. So it is. But all the more honor to those who are brave and wise enough to resist public opinion, and the easygoing morals of bad or careless men and women. Think of the persons whom you respect most, and in imitating them, you'll secure the respect of those who look up to you. I'd rather my boy should be laughed at, and cold-shouldered by a hundred foolish fellows, than lose what, once gone, no power can give them back. Innocence and self-respect. I don't wonder you find it hard to toe the mark, when books, pictures, ballrooms, theaters, and streets offer temptations. Yet you can resist, if you try. Last winter Mrs. Brooke used to worry about Johns being out so late reporting, and when she spoke to him about the things he must see and hear on his way to and fro from the office at midnight, he said in his sober way, I know what you mean, mother, but no fellow need to go wrong unless he wants to. That's like the deacon exclaimed stuffy with an approving smile on his fat face. I'm glad you told me that. He's right, and it's because he doesn't want to go wrong we all respect him so, added Dolly, looking up now at an expression which assured his mentor that the right string had been touched, and a spirit of emulation roused, more helpful perhaps, than any words of hers. Seeing this she was satisfied, and said as she prepared to leave the bar, before which her culprits had been tried and found guilty, but recommended to mercy. Then be to others what John is to you, a good example. Forgive me for troubling you, my dear lads, and remember my little preachment. I think it will do you good, though I may never know it. Chance words spoken in kindness often help amazingly, and that's what old people are here for, else their experience is of little use. Now come and find the young folk. I hope I shall never have to shut the gates of Plumfield upon you, as I have on some of your gentlemen. I mean to keep my boys and girls safe if I can, and this a wholesome place, where the good old fashioned virtues are lived and taught. Much impressed by that dire threat, Dolly helped her from her perch with deep respect, and stuffy relieved her of her empty jugs, solemnly vowing to abstain from all fermented beverages, except root beer, as long as feeble flesh could hold out. Of course, they made light of Mother Bear's lecture when they were alone, that was to be expected of men of our class. But in their secret souls they thanked her for giving their boys' consciences a jog, and more than once afterward had caused her to remember gratefully that half hour in the tennis court.