THE GILDED AGEA Tale of Todayby Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner1873PREFACE.This book was not written for private circulation among friends; it wasnot written to cheer and instruct a diseased relative of the author's;it was not thrown off during intervals of wearing labor to amuse an idlehour.  It was not written for any of these reasons, and therefore it issubmitted without the usual apologies.It will be seen that it deals with an entirely ideal state of society;and the chief embarrassment of the writers in this realm of theimagination has been the want of illustrative examples.  In a State wherethere is no fever of speculation, no inflamed desire for sudden wealth,where the poor are all simple-minded and contented, and the rich are allhonest and generous, where society is in a condition of primitive purityand politics is the occupation of only the capable and the patriotic,there are necessarily no materials for such a history as we haveconstructed out of an ideal commonwealth.No apology is needed for following the learned custom of placingattractive scraps of literature at the heads of our chapters.  It hasbeen truly observed by Wagner that such headings, with their vaguesuggestions of the matter which is to follow them, pleasantly inflame thereader's interest without wholly satisfying his curiosity, and we willhope that it may be found to be so in the present case.Our quotations are set in a vast number of tongues; this is done for thereason that very few foreign nations among whom the book will circulatecan read in any language but their own; whereas we do not write for aparticular class or sect or nation, but to take in the whole world.We do not object to criticism; and we do not expect that the critic willread the book before writing a notice of it: We do not even expect thereviewer of the book will say that he has not read it.  No, we have noanticipations of anything unusual in this age of criticism.  But if theJupiter, Who passes his opinion on the novel, ever happens to peruse itin some weary moment of his subsequent life, we hope that he will not bethe victim of a remorse bitter but too late.One word more.  This is--what it pretends to be a joint production, inthe conception of the story, the exposition of the characters, and in itsliteral composition.  There is scarcely a chapter that does not bear themarks of the two writers of the book.   S. L. C.                                        C. D. W.[Etext Editor's Note: The following chapters were written by Mark Twain:1-11, 24, 25, 27, 28, 30, 32-34, 36, 37, 42, 43, 45, 51-53, 57, 59-62;and portions of 35, 49, and 56.  See Twain's letter to Dr. John BrownFeb. 28, 1874   D.W.]CHAPTER I.June 18--.  Squire Hawkins sat upon the pyramid of large blocks, calledthe "stile," in front of his house, contemplating the morning.The locality was Obedstown, East Tennessee.  You would not know thatObedstown stood on the top of a mountain, for there was nothing about thelandscape to indicate it--but it did: a mountain that stretched abroadover whole counties, and rose very gradually.  The district was calledthe "Knobs of East Tennessee," and had a reputation like Nazareth, as faras turning out any good thing was concerned.The Squire's house was a double log cabin, in a state of decay; two orthree gaunt hounds lay asleep about the threshold, and lifted their headssadly whenever Mrs. Hawkins or the children stepped in and out over theirbodies.  Rubbish was scattered about the grassless yard; a bench stoodnear the door with a tin wash basin on it and a pail of water and agourd; a cat had begun to drink from the pail, but the exertion wasovertaxing her energies, and she had stopped to rest.  There was an ash-hopper by the fence, and an iron pot, for soft-soap-boiling, near it.This dwelling constituted one-fifteenth of Obedstown; the other fourteenhouses were scattered about among the tall pine trees and among the corn-fields in such a way that a man might stand in the midst of the city andnot know but that he was in the country if he only depended on his eyesfor information."Squire" Hawkins got his title from being postmaster of Obedstown--notthat the title properly belonged to the office, but because in thoseregions the chief citizens always must have titles of some sort, and sothe usual courtesy had been extended to Hawkins.  The mail was monthly,and sometimes amounted to as much as three or four letters at a singledelivery.  Even a rush like this did not fill up the postmaster's wholemonth, though, and therefore he "kept store" in the intervals.The Squire was contemplating the morning.  It was balmy and tranquil,the vagrant breezes were laden with the odor of flowers, the murmur ofbees was in the air, there was everywhere that suggestion of repose thatsummer woodlands bring to the senses, and the vague, pleasurablemelancholy that such a time and such surroundings inspire.Presently the United States mail arrived, on horseback.  There was butone letter, and it was for the postmaster.  The long-legged youth whocarried the mail tarried an hour to talk, for there was no hurry; and ina little while the male population of the village had assembled to help.As a general thing, they were dressed in homespun "jeans," blue oryellow--here were no other varieties of it; all wore one suspender andsometimes two--yarn ones knitted at home,--some wore vests, but few worecoats.  Such coats and vests as did appear, however, were ratherpicturesque than otherwise, for they were made of tolerably fancifulpatterns of calico--a fashion which prevails thereto this day among thoseof the community who have tastes above the common level and are able toafford style.  Every individual arrived with his hands in his pockets;a hand came out occasionally for a purpose, but it always went back againafter service; and if it was the head that was served, just the cant thatthe dilapidated straw hat got by being uplifted and rooted under, wasretained until the next call altered the inclination; many' hats werepresent, but none were erect and no two were canted just alike.  We arespeaking impartially of men, youths and boys.  And we are also speakingof these three estates when we say that every individual was eitherchewing natural leaf tobacco prepared on his own premises, or smoking thesame in a corn-cob pipe.  Few of the men wore whiskers; none woremoustaches; some had a thick jungle of hair under the chin and hiding thethroat--the only pattern recognized there as being the correct thing inwhiskers; but no part of any individual's face had seen a razor for aweek.These neighbors stood a few moments looking at the mail carrierreflectively while he talked; but fatigue soon began to show itself,and one after another they climbed up and occupied the top rail of thefence, hump-shouldered and grave, like a company of buzzards assembledfor supper and listening for the death-rattle.  Old Damrell said:"Tha hain't no news 'bout the jedge, hit ain't likely?""Cain't tell for sartin; some thinks he's gwyne to be 'long toreckly,and some thinks 'e hain't.  Russ Mosely he tote ole Hanks he mought gitto Obeds tomorrer or nex' day he reckoned.""Well, I wisht I knowed.  I got a 'prime sow and pigs in the, cote-house,and I hain't got no place for to put 'em.  If the jedge is a gwyne tohold cote, I got to roust 'em out, I reckon.  But tomorrer'll do, I'spect."The speaker bunched his thick lips together like the stem-end of a tomatoand shot a bumble-bee dead that had lit on a weed seven feet away.One after another the several chewers expressed a charge of tobacco juiceand delivered it at the deceased with steady, aim and faultless accuracy."What's a stirrin', down 'bout the Forks?" continued Old Damrell."Well, I dunno, skasely.  Ole, Drake Higgins he's ben down to Shelby las'week.  Tuck his crap down; couldn't git shet o' the most uv it; hitwasn't no time for to sell, he say, so he 'fotch it back agin, 'lowin' towait tell fall.  Talks 'bout goin' to Mozouri--lots uv 'ems talkin' that-away down thar, Ole Higgins say.  Cain't make a livin' here no mo', sichtimes as these.  Si Higgins he's ben over to Kaintuck n' married a high-toned gal thar, outen the fust families, an' he's come back to the Forkswith jist a hell's-mint o' whoop-jamboree notions, folks says.  He's tuckan' fixed up the ole house like they does in Kaintuck, he say, an' tha'sben folks come cler from Turpentine for to see it.  He's tuck an gawmedit all over on the inside with plarsterin'.""What's plasterin'?""I dono.  Hit's what he calls it.  'Ole Mam Higgins, she tole me.She say she wasn't gwyne to hang out in no sich a dern hole like a hog.Says it's mud, or some sich kind o' nastiness that sticks on n' covers upeverything.  Plarsterin', Si calls it."This marvel was discussed at considerable length; and almost withanimation.  But presently there was a dog-fight over in the neighborhoodof the blacksmith shop, and the visitors slid off their perch like somany turtles and strode to the battle-field with an interest bordering oneagerness.  The Squire remained, and read his letter.  Then he sighed,and sat long in meditation.  At intervals he said:Missouri.  Missouri.  Well, well, well, everything is so uncertain."At last he said:"I believe I'll do it.--A man will just rot, here.  My house my yard,everything around me, in fact, shows' that I am becoming one of thesecattle--and I used to be thrifty in other times."He was not more than thirty-five, but he had a worn look that made himseem older.  He left the stile, entered that part of his house which wasthe store, traded a quart of thick molasses for a coonskin and a cake ofbeeswax, to an old dame in linsey-woolsey, put his letter away, an wentinto the kitchen.  His wife was there, constructing some dried applepies; a slovenly urchin of ten was dreaming over a rude weather-vane ofhis own contriving; his small sister, close upon four years of age, wassopping corn-bread in some gravy left in the bottom of a frying-pan andtrying hard not to sop over a finger-mark that divided the pan throughthe middle--for the other side belonged to the brother, whose musingsmade him forget his stomach for the moment; a negro woman was busycooking, at a vast fire-place.  Shiftlessness and poverty reigned in theplace."Nancy, I've made up my mind.  The world is done with me, and perhaps Iought to be done with it.  But no matter--I can wait.  I am going toMissouri.  I won't stay in this dead country and decay with it.  I've hadit on my mind sometime.  I'm going to sell out here for whatever I canget, and buy a wagon and team and put you and the children in it andstart.""Anywhere that suits you, suits me, Si.  And the children can't be anyworse off in Missouri than, they are here, I reckon."Motioning his wife to a private conference in their own room, Hawkinssaid: "No, they'll be better off.  I've looked out for them, Nancy," andhis face lighted.  "Do you see these papers?  Well, they are evidencethat I have taken up Seventy-five Thousand Acres of Land in this county-think what an enormous fortune it will be some day!  Why, Nancy, enormousdon't express it--the word's too tame!  I tell your Nancy----""For goodness sake, Si----""Wait, Nancy, wait--let me finish--I've been secretly bailing and fumingwith this grand inspiration for weeks, and I must talk or I'll burst!I haven't whispered to a soul--not a word--have had my countenance underlock and key, for fear it might drop something that would tell even theseanimals here how to discern the gold mine that's glaring under theirnoses.  Now all that is necessary to hold this land and keep it in thefamily is to pay the trifling taxes on it yearly--five or ten dollars--the whole tract would not sell for over a third of a cent an acre now,but some day people wild be glad to get it for twenty dollars, fiftydollars, a hundred dollars an acre!  What should you say to" [here hedropped his voice to a whisper and looked anxiously around to see thatthere were no eavesdroppers,] "a thousand dollars an acre!"Well you may open your eyes and stare!  But it's so.  You and I may notsee the day, but they'll see it.  Mind I tell you; they'll see it.Nancy, you've heard of steamboats, and maybe you believed in them--ofcourse you did.  You've heard these cattle here scoff at them and callthem lies and humbugs,--but they're not lies and humbugs, they're areality and they're going to be a more wonderful thing some day than theyare now.  They're going to make a revolution in this world's affairs thatwill make men dizzy to contemplate.  I've been watching--I've beenwatching while some people slept, and I know what's coming."Even you and I will see the day that steamboats will come up that littleTurkey river to within twenty miles of this land of ours--and in highwater they'll come right to it!  And this is not all, Nancy--it isn'teven half!  There's a bigger wonder--the railroad!  These worms here havenever even heard of it--and when they do they'll not believe in it.But it's another fact.  Coaches that fly over the ground twenty miles anhour--heavens and earth, think of that, Nancy!  Twenty miles an hour.It makes a main's brain whirl.  Some day, when you and I are in ourgraves, there'll be a railroad stretching hundreds of miles--all the waydown from the cities of the Northern States to New Orleans--and its gotto run within thirty miles of this land--may be even touch a corner ofit.  Well; do you know, they've quit burning wood in some places in theEastern States?  And what do you suppose they burn?  Coal!" [He bent overand whispered again:] "There's world--worlds of it on this land!  Youknow that black stuff that crops out of the bank of the branch?--well,that's it.  You've taken it for rocks; so has every body here; andthey've built little dams and such things with it.  One man was going tobuild a chimney out of it.  Nancy I expect I turned as white as a sheet!Why, it might have caught fire and told everything.  I showed him it wastoo crumbly.  Then he was going to build it of copper ore--splendidyellow forty-per-cent. ore!  There's fortunes upon fortunes of copper oreon our land!  It scared me to death, the idea of this fool starting asmelting furnace in his house without knowing it, and getting his dulleyes opened.  And then he was going to build it of iron ore!  There'smountains of iron ore here, Nancy--whole mountains of it.  I wouldn'ttake any chances.  I just stuck by him--I haunted him--I never let himalone till he built it of mud and sticks like all the rest of thechimneys in this dismal country.  Pine forests, wheat land, corn land,iron, copper, coal-wait till the railroads come, and the steamboats!We'll never see the day, Nancy--never in the world---never, never, never,child.  We've got to drag along, drag along, and eat crusts in toil andpoverty, all hopeless and forlorn--but they'll ride in coaches, Nancy!They'll live like the princes of the earth; they'll be courted andworshiped; their names will be known from ocean to ocean!  Ah, well-a-day!  Will they ever come back here, on the railroad and the steamboat,and say, 'This one little spot shall not be touched--this hovel shall besacred--for here our father and our mother suffered for us, thought forus, laid the foundations of our future as solid as the hills!'""You are a great, good, noble soul, Si Hawkins, and I am an honored womanto be the wife of such a man"--and the tears stood in her eyes when shesaid it.  "We will go to Missouri.  You are out of your place, here,among these groping dumb creatures.  We will find a higher place, whereyou can walk with your own kind, and be understood when you speak--notstared at as if you were talking some foreign tongue.  I would goanywhere, anywhere in the wide world with you I would rather my bodywould starve and die than your mind should hunger and wither away in thislonely land.""Spoken like yourself, my child!  But we'll not starve, Nancy.  Far fromit.  I have a letter from Beriah Sellers--just came this day.  A letterthat--I'll read you a line from it!"He flew out of the room.  A shadow blurred the sunlight in Nancy's face--there was uneasiness in it, and disappointment.  A procession ofdisturbing thoughts began to troop through her mind.  Saying nothingaloud, she sat with her hands in her lap; now and then she clasped them,then unclasped them, then tapped the ends of the fingers together;sighed, nodded, smiled--occasionally paused, shook her head.  Thispantomime was the elocutionary expression of an unspoken soliloquy whichhad something of this shape:"I was afraid of it--was afraid of it.  Trying to make our fortune inVirginia, Beriah Sellers nearly ruined us and we had to settle inKentucky and start over again.  Trying to make our fortune in Kentucky hecrippled us again and we had to move here.  Trying to make our fortunehere, he brought us clear down to the ground, nearly.  He's an honestsoul, and means the very best in the world, but I'm afraid, I'm afraidhe's too flighty.  He has splendid ideas, and he'll divide his chanceswith his friends with a free hand, the good generous soul, but somethingdoes seem to always interfere and spoil everything.  I never did think hewas right well balanced.  But I don't blame my husband, for I do thinkthat when that man gets his head full of a new notion, he can out-talk amachine.  He'll make anybody believe in that notion that'll listen to himten minutes--why I do believe he would make a deaf and dumb man believein it and get beside himself, if you only set him where he could see hiseyes tally and watch his hands explain.  What a head he has got!  When hegot up that idea there in Virginia of buying up whole loads of negroes inDelaware and Virginia and Tennessee, very quiet, having papers drawn tohave them delivered at a place in Alabama and take them and pay for them,away yonder at a certain time, and then in the meantime get a law madestopping everybody from selling negroes to the south after a certain day--it was somehow that way--mercy how the man would have made money!Negroes would have gone up to four prices.  But after he'd spent moneyand worked hard, and traveled hard, and had heaps of negroes allcontracted for, and everything going along just right, he couldn't getthe laws passed and down the whole thing tumbled.  And there in Kentucky,when he raked up that old numskull that had been inventing away at aperpetual motion machine for twenty-two years, and Beriah Sellers saw ata glance where just one more little cog-wheel would settle the business,why I could see it as plain as day when he came in wild at midnight andhammered us out of bed and told the whole thing in a whisper with thedoors bolted and the candle in an empty barrel.  Oceans of money in it-anybody could see that.  But it did cost a deal to buy the old numskullout--and then when they put the new cog wheel in they'd overlookedsomething somewhere and it wasn't any use--the troublesome thing wouldn'tgo.  That notion he got up here did look as handy as anything in theworld; and how him and Si did sit up nights working at it with thecurtains down and me watching to see if any neighbors were about.  Theman did honestly believe there was a fortune in that black gummy oil thatstews out of the bank Si says is coal; and he refined it himself till itwas like water, nearly, and it did burn, there's no two ways about that;and I reckon he'd have been all right in Cincinnati with his lamp that hegot made, that time he got a house full of rich speculators to see himexhibit only in the middle of his speech it let go and almost blew theheads off the whole crowd.  I haven't got over grieving for the moneythat cost yet.  I am sorry enough Beriah Sellers is in Missouri, now, butI was glad when he went.  I wonder what his letter says.  But of courseit's cheerful; he's never down-hearted--never had any trouble in hislife--didn't know it if he had.  It's always sunrise with that man, andfine and blazing, at that--never gets noon; though--leaves off and risesagain.  Nobody can help liking the creature, he means so well--but I dodread to come across him again; he's bound to set us all crazy, ofcoarse.  Well, there goes old widow Hopkins--it always takes her a weekto buy a spool of thread and trade a hank of yarn.  Maybe Si can comewith the letter, now."And he did:"Widow Hopkins kept me--I haven't any patience with such tedious people.Now listen, Nancy--just listen at this:     "'Come right along to Missouri!  Don't wait and worry about a good     price but sell out for whatever you can get, and come along, or you     might be too late.  Throw away your traps, if necessary, and come     empty-handed.  You'll never regret it.  It's the grandest country--     the loveliest land--the purest atmosphere--I can't describe it; no     pen can do it justice.  And it's filling up, every day--people     coming from everywhere.  I've got the biggest scheme on earth--and     I'll take you in; I'll take in every friend I've got that's ever     stood by me, for there's enough for all, and to spare.  Mum's the     word--don't whisper--keep yourself to yourself.  You'll see!  Come!     --rush!--hurry!--don't wait for anything!'"It's the same old boy, Nancy, jest the same old boy--ain't he?""Yes, I think there's a little of the old sound about his voice yet.I suppose you--you'll still go, Si?""Go!  Well, I should think so, Nancy.  It's all a chance, of course, and,chances haven't been kind to us, I'll admit--but whatever comes, oldwife, they're provided for.  Thank God for that!""Amen," came low and earnestly.And with an activity and a suddenness that bewildered Obedstown andalmost took its breath away, the Hawkinses hurried through with theirarrangements in four short months and flitted out into the greatmysterious blank that lay beyond the Knobs of Tennessee.CHAPTER II.Toward the close of the third day's journey the wayfarers were justbeginning to think of camping, when they came upon a log cabin in thewoods.  Hawkins drew rein and entered the yard.  A boy about ten yearsold was sitting in the cabin door with his face bowed in his hands.Hawkins approached, expecting his footfall to attract attention, but itdid not.  He halted a moment, and then said:"Come, come, little chap, you mustn't be going to sleep before sundown"With a tired expression the small face came up out of the hands,--a facedown which tears were flowing."Ah, I'm sorry I spoke so, my boy.  Tell me--is anything the matter?"The boy signified with a scarcely perceptible gesture that the troublewas in the, house, and made room for Hawkins to pass.  Then he put hisface in his hands again and rocked himself about as one suffering a griefthat is too deep to find help in moan or groan or outcry.  Hawkinsstepped within.  It was a poverty stricken place.  Six or eight middle-aged country people of both sexes were grouped about an object in themiddle of the room; they were noiselessly busy and they talked inwhispers when they spoke.  Hawkins uncovered and approached.  A coffinstood upon two backless chairs.  These neighbors had just finisheddisposing the body of a woman in it--a woman with a careworn, gentle facethat had more the look of sleep about it than of death.  An old ladymotioned, toward the door and said to Hawkins in a whisper:"His mother, po' thing.  Died of the fever, last night.  Tha warn't nosich thing as saving of her.  But it's better for her--better for her.Husband and the other two children died in the spring, and she hain'tever hilt up her head sence.  She jest went around broken-hearted like,and never took no intrust in anything but Clay--that's the boy thar.She jest worshiped Clay--and Clay he worshiped her.  They didn't 'pear tolive at all, only when they was together, looking at each other, lovingone another.  She's ben sick three weeks; and if you believe me thatchild has worked, and kep' the run of the med'cin, and the times ofgiving it, and sot up nights and nussed her, and tried to keep up hersperits, the same as a grown-up person.  And last night when she kep' asinking and sinking, and turned away her head and didn't know him no mo',it was fitten to make a body's heart break to see him climb onto the bedand lay his cheek agin hern and call her so pitiful and she not answer.But bymeby she roused up, like, and looked around wild, and then she seehim, and she made a great cry and snatched him to her breast and hilt himclose and kissed him over and over agin; but it took the last po'strength she had, and so her eyelids begin to close down, and her armssort o' drooped away and then we see she was gone, po' creetur.  AndClay, he--Oh, the po' motherless thing--I cain't talk abort it--I cain'tbear to talk about it."Clay had disappeared from the door; but he came in, now, and theneighbors reverently fell apart and made way for him.  He leaned upon theopen coffin and let his tears course silently.  Then he put out his smallhand and smoothed the hair and stroked the dead face lovingly.  After abit he brought his other hand up from behind him and laid three or fourfresh wild flowers upon the breast, bent over and kissed the unresponsivelips time and time again, and then turned away and went out of the housewithout looking at any of the company.  The old lady said to Hawkins:"She always loved that kind o' flowers.  He fetched 'em for her everymorning, and she always kissed him.  They was from away north somers--shekep' school when she fust come.  Goodness knows what's to become o' thatpo' boy.  No father, no mother, no kin folks of no kind.  Nobody to goto, nobody that k'yers for him--and all of us is so put to it for to getalong and families so large."Hawkins understood.  All, eyes were turned inquiringly upon him.  Hesaid:"Friends, I am not very well provided for, myself, but still I would notturn my back on a homeless orphan.  If he will go with me I will give hima home, and loving regard--I will do for him as I would have another dofor a child of my own in misfortune."One after another the people stepped forward and wrung the stranger'shand with cordial good will, and their eyes looked all that their handscould not express or their lips speak."Said like a true man," said one."You was a stranger to me a minute ago, but you ain't now," said another."It's bread cast upon the waters--it'll return after many days," said theold lady whom we have heard speak before."You got to camp in my house as long as you hang out here," said one."If tha hain't room for you and yourn my tribe'll turn out and camp inthe hay loft."A few minutes afterward, while the preparations for the funeral werebeing concluded, Mr. Hawkins arrived at his wagon leading his little waifby the hand, and told his wife all that had happened, and asked her if hehad done right in giving to her and to himself this new care?  She said:"If you've done wrong, Si Hawkins, it's a wrong that will shine brighterat the judgment day than the rights that many' a man has done before you.And there isn't any compliment you can pay me equal to doing a thing likethis and finishing it up, just taking it for granted that I'll be willingto it.  Willing?  Come to me; you poor motherless boy, and let me takeyour grief and help you carry it."When the child awoke in the morning, it was as if from a troubled dream.But slowly the confusion in his mind took form, and he remembered hisgreat loss; the beloved form in the coffin; his talk with a generousstranger who offered him a home; the funeral, where the stranger's wifeheld him by the hand at the grave, and cried with him and comforted him;and he remembered how this, new mother tucked him in his bed in theneighboring farm house, and coaxed him to talk about his troubles, andthen heard him say his prayers and kissed him good night, and left himwith the soreness in his heart almost healed and his bruised spirit atrest.And now the new mother came again, and helped him to dress, and combedhis hair, and drew his mind away by degrees from the dismal yesterday,by telling him about the wonderful journey he was going to take and thestrange things he was going to see.  And after breakfast they two wentalone to the grave, and his heart went out to his new friend and hisuntaught eloquence poured the praises of his buried idol into her earswithout let or hindrance.  Together they planted roses by the headboardand strewed wild flowers upon the grave; and then together they wentaway, hand in hand, and left the dead to the long sleep that heals allheart-aches and ends all sorrows.CHAPTER III.Whatever the lagging dragging journey may have been to the rest of theemigrants, it was a wonder and delight to the children, a world ofenchantment; and they believed it to be peopled with the mysteriousdwarfs and giants and goblins that figured in the tales the negro slaveswere in the habit of telling them nightly by the shuddering light of thekitchen fire.At the end of nearly a week of travel, the party went into camp near ashabby village which was caving, house by house, into the hungryMississippi.  The river astonished the children beyond measure.  Itsmile-breadth of water seemed an ocean to them, in the shadowy twilight,and the vague riband of trees on the further shore, the verge of acontinent which surely none but they had ever seen before."Uncle Dan'l"(colored,) aged 40; his wife, "aunt Jinny," aged 30, "YoungMiss" Emily Hawkins, "Young Mars" Washington Hawkins and "Young Mars"Clay, the new member of the family, ranged themselves on a log, aftersupper, and contemplated the marvelous river and discussed it.  The moonrose and sailed aloft through a maze of shredded cloud-wreaths; thesombre river just perceptibly brightened under the veiled light; a deepsilence pervaded the air and was emphasized, at intervals, rather thanbroken, by the hooting of an owl, the baying of a dog, or the muffledcrash of a raving bank in the distance.The little company assembled on the log were all children (at least insimplicity and broad and comprehensive ignorance,) and the remarks theymade about the river were in keeping with the character; and so awed werethey by the grandeur and the solemnity of the scene before then, and bytheir belief that the air was filled with invisible spirits and that thefaint zephyrs were caused by their passing wings, that all their talktook to itself a tinge of the supernatural, and their voices were subduedto a low and reverent tone.  Suddenly Uncle Dan'l exclaimed:"Chil'en, dah's sum fin a comin!"All crowded close together and every heart beat faster.Uncle Dan'l pointed down the river with his bony finger.A deep coughing sound troubled the stillness, way toward a wooded capethat jetted into the stream a mile distant.  All in an instant a fierceeye of fire shot out froth behind the cape and sent a long brilliantpathway quivering athwart the dusky water.  The coughing grew louder andlouder, the glaring eye grew larger and still larger, glared wilder andstill wilder.  A huge shape developed itself out of the gloom, and fromits tall duplicate horns dense volumes of smoke, starred and spangledwith sparks, poured out and went tumbling away into the farther darkness.Nearer and nearer the thing came, till its long sides began to glow withspots of light which mirrored themselves in the river and attended themonster like a torchlight procession."What is it!  Oh, what is it, Uncle Dan'l!"With deep solemnity the answer came:"It's de Almighty!  Git down on yo' knees!"It was not necessary to say it twice.  They were all kneeling, in amoment.  And then while the mysterious coughing rose stronger andstronger and the threatening glare reached farther and wider, the negro'svoice lifted up its supplications:"O Lord', we's ben mighty wicked, an' we knows dat we 'zerve to go to debad place, but good Lord, deah Lord, we ain't ready yit, we ain't ready--let dese po' chilen hab one mo' chance, jes' one mo' chance.  Take de oleniggah if you's, got to hab somebody.--Good Lord, good deah Lord, wedon't know whah you's a gwyne to, we don't know who you's got yo' eye on,but we knows by de way you's a comin', we knows by de way you's a tiltin'along in yo' charyot o' fiah dat some po' sinner's a gwyne to ketch it.But good Lord, dose chilen don't b'long heah, dey's f'm Obedstown whahdey don't know nuffin, an' you knows, yo' own sef, dat dey ain't'sponsible.  An' deah Lord, good Lord, it ain't like yo' mercy, it ain'tlike yo' pity, it ain't like yo' long-sufferin' lovin' kindness for totake dis kind o' 'vantage o' sick little chil'en as dose is when dey's somany ornery grown folks chuck full o' cussedness dat wants roastin' downdah.  Oh, Lord, spah de little chil'en, don't tar de little chil'en awayf'm dey frens, jes' let 'em off jes' dis once, and take it out'n de olenibgah.  HEAH I IS, LORD, HEAH I IS!  De ole niggah's ready, Lord,de ole----"The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the party, and nottwenty steps away.  The awful thunder of a mud-valve suddenly burstforth, drowning the prayer, and as suddenly Uncle Dan'l snatched a childunder each arm and scoured into the woods with the rest of the pack athis heels.  And then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep darknessand shouted, (but rather feebly:)"Heah I is, Lord, heah I is!"There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to the surprise andthe comfort of the party, it was plain that the august presence had goneby, for its dreadful noises were receding.  Uncle Dan'l headed a cautiousreconnaissance in the direction of the log.  Sure enough "the Lord" wasjust turning a point a short distance up the river, and while they lookedthe lights winked out and the coughing diminished by degrees andpresently ceased altogether."H'wsh!  Well now dey's some folks says dey ain't no 'ficiency in prah.Dis Chile would like to know whah we'd a ben now if it warn't fo' datprah?  Dat's it.  Dat's it!""Uncle Dan'l, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved us?" said Clay."Does I reckon?  Don't I know it!  Whah was yo' eyes?  Warn't de Lordjes' a cumin' chow!  chow!  CHOW!  an' a goin' on turrible--an' do deLord carry on dat way 'dout dey's sumfin don't suit him?  An' warn't he alookin' right at dis gang heah, an' warn't he jes' a reachin' for 'em?An' d'you spec' he gwyne to let 'em off 'dout somebody ast him to do it?No indeedy!""Do you reckon he saw, us, Uncle Dan'l?"De law sakes, Chile, didn't I see him a lookin' at us?"."Did you feel scared, Uncle Dan'l?""No sah!  When a man is 'gaged in prah, he ain't fraid o' nuffin--deycan't nuffin tetch him.""Well what did you run for?""Well, I--I--mars Clay, when a man is under de influence ob de sperit,he do-no, what he's 'bout--no sah; dat man do-no what he's 'bout.  Youmout take an' tah de head off'n dat man an' he wouldn't scasely fine itout.  Date's de Hebrew chil'en dat went frough de fiah; dey was burntconsidable--ob coase dey was; but dey didn't know nuffin 'bout it--healright up agin; if dey'd ben gals dey'd missed dey long haah, (hair,)maybe, but dey wouldn't felt de burn.""I don't know but what they were girls.  I think they were.""Now mars Clay, you knows bettern dat.  Sometimes a body can't tellwhedder you's a sayin' what you means or whedder you's a sayin' what youdon't mean, 'case you says 'em bofe de same way.""But how should I know whether they were boys or girls?""Goodness sakes, mars Clay, don't de Good Book say?  'Sides, don't itcall 'em de HE-brew chil'en?  If dey was gals wouldn't dey be de SHE-brewchil'en?  Some people dat kin read don't 'pear to take no notice when deydo read.""Well, Uncle Dan'l, I think that----- My!  here comes another one up theriver!  There can't be two!""We gone dis time--we done gone dis time, sho'!  Dey ain't two, marsClay--days de same one.  De Lord kin 'pear eberywhah in a second.Goodness, how do fiah and de smoke do belch up!  Dat mean business,honey.  He comin' now like he fo'got sumfin.  Come 'long, chil'en, timeyou's gwyne to roos'.  Go 'long wid you--ole Uncle Daniel gwyne out in dewoods to rastle in prah--de ole nigger gwyne to do what he kin to sabeyou agin"He did go to the woods and pray; but he went so far that he doubted,himself, if the Lord heard him when He went by.CHAPTER IV.--Seventhly, Before his Voyage, He should make his peace with God,satisfie his Creditors if he be in debt; Pray earnestly to God to prosperhim in his Voyage, and to keep him from danger, and, if he be 'sui juris'he should make his last will, and wisely order all his affairs, sincemany that go far abroad, return not home.  (This good and ChristianCounsel is given by Martinus Zeilerus in his Apodemical Canons before hisItinerary of Spain and Portugal.)Early in the morning Squire Hawkins took passage in a small steamboat,with his family and his two slaves, and presently the bell rang, thestage-plank; was hauled in, and the vessel proceeded up the river.The children and the slaves were not much more at ease after finding outthat this monster was a creature of human contrivance than they were thenight before when they thought it the Lord of heaven and earth.  Theystarted, in fright, every time the gauge-cocks sent out an angry hiss,and they quaked from head to foot when the mud-valves thundered.  Theshivering of the boat under the beating of the wheels was sheer misery tothem.But of course familiarity with these things soon took away their terrors,and then the voyage at once became a glorious adventure, a royal progressthrough the very heart and home of romance, a realization of theirrosiest wonder-dreams.  They sat by the hour in the shade of the pilothouse on the hurricane deck and looked out over the curving expanses ofthe river sparkling in the sunlight.  Sometimes the boat fought the mid-stream current, with a verdant world on either hand, and remote fromboth; sometimes she closed in under a point, where the dead water and thehelping eddies were, and shaved the bank so closely that the decks wereswept by the jungle of over-hanging willows and littered with a spoil ofleaves; departing from these "points" she regularly crossed the riverevery five miles, avoiding the "bight" of the great binds and thusescaping the strong current; sometimes she went out and skirted a high"bluff" sand-bar in the middle of the stream, and occasionally followedit up a little too far and touched upon the shoal water at its head--andthen the intelligent craft refused to run herself aground, but "smelt"the bar, and straightway the foamy streak that streamed away from herbows vanished, a great foamless wave rolled forward and passed her underway, and in this instant she leaned far over on her side, shied from thebar and fled square away from the danger like a frightened thing--and thepilot was lucky if he managed to "straighten her up" before she drove hernose into the opposite bank; sometimes she approached a solid wall oftall trees as if she meant to break through it, but all of a sudden alittle crack would open just enough to admit her, and away she would goplowing through the "chute" with just barely room enough between theisland on one side and the main land on the other; in this sluggish watershe seemed to go like a racehorse; now and then small log cabins appearedin little clearings, with the never-failing frowsy women and girls insoiled and faded linsey-woolsey leaning in the doors or against woodpilesand rail fences, gazing sleepily at the passing show; sometimes she foundshoal water, going out at the head of those "chutes" or crossing theriver, and then a deck-hand stood on the bow and hove the lead, while theboat slowed down and moved cautiously; sometimes she stopped a moment ata landing and took on some freight or a passenger while a crowd ofslouchy white men and negroes stood on the bank and looked sleepily onwith their hands in their pantaloons pockets,--of course--for they nevertook them out except to stretch, and when they did this they squirmedabout and reached their fists up into the air and lifted themselves ontip-toe in an ecstasy of enjoyment.When the sun went down it turned all the broad river to a national bannerlaid in gleaming bars of gold and purple and crimson; and in time theseglories faded out in the twilight and left the fairy archipelagoesreflecting their fringing foliage in the steely mirror of the stream.At night the boat forged on through the deep solitudes of the river,hardly ever discovering a light to testify to a human presence--mileafter mile and league after league the vast bends were guarded byunbroken walls of forest that had never been disturbed by the voice orthe foot-fall of man or felt the edge of his sacrilegious axe.An hour after supper the moon came up, and Clay and Washington ascendedto the hurricane deck to revel again in their new realm of enchantment.They ran races up and down the deck; climbed about the bell; made friendswith the passenger-dogs chained under the lifeboat; tried to make friendswith a passenger-bear fastened to the verge-staff but were notencouraged; "skinned the cat" on the hog-chains; in a word, exhausted theamusement-possibilities of the deck.  Then they looked wistfully up atthe pilot house, and finally, little by little, Clay ventured up there,followed diffidently by Washington.  The pilot turned presently to "gethis stern-marks," saw the lads and invited them in.  Now their happinesswas complete.  This cosy little house, built entirely of glass andcommanding a marvelous prospect in every direction was a magician'sthrone to them and their enjoyment of the place was simply boundless.They sat them down on a high bench and looked miles ahead and saw thewooded capes fold back and reveal the bends beyond; and they looked milesto the rear and saw the silvery highway diminish its breadth by degreesand close itself together in the distance.  Presently the pilot said:"By George, yonder comes the Amaranth!"A spark appeared, close to the water, several miles down the river.  Thepilot took his glass and looked at it steadily for a moment, and said,chiefly to himself:"It can't be the Blue Wing.  She couldn't pick us up this way.  It's theAmaranth, sure!"He bent over a speaking tube and said:"Who's on watch down there?"A hollow, unhuman voice rumbled up through the tube in answer:"I am.  Second engineer.""Good!  You want to stir your stumps, now, Harry--the Amaranth's justturned the point--and she's just a--humping herself, too!"The pilot took hold of a rope that stretched out forward, jerked ittwice, and two mellow strokes of the big bell responded.  A voice out onthe deck shouted:"Stand by, down there, with that labboard lead!""No, I don't want the lead," said the pilot, "I want you.  Roust out theold man--tell him the Amaranth's coming.  And go and call Jim--tell him.""Aye-aye, sir!"The "old man" was the captain--he is always called so, on steamboats andships; "Jim" was the other pilot.  Within two minutes both of these menwere flying up the pilothouse stairway, three steps at a jump.  Jim wasin his shirt sleeves,--with his coat and vest on his arm.  He said:"I was just turning in.  Where's the glass"He took it and looked:"Don't appear to be any night-hawk on the jack-staff--it's the Amaranth,dead sure!"The captain took a good long look, and only said:"Damnation!"George Davis, the pilot on watch, shouted to the night-watchman on deck:"How's she loaded?""Two inches by the head, sir.""'T ain't enough!"The captain shouted, now:"Call the mate.  Tell him to call all hands and get a lot of that sugarforrard--put her ten inches by the head.  Lively, now!""Aye-aye, sir."A riot of shouting and trampling floated up from below, presently, andthe uneasy steering of the boat soon showed that she was getting "down bythe head."The three men in the pilot house began to talk in short, sharp sentences,low and earnestly.  As their excitement rose, their voices went down.As fast as one of them put down the spy-glass another took it up--butalways with a studied air of calmness.  Each time the verdict was:"She's a gaining!"The captain spoke through the tube:"What steam are You carrying?""A hundred and forty-two, sir!  But she's getting hotter and hotter allthe time."The boat was straining and groaning and quivering like a monster in pain.Both pilots were at work now, one on each side of the wheel, with theircoats and vests off, their bosoms and collars wide open and theperspiration flowing down heir faces.  They were holding the boat soclose to the shore that the willows swept the guards almost from stem tostern."Stand by!" whispered George."All ready!" said Jim, under his breath."Let her come!"The boat sprang away, from the bank like a deer, and darted in a longdiagonal toward the other shore.  She closed in again and thrashed herfierce way along the willows as before.  The captain put down the glass:"Lord how she walks up on us!  I do hate to be beat!""Jim," said George, looking straight ahead, watching the slightest yawingof the boat and promptly meeting it with the wheel, "how'll it do to tryMurderer's Chute?""Well, it's--it's taking chances.  How was the cottonwood stump on thefalse point below Boardman's Island this morning?""Water just touching the roots.""Well it's pretty close work.  That gives six feet scant in the head ofMurderer's Chute.  We can just barely rub through if we hit it exactlyright.  But it's worth trying.  She don't dare tackle it!"--meaning theAmaranth.In another instant the Boreas plunged into what seemed a crooked creek,and the Amaranth's approaching lights were shut out in a moment.  Not awhisper was uttered, now, but the three men stared ahead into the shadowsand two of them spun the wheel back and forth with anxious watchfulnesswhile the steamer tore along.  The chute seemed to come to an end everyfifty yards, but always opened out in time.  Now the head of it was athand.  George tapped the big bell three times, two leadsmen sprang totheir posts, and in a moment their weird cries rose on the night air andwere caught up and repeated by two men on the upper deck:"No-o bottom!""De-e-p four!""Half three!""Quarter three!""Mark under wa-a-ter three!""Half twain!""Quarter twain!-----"Davis pulled a couple of ropes--there was a jingling of small bells farbelow, the boat's speed slackened, and the pent steam began to whistleand the gauge-cocks to scream:"By the mark twain!""Quar--ter--her--er--less twain!""Eight and a half!""Eight feet!""Seven-ana-half!"Another jingling of little bells and the wheels ceased turningaltogether.  The whistling of the steam was something frightful now--italmost drowned all other noises."Stand by to meet her!"George had the wheel hard down and was standing on a spoke."All ready!"The, boat hesitated seemed to hold her breath, as did the captain andpilots--and then she began to fall away to starboard and every eyelighted:"Now then!--meet her!  meet her!  Snatch her!"The wheel flew to port so fast that the spokes blended into a spider-web--the swing of the boat subsided--she steadied herself----"Seven feet!""Sev--six and a half!""Six feet!  Six f----"Bang !  She hit the bottom!  George shouted through the tube:Spread her wide open!  Whale it at her!"Pow-wow-chow!  The escape-pipes belched snowy pillars of steam aloft, theboat ground and surged and trembled--and slid over into----"M-a-r-k twain!""Quarter-her----""Tap!  tap!  tap!" (to signify "Lay in the leads")"And away she went, flying up the willow shore, with the whole silver seaof the Mississippi stretching abroad on every hand.No Amaranth in sight!"Ha-ha, boys, we took a couple of tricks that time!" said the captain.And just at that moment a red glare appeared in the head of the chute andthe Amaranth came springing after them!"Well, I swear!""Jim, what is the meaning of that?""I'll tell you what's the meaning of it.  That hail we had at Napoleonwas Wash Hastings, wanting to come to Cairo--and we didn't stop.  He's inthat pilot house, now, showing those mud turtles how to hunt for easywater.""That's it!  I thought it wasn't any slouch that was running that middlebar in Hog-eye Bend.  If it's Wash Hastings--well, what he don't knowabout the river ain't worth knowing--a regular gold-leaf, kid-glove,diamond breastpin pilot Wash Hastings is.  We won't take any tricks offof him, old man!""I wish I'd a stopped for him, that's all."The Amaranth was within three hundred yards of the Boreas, and stillgaining.  The "old man" spoke through the tube:"What is she-carrying now?""A hundred and sixty-five, sir!""How's your wood?""Pine all out-cypress half gone-eating up cotton-wood like pie!""Break into that rosin on the main deck-pile it in, the boat can pay forit!"Soon the boat was plunging and quivering and screaming more madly thanever.  But the Amaranth's head was almost abreast the Boreas's stern:"How's your steam, now, Harry?""Hundred and eighty-two, sir!""Break up the casks of bacon in the forrard hold!  Pile it in!  Levy onthat turpentine in the fantail-drench every stick of wood with it!"The boat was a moving earthquake by this time:"How is she now?""A hundred and ninety-six and still a-swelling!--water, below the middlegauge-cocks!--carrying every pound she can stand!--nigger roosting on thesafety-valve!""Good!  How's your draft?""Bully!  Every time a nigger heaves a stick of wood into the furnace hegoes out the chimney, with it!"The Amaranth drew steadily up till her jack-staff breasted the Boreas'swheel-house--climbed along inch by inch till her chimneys breasted it--crept along, further and further, till the boats were wheel to wheel--andthen they, closed up with a heavy jolt and locked together tight and fastin the middle of the big river under the flooding moonlight!  A roar anda hurrah went up from the crowded decks of both steamers--all handsrushed to the guards to look and shout and gesticulate--the weightcareened the vessels over toward each other--officers flew hither andthither cursing and storming, trying to drive the people amidships--bothcaptains were leaning over their railings shaking their fists, swearingand threatening--black volumes of smoke rolled up and canopied thescene,--delivering a rain of sparks upon the vessels--two pistol shotsrang out, and both captains dodged unhurt and the packed masses ofpassengers surged back and fell apart while the shrieks of women andchildren soared above the intolerable din----And then there was a booming roar, a thundering crash, and the riddledAmaranth dropped loose from her hold and drifted helplessly away!Instantly the fire-doors of the Boreas were thrown open and the men begandashing buckets of water into the furnaces--for it would have been deathand destruction to stop the engines with such a head of steam on.As soon as possible the Boreas dropped down to the floating wreck andtook off the dead, the wounded and the unhurt--at least all that could begot at, for the whole forward half of the boat was a shapeless ruin, withthe great chimneys lying crossed on top of it, and underneath were adozen victims imprisoned alive and wailing for help.  While men with axesworked with might and main to free these poor fellows, the Boreas's boatswent about, picking up stragglers from the river.And now a new horror presented itself.  The wreck took fire from thedismantled furnaces!  Never did men work with a heartier will than didthose stalwart braves with the axes.  But it was of no use.  The fire ateits way steadily, despising the bucket brigade that fought it.  Itscorched the clothes, it singed the hair of the axemen--it drove themback, foot by foot-inch by inch--they wavered, struck a final blow in theteeth of the enemy, and surrendered.  And as they fell back they heardprisoned voices saying:"Don't leave us!  Don't desert us!  Don't, don't do it!"And one poor fellow said:"I am Henry Worley, striker of the Amaranth!  My mother lives in St.Louis.  Tell her a lie for a poor devil's sake, please.  Say I was killedin an instant and never knew what hurt me--though God knows I've neitherscratch nor bruise this moment!  It's hard to burn up in a coop like thiswith the whole wide world so near.  Good-bye boys--we've all got to cometo it at last, anyway!"The Boreas stood away out of danger, and the ruined steamer went driftingdown the stream an island of wreathing and climbing flame that vomitedclouds of smoke from time to time, and glared more fiercely and sent itsluminous tongues higher and higher after each emission.  A shriek atintervals told of a captive that had met his doom.  The wreck lodged upona sandbar, and when the Boreas turned the next point on her upwardjourney it was still burning with scarcely abated fury.When the boys came down into the main saloon of the Boreas, they saw apitiful sight and heard a world of pitiful sounds.  Eleven poor creatureslay dead and forty more lay moaning, or pleading or screaming, while ascore of Good Samaritans moved among them doing what they could torelieve their sufferings; bathing their chinless faces and bodies withlinseed oil and lime water and covering the places with bulging masses ofraw cotton that gave to every face and form a dreadful and unhumanaspect.A little wee French midshipman of fourteen lay fearfully injured, butnever uttered a sound till a physician of Memphis was about to dress hishurts.  Then he said:"Can I get well?  You need not be afraid to tell me.""No--I--I am afraid you can not.""Then do not waste your time with me--help those that can get well.""But----""Help those that can get well!  It is, not for me to be a girl.  I carrythe blood of eleven generations of soldiers in my veins!"The physician--himself a man who had seen service in the navy in histime--touched his hat to this little hero, and passed on.The head engineer of the Amaranth, a grand specimen of physical manhood,struggled to his feet a ghastly spectacle and strode toward his brother,the second engineer, who was unhurt.  He said:"You were on watch.  You were boss.  You would not listen to me when Ibegged you to reduce your steam.  Take that!--take it to my wife and tellher it comes from me by the hand of my murderer!  Take it--and take mycurse with it to blister your heart a hundred years--and may you live solong!"And he tore a ring from his finger, stripping flesh and skin with it,threw it down and fell dead!But these things must not be dwelt upon.  The Boreas landed her dreadfulcargo at the next large town and delivered it over to a multitude ofeager hands and warm southern hearts--a cargo amounting by this time to39 wounded persons and 22 dead bodies.  And with these she delivered alist of 96 missing persons that had drowned or otherwise perished at thescene of the disaster.A jury of inquest was impaneled, and after due deliberation and inquirythey returned the inevitable American verdict which has been so familiarto our ears all the days of our lives--"NOBODY TO BLAME."**[The incidents of the explosion are not invented.  They happened justas they are told.--The Authors.]CHAPTER V.Il veut faire secher de la neige au four et la vendre pour du sel blanc.When the Boreas backed away from the land to continue her voyage up theriver, the Hawkinses were richer by twenty-four hours of experience inthe contemplation of human suffering and in learning through honest hardwork how to relieve it.  And they were richer in another way also.In the early turmoil an hour after the explosion, a little black-eyedgirl of five years, frightened and crying bitterly, was strugglingthrough the throng in the Boreas' saloon calling her mother and father,but no one answered.  Something in the face of Mr. Hawkins attracted herand she came and looked up at him; was satisfied, and took refuge withhim.  He petted her, listened to her troubles, and said he would find herfriends for her.  Then he put her in a state-room with his children andtold them to be kind to her (the adults of his party were all busy withthe wounded) and straightway began his search.It was fruitless.  But all day he and his wife made inquiries, and hopedagainst hope.  All that they could learn was that the child and herparents came on board at New Orleans, where they had just arrived in avessel from Cuba; that they looked like people from the Atlantic States;that the family name was Van Brunt and the child's name Laura.  This wasall.  The parents had not been seen since the explosion.  The child'smanners were those of a little lady, and her clothes were daintier andfiner than any Mrs. Hawkins had ever seen before.As the hours dragged on the child lost heart, and cried so piteously forher mother that it seemed to the Hawkinses that the moanings and thewailings of the mutilated men and women in the saloon did not so strainat their heart-strings as the sufferings of this little desolatecreature.  They tried hard to comfort her; and in trying, learned to loveher; they could not help it, seeing how she clung, to them and put herarms about their necks and found-no solace but in their kind eyes andcomforting words: There was a question in both their hearts--a questionthat rose up and asserted itself with more and more pertinacity as thehours wore on--but both hesitated to give it voice--both kept silence--and--waited.  But a time came at last when the matter would bear delay nolonger.  The boat had landed, and the dead and the wounded were beingconveyed to the shore.  The tired child was asleep in the arms of Mrs.Hawkins.  Mr. Hawkins came into their presence and stood withoutspeaking.  His eyes met his wife's; then both looked at the child--and asthey looked it stirred in its sleep and nestled closer; an expression ofcontentment and peace settled upon its face that touched the mother-heart; and when the eyes of husband and wife met again, the question wasasked and answered.When the Boreas had journeyed some four hundred miles from the time theHawkinses joined her, a long rank of steamboats was sighted, packed sideby side at a wharf like sardines, in a box, and above and beyond themrose the domes and steeples and general architectural confusion of acity--a city with an imposing umbrella of black smoke spread over it.This was St. Louis.  The children of the Hawkins family were playingabout the hurricane deck, and the father and mother were sitting in thelee of the pilot house essaying to keep order and not greatly grievedthat they were not succeeding."They're worth all the trouble they are, Nancy.""Yes, and more, Si.""I believe you!  You wouldn't sell one of them at a good round figure?""Not for all the money in the bank, Si.""My own sentiments every time.  It is true we are not rich--but still youare not sorry---you haven't any misgivings about the additions?""No.  God will provide""Amen.  And so you wouldn't even part with Clay? Or Laura!""Not for anything in the world.  I love them just the same as I love myown: They pet me and spoil me even more than the others do, I think.I reckon we'll get along, Si.""Oh yes, it will all come out right, old mother.  I wouldn't be afraid toadopt a thousand children if I wanted to, for there's that TennesseeLand, you know--enough to make an army of them rich.  A whole army,Nancy!  You and I will never see the day, but these little chaps will.Indeed they will.  One of these days it will be the rich Miss EmilyHawkins--and the wealthy Miss Laura Van Brunt Hawkins--and the Hon.George Washington Hawkins, millionaire--and Gov. Henry Clay Hawkins,millionaire!  That is the way the world will word it!  Don't let's everfret about the children, Nancy--never in the world.  They're all right.Nancy, there's oceans and oceans of money in that land--mark my words!"The children had stopped playing, for the moment, and drawn near tolisten.  Hawkins said:"Washington, my boy, what will you do when you get to be one of therichest men in the world?""I don't know, father.  Sometimes I think I'll have a balloon and go upin the air; and sometimes I think I'll have ever so many books; andsometimes I think I'll have ever so many weathercocks and water-wheels;or have a machine like that one you and Colonel Sellers bought; andsometimes I think I'll have--well, somehow I don't know--somehow I ain'tcertain; maybe I'll get a steamboat first.""The same old chap!--always just a little bit divided about things.--Andwhat will you do when you get to be one of the richest men in the world,Clay?""I don't know, sir.  My mother--my other mother that's gone away--shealways told me to work along and not be much expecting to get rich, andthen I wouldn't be disappointed if I didn't get rich.  And so I reckonit's better for me to wait till I get rich, and then by that time maybeI'll know what I'll want--but I don't now, sir.""Careful old head!--Governor Henry Clay Hawkins!--that's what you'll be,Clay, one of these days.  Wise old head! weighty old head!  Go on, now,and play--all of you.  It's a prime lot, Nancy; as the Obedstown folk sayabout their hogs."A smaller steamboat received the Hawkinses and their fortunes, and borethem a hundred and thirty miles still higher up the Mississippi, andlanded them at a little tumble-down village on the Missouri shore in thetwilight of a mellow October day.The next morning they harnessed up their team and for two days theywended slowly into the interior through almost roadless and uninhabitedforest solitudes.  And when for the last time they pitched their tents,metaphorically speaking, it was at the goal of their hopes, their newhome.By the muddy roadside stood a new log cabin, one story high--the store;clustered in the neighborhood were ten or twelve more cabins, some new,some old.In the sad light of the departing day the place looked homeless enough.Two or three coatless young men sat in front of the store on a dry-goodsbox, and whittled it with their knives, kicked it with their vast boots,and shot tobacco-juice at various marks.  Several ragged negroes leanedcomfortably against the posts of the awning and contemplated the arrivalof the wayfarers with lazy curiosity.  All these people presently managedto drag themselves to the vicinity of the Hawkins' wagon, and there theytook up permanent positions, hands in pockets and resting on one leg; andthus anchored they proceeded to look and enjoy.  Vagrant dogs camewagging around and making inquiries of Hawkins's dog, which were notsatisfactory and they made war on him in concert.  This would haveinterested the citizens but it was too many on one to amount to anythingas a fight, and so they commanded the peace and the foreign dog coiledhis tail and took sanctuary under the wagon.  Slatternly negro girls andwomen slouched along with pails deftly balanced on their heads, andjoined the group and stared.  Little half dressed white boys, and littlenegro boys with nothing whatever on but tow-linen shirts with a finesouthern exposure, came from various directions and stood with theirhands locked together behind them and aided in the inspection.  The restof the population were laying down their employments and getting ready tocome, when a man burst through the assemblage and seized the new-comersby the hands in a frenzy of welcome, and exclaimed--indeed almostshouted:"Well who could have believed it!  Now is it you sure enough--turnaround! hold up your heads! I want to look at you good!  Well, well,well, it does seem most too good to be true, I declare!  Lord, I'm soglad to see you!  Does a body's whole soul good to look at you!  Shakehands again!  Keep on shaking hands!  Goodness gracious alive.  What willmy wife say?--Oh yes indeed, it's so!--married only last week--lovely,perfectly lovely creature, the noblest woman that ever--you'll like her,Nancy!  Like her?  Lord bless me you'll love her--you'll dote on her--you'll be twins!  Well, well, well, let me look at you again!  Same old--why bless my life it was only jest this very morning that my wife says,'Colonel'--she will call me Colonel spite of everything I can do--shesays 'Colonel, something tells me somebody's coming!'  and sure enoughhere you are, the last people on earth a body could have expected.Why she'll think she's a prophetess--and hanged if I don't think so too--and you know there ain't any, country but what a prophet's an honor to,as the proverb says.  Lord bless me and here's the children, too!Washington, Emily, don't you know me?  Come, give us a kiss.  Won't I fixyou, though!--ponies, cows, dogs, everything you can think of that'lldelight a child's heart-and --  Why how's this?  Little strangers?  Wellyou won't be any strangers here, I can tell you.  Bless your souls we'llmake you think you never was at home before--'deed and 'deed we will,I can tell you!  Come, now, bundle right along with me.  You can'tglorify any hearth stone but mine in this camp, you know--can't eatanybody's bread but mine--can't do anything but just make yourselvesperfectly at home and comfortable, and spread yourselves out and rest!You hear me!  Here--Jim, Tom, Pete, Jake, fly around!  Take that team tomy place--put the wagon in my lot--put the horses under the shed, and getout hay and oats and fill them up!  Ain't any hay and oats?  Well getsome--have it charged to me--come, spin around, now!  Now, Hawkins, theprocession's ready; mark time, by the left flank, forward-march!"And the Colonel took the lead, with Laura astride his neck, and thenewly-inspired and very grateful immigrants picked up their tired limbswith quite a spring in them and dropped into his wake.Presently they were ranged about an old-time fire-place whose blazinglogs sent out rather an unnecessary amount of heat, but that was nomatter-supper was needed, and to have it, it had to be cooked.  Thisapartment was the family bedroom, parlor, library and kitchen, all inone.  The matronly little wife of the Colonel moved hither and thitherand in and out with her pots and pans in her hands', happiness in herheart and a world of admiration of her husband in her eyes.  And when atlast she had spread the cloth and loaded it with hot corn bread, friedchickens, bacon, buttermilk, coffee, and all manner of country luxuries,Col. Sellers modified his harangue and for a moment throttled it down tothe orthodox pitch for a blessing, and then instantly burst forth againas from a parenthesis and clattered on with might and main till everystomach in the party was laden with all it could carry.  And when thenew-comers ascended the ladder to their comfortable feather beds on thesecond floor--to wit the garret--Mrs. Hawkins was obliged to say:"Hang the fellow, I do believe he has gone wilder than ever, but still abody can't help liking him if they would--and what is more, they don'tever want to try when they see his eyes and hear him talk."Within a week or two the Hawkinses were comfortably domiciled in a newlog house, and were beginning to feel at home.  The children were put toschool; at least it was what passed for a school in those days: a placewhere tender young humanity devoted itself for eight or ten hours a dayto learning incomprehensible rubbish by heart out of books and recitingit by rote, like parrots; so that a finished education consisted simplyof a permanent headache and the ability to read without stopping to spellthe words or take breath.  Hawkins bought out the village store for asong and proceeded to reap the profits, which amounted to but little morethan another song.The wonderful speculation hinted at by Col. Sellers in his letter turnedout to be the raising of mules for the Southern market; and really itpromised very well.  The young stock cost but a trifle, the rearing butanother trifle, and so Hawkins was easily persuaded to embark his slendermeans in the enterprise and turn over the keep and care of the animals toSellers and Uncle Dan'l.All went well: Business prospered little by little.  Hawkins even built anew house, made it two full stories high and put a lightning rod on it.People came two or three miles to look at it.  But they knew that the rodattracted the lightning, and so they gave the place a wide berth in astorm, for they were familiar with marksmanship and doubted if thelightning could hit that small stick at a distance of a mile and a halfoftener than once in a hundred and fifty times.  Hawkins fitted out hishouse with "store" furniture from St. Louis, and the fame of itsmagnificence went abroad in the land.  Even the parlor carpet was fromSt. Louis--though the other rooms were clothed in the "rag" carpeting ofthe country.  Hawkins put up the first "paling" fence that had everadorned the village; and he did not stop there, but whitewashed it.His oil-cloth window-curtains had noble pictures on them of castles suchas had never been seen anywhere in the world but on window-curtains.Hawkins enjoyed the admiration these prodigies compelled, but he alwayssmiled to think how poor and, cheap they were, compared to what theHawkins mansion would display in a future day after the Tennessee Landshould have borne its minted fruit.  Even Washington observed, once, thatwhen the Tennessee Land was sold he would have a "store" carpet in hisand Clay's room like the one in the parlor.  This pleased Hawkins, but ittroubled his wife.  It did not seem wise, to her, to put one's entireearthly trust in the Tennessee Land and never think of doing any work.Hawkins took a weekly Philadelphia newspaper and a semi-weekly St. Louisjournal--almost the only papers that came to the village, though Godey'sLady's Book found a good market there and was regarded as the perfectionof polite literature by some of the ablest critics in the place.  Perhapsit is only fair to explain that we are writing of a by gone age--sometwenty or thirty years ago.  In the two newspapers referred to lay thesecret of Hawkins's growing prosperity.  They kept him informed of thecondition of the crops south and east, and thus he knew which articleswere likely to be in demand and which articles were likely to beunsalable, weeks and even months in advance of the simple folk about him.As the months went by he came to be regarded as a wonderfully lucky man.It did not occur to the citizens that brains were at the bottom of hisluck.His title of "Squire" came into vogue again, but only for a season; for,as his wealth and popularity augmented, that title, by imperceptiblestages, grew up into "Judge;" indeed' it bade fair to swell into"General" bye and bye.  All strangers of consequence who visited thevillage gravitated to the Hawkins Mansion and became guests of the"Judge."Hawkins had learned to like the people of his section very much.  Theywere uncouth and not cultivated, and not particularly industrious; butthey were honest and straightforward, and their virtuous ways commandedrespect.  Their patriotism was strong, their pride in the flag was of theold fashioned pattern, their love of country amounted to idolatry.Whoever dragged the national honor in the dirt won their deathlesshatred.  They still cursed Benedict Arnold as if he were a personalfriend who had broken faith--but a week gone by.CHAPTER VI.We skip ten years and this history finds certain changes to record.Judge Hawkins and Col. Sellers have made and lost two or three moderatefortunes in the meantime and are now pinched by poverty.  Sellers has twopairs of twins and four extras.  In Hawkins's family are six children ofhis own and two adopted ones.  From time to time, as fortune smiled, theelder children got the benefit of it, spending the lucky seasons atexcellent schools in St. Louis and the unlucky ones at home in thechafing discomfort of straightened circumstances.Neither the Hawkins children nor the world that knew them ever supposedthat one of the girls was of alien blood and parentage: Such differenceas existed between Laura and Emily is not uncommon in a family.  Thegirls had grown up as sisters, and they were both too young at the timeof the fearful accident on the Mississippi to know that it was that whichhad thrown their lives together.And yet any one who had known the secret of Laura's birth and had seenher during these passing years, say at the happy age of twelve orthirteen, would have fancied that he knew the reason why she was morewinsome than her school companion.Philosophers dispute whether it is the promise of what she will be inthe careless school-girl, that makes her attractive, the undevelopedmaidenhood, or the mere natural, careless sweetness of childhood.If Laura at twelve was beginning to be a beauty, the thought of it hadnever entered her head.  No, indeed.  Her mind wad filled with moreimportant thoughts.  To her simple school-girl dress she was beginning toadd those mysterious little adornments of ribbon-knots and ear-rings,which were the subject of earnest consultations with her grown friends.When she tripped down the street on a summer's day with her dainty handspropped into the ribbon-broidered pockets of her apron, and elbowsconsequently more or less akimbo with her wide Leghorn hat flapping downand hiding her face one moment and blowing straight up against her forehead the next and making its revealment of fresh young beauty; with allher pretty girlish airs and graces in full play, and that sweet ignoranceof care and that atmosphere of innocence and purity all about her thatbelong to her gracious time of life, indeed she was a vision to warm thecoldest heart and bless and cheer the saddest.Willful, generous, forgiving, imperious, affectionate, improvident,bewitching, in short--was Laura at this period.  Could she have remainedthere, this history would not need to be written.  But Laura had grown tobe almost a woman in these few years, to the end of which we have nowcome--years which had seen Judge Hawkins pass through so many trials.When the judge's first bankruptcy came upon him, a homely human angelintruded upon him with an offer of $1,500 for the Tennessee Land.  Mrs.Hawkins said take it.  It was a grievous temptation, but the judgewithstood it.  He said the land was for the children--he could not robthem of their future millions for so paltry a sum.  When the secondblight fell upon him, another angel appeared and offered $3,000 for theland.  He was in such deep distress that he allowed his wife to persuadehim to let the papers be drawn; but when his children came into hispresence in their poor apparel, he felt like a traitor and refused tosign.But now he was down again, and deeper in the mire than ever.  He pacedthe floor all day, he scarcely slept at night.  He blushed even toacknowledge it to himself, but treason was in his mind--he wasmeditating, at last, the sale of the land.  Mrs. Hawkins stepped into theroom.  He had not spoken a word, but he felt as guilty as if she hadcaught him in some shameful act.  She said:"Si, I do not know what we are going to do.  The children are not fit tobe seen, their clothes are in such a state.  But there's something moreserious still. --There is scarcely a bite in the house to eat""Why, Nancy, go to Johnson----.""Johnson indeed!  You took that man's part when he hadn't a friend in theworld, and you built him up and made him rich.  And here's the result ofit: He lives in our fine house, and we live in his miserable log cabin.He has hinted to our children that he would rather they wouldn't comeabout his yard to play with his children,--which I can bear, and beareasy enough, for they're not a sort we want to associate with much--butwhat I can't bear with any quietness at all, is his telling Franky ourbill was running pretty high this morning when I sent him for some meal--and that was all he said, too--didn't give him the meal--turned off andwent to talking with the Hargrave girls about some stuff they wanted tocheapen.""Nancy, this is astounding!""And so it is, I warrant you.  I've kept still, Si, as long as ever Icould.  Things have been getting worse and worse, and worse and worse,every single day; I don't go out of the house, I feel so down; but youhad trouble enough, and I wouldn't say a word--and I wouldn't say a wordnow, only things have got so bad that I don't know what to do, nor whereto turn."  And she gave way and put her face in her hands and cried."Poor child, don't grieve so.  I never thought that of Johnson.  I amclear at my wit's end.  I don't know what in the world to do.  Now ifsomebody would come along and offer $3,000--Uh, if somebody only wouldcome along and offer $3,000 for that Tennessee Land.""You'd sell it, S!" said Mrs. Hawkins excitedly."Try me!"Mrs. Hawkins was out of the room in a moment.  Within a minute she wasback again with a business-looking stranger, whom she seated, and thenshe took her leave again.  Hawkins said to himself, " How can a man everlose faith?  When the blackest hour comes, Providence always comes withit--ah, this is the very timeliest help that ever poor harried devil had;if this blessed man offers but a thousand I'll embrace him like abrother!"The stranger said:"I am aware that you own 75,000 acres, of land in East Tennessee, andwithout sacrificing your time, I will come to the point at once.  I amagent of an iron manufacturing company, and they empower me to offer youten thousand dollars for that land."Hawkins's heart bounded within him.  His whole frame was racked andwrenched with fettered hurrahs.  His first impulse was to shout "Done!and God bless the iron company, too!"But a something flitted through his mind, and his opened lips utterednothing.  The enthusiasm faded away from his eyes, and the look of a manwho is thinking took its place.  Presently, in a hesitating, undecidedway, he said:"Well, I--it don't seem quite enough.  That--that is a very valuableproperty--very valuable.  It's brim full of iron-ore, sir--brim full ofit!  And copper, coal,--everything--everything you can think of!  Now,I'll tell you what I'll, do.  I'll reserve everything except the iron,and I'll sell them the iron property for $15,000 cash, I to go in withthem and own an undivided interest of one-half the concern--or the stock,as you may say.  I'm out of business, and I'd just as soon help run thething as not.  Now how does that strike you?""Well, I am only an agent of these people, who are friends of mine, andI am not even paid for my services.  To tell you the truth, I have triedto persuade them not to go into the thing; and I have come square outwith their offer, without throwing out any feelers--and I did it in thehope that you would refuse.  A man pretty much always refuses anotherman's first offer, no matter what it is.  But I have performed my duty,and will take pleasure in telling them what you say."He was about to rise.  Hawkins said,"Wait a bit."Hawkins thought again.  And the substance of his thought was: "This is adeep man; this is a very deep man; I don't like his candor; yourostentatiously candid business man's a deep fox--always a deep fox;this man's that iron company himself--that's what he is; he wants thatproperty, too; I am not so blind but I can see that; he don't want thecompany to go into this thing-- O, that's very good; yes, that's verygood indeed--stuff! he'll be back here tomorrow, sure, and take my offer;take it?  I'll risk anything he is suffering to take it now; here--I mustmind what I'm about.  What has started this sudden excitement about iron?I wonder what is in the wind? just as sure as I'm alive this moment,there's something tremendous stirring in iron speculation" [here Hawkinsgot up and began to pace the floor with excited eyes and with gesturinghands]--"something enormous going on in iron, without the shadow of adoubt, and here I sit mousing in the dark and never knowing anythingabout it; great heaven, what an escape I've made! this underhandedmercenary creature might have taken me up--and ruined me! but I haveescaped, and I warrant me I'll not put my foot into----He stopped and turned toward the stranger; saying:"I have made you a proposition, you have not accepted it, and I desirethat you will consider that I have made none.  At the same time myconscience will not allow me to--.  Please alter the figures I named tothirty thousand dollars, if you will, and let the proposition go to thecompany--I will stick to it if it breaks my heart!"  The stranger lookedamused, and there was a pretty well defined touch of surprise in hisexpression, too, but Hawkins never noticed it.  Indeed he scarcelynoticed anything or knew what he was about.  The man left; Hawkins flunghimself into a chair; thought a few moments, then glanced around, lookedfrightened, sprang to the door----Too late-too late!  He's gone!  Fool that I am! always a fool!  Thirtythousand--ass that I am!  Oh, why didn't I say fifty thousand!"He plunged his hands into his hair and leaned his elbows on his knees,and fell to rocking himself back and forth in anguish.  Mrs. Hawkinssprang in, beaming:"Well, Si?""Oh, con-found the con-founded--con-found it, Nancy.  I've gone and doneit, now!""Done what Si for mercy's sake!""Done everything!  Ruined everything!""Tell me, tell me, tell me!  Don't keep a body in such suspense.  Didn'the buy, after all?  Didn't he make an offer?"Offer?  He offered $10,000 for our land, and----""Thank the good providence from the very bottom of my heart of hearts!What sort of ruin do you call that, Si!""Nancy, do you suppose I listened to such a preposterous proposition?No!  Thank fortune I'm not a simpleton!  I saw through the pretty schemein a second.  It's a vast iron speculation!--millions upon millions init!  But fool as I am I told him he could have half the iron property forthirty thousand--and if I only had him back here he couldn't touch it fora cent less than a quarter of a million!"Mrs. Hawkins looked up white and despairing:"You threw away this chance, you let this man go, and we in this awfultrouble?  You don't mean it, you can't mean it!""Throw it away?  Catch me at it!  Why woman, do you suppose that mandon't know what he is about?  Bless you, he'll be back fast enough to-morrow.""Never, never, never.  He never will comeback.  I don't know what is tobecome of us.  I don't know what in the world is to become of us."A shade of uneasiness came into Hawkins's face.  He said:"Why, Nancy, you--you can't believe what you are saying.""Believe it, indeed?  I know it, Si.  And I know that we haven't a centin the world, and we've sent ten thousand dollars a-begging.""Nancy, you frighten me.  Now could that man--is it possible that I--hanged if I don't believe I have missed a chance!  Don't grieve, Nancy,don't grieve.  I'll go right after him.  I'll take--I'll take--what afool I am!--I'll take anything he'll give!"The next instant he left the house on a run.  But the man was no longerin the town.  Nobody knew where he belonged or whither he had gone.Hawkins came slowly back, watching wistfully but hopelessly for thestranger, and lowering his price steadily with his sinking heart.  Andwhen his foot finally pressed his own threshold, the value he held theentire Tennessee property at was five hundred dollars--two hundred downand the rest in three equal annual payments, without interest.There was a sad gathering at the Hawkins fireside the next night.  Allthe children were present but Clay.  Mr. Hawkins said:"Washington, we seem to be hopelessly fallen, hopelessly involved.  I amready to give up.  I do not know where to turn--I never have been down solow before, I never have seen things so dismal.  There are many mouths tofeed; Clay is at work; we must lose you, also, for a little while, myboy.  But it will not be long--the Tennessee land----"He stopped, and was conscious of a blush.  There was silence for amoment, and then Washington--now a lank, dreamy-eyed stripling betweentwenty-two and twenty-three years of age--said:"If Col. Sellers would come for me, I would go and stay with him a while,till the Tennessee land is sold.  He has often wanted me to come, eversince he moved to Hawkeye.""I'm afraid he can't well come for you, Washington.  From what I canhear--not from him of course, but from others--he is not far from as badoff as we are--and his family is as large, too.  He might find somethingfor you to do, maybe, but you'd better try to get to him yourself,Washington--it's only thirty miles.""But how can I, father?  There's no stage or anything.""And if there were, stages require money.  A stage goes from Swansea,five miles from here.  But it would be cheaper to walk.""Father, they must know you there, and no doubt they would credit you ina moment, for a little stage ride like that.  Couldn't you write and askthem?""Couldn't you, Washington--seeing it's you that wants the ride?  And whatdo you think you'll do, Washington, when you get to Hawkeye?  Finish yourinvention for making window-glass opaque?""No, sir, I have given that up.  I almost knew I could do it, but it wasso tedious and troublesome I quit it.""I was afraid of it, my boy.  Then I suppose you'll finish your plan ofcoloring hen's eggs by feeding a peculiar diet to the hen?""No, sir.  I believe I have found out the stuff that will do it, but itkills the hen; so I have dropped that for the present, though I can takeit up again some day when I learn how to manage the mixture better.""Well, what have you got on hand--anything?""Yes, sir, three or four things.  I think they are all good and can allbe done, but they are tiresome, and besides they require money.  But assoon as the land is sold----""Emily, were you about to say something?" said Hawkins.Yes, sir.  If you are willing, I will go to St. Louis.  That will makeanother mouth less to feed.  Mrs. Buckner has always wanted me to come.""But the money, child?""Why I think she would send it, if you would write her--and I know shewould wait for her pay till----""Come, Laura, let's hear from you, my girl."Emily and Laura were about the same age--between seventeen and eighteen.Emily was fair and pretty, girlish and diffident--blue eyes and lighthair.  Laura had a proud bearing, and a somewhat mature look; she hadfine, clean-cut features, her complexion was pure white and contrastedvividly with her black hair and eyes; she was not what one calls pretty--she was beautiful.  She said:"I will go to St. Louis, too, sir.  I will find a way to get there.I will make a way.  And I will find a way to help myself along, and dowhat I can to help the rest, too."She spoke it like a princess.  Mrs. Hawkins smiled proudly and kissedher, saying in a tone of fond reproof:"So one of my girls is going to turn out and work for her living!  It'slike your pluck and spirit, child, but we will hope that we haven't gotquite down to that, yet."The girl's eyes beamed affection under her mother's caress.  Then shestraightened up, folded her white hands in her lap and became a splendidice-berg.  Clay's dog put up his brown nose for a little attention, andgot it.  He retired under the table with an apologetic yelp, which didnot affect the iceberg.Judge Hawkins had written and asked Clay to return home and consult withhim upon family affairs.  He arrived the evening after this conversation,and the whole household gave him a rapturous welcome.  He brought sadlyneeded help with him, consisting of the savings of a year and a half ofwork--nearly two hundred dollars in money.It was a ray of sunshine which (to this easy household) was the earnestof a clearing sky.Bright and early in the morning the family were astir, and all were busypreparing Washington for his journey--at least all but Washingtonhimself, who sat apart, steeped in a reverie.  When the time for hisdeparture came, it was easy to see how fondly all loved him and how hardit was to let him go, notwithstanding they had often seen him go before,in his St. Louis schooling days.  In the most matter-of-course way theyhad borne the burden of getting him ready for his trip, never seeming tothink of his helping in the matter; in the same matter-of-course way Clayhad hired a horse and cart; and now that the good-byes were ended hebundled Washington's baggage in and drove away with the exile.At Swansea Clay paid his stage fare, stowed him away in the vehicle, andsaw him off.  Then he returned home and reported progress, like acommittee of the whole.Clay remained at home several days.  He held many consultations with hismother upon the financial condition of the family, and talked once withhis father upon the same subject, but only once.  He found a change inthat quarter which was distressing; years of fluctuating fortune had donetheir work; each reverse had weakened the father's spirit and impairedhis energies; his last misfortune seemed to have left hope and ambitiondead within him; he had no projects, formed no plans--evidently he was avanquished man.  He looked worn and tired.  He inquired into Clay'saffairs and prospects, and when he found that Clay was doing pretty welland was likely to do still better, it was plain that he resigned himselfwith easy facility to look to the son for a support; and he said, "Keepyourself informed of poor Washington's condition and movements, and helphim along all you can, Clay."The younger children, also, seemed relieved of all fears and distresses,and very ready and willing to look to Clay for a livelihood.  Withinthree days a general tranquility and satisfaction reigned in thehousehold.  Clay's hundred and eighty or ninety, dollars had worked awonder.  The family were as contented, now, and as free from care as theycould have been with a fortune.  It was well that Mrs. Hawkins held thepurse otherwise the treasure would have lasted but a very little while.It took but a trifle to pay Hawkins's outstanding obligations, for he hadalways had a horror of debt.When Clay bade his home good-bye and set out to return to the field ofhis labors, he was conscious that henceforth he was to have his father'sfamily on his hands as pensioners; but he did not allow himself to chafeat the thought, for he reasoned that his father had dealt by him with afree hand and a loving one all his life, and now that hard fortune hadbroken his spirit it ought to be a pleasure, not a pain, to work for him.The younger children were born and educated dependents.  They had neverbeen taught to do anything for themselves, and it did not seem to occurto them to make an attempt now.The girls would not have been permitted to work for a living under anycircumstances whatever.  It was a southern family, and of good blood;and for any person except Laura, either within or without the householdto have suggested such an idea would have brought upon the suggester thesuspicion of being a lunatic.CHAPTER VII.          Via, Pecunia! when she's run and gone          And fled, and dead, then will I fetch her again          With aqua vita, out of an old hogshead!          While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beer,          I'll never want her!  Coin her out of cobwebs,          Dust, but I'll have her! raise wool upon egg-shells,          Sir, and make grass grow out of marrow-bones,          To make her come!                                        B. Jonson.Bearing Washington Hawkins and his fortunes, the stage-coach tore out ofSwansea at a fearful gait, with horn tooting gaily and half the townadmiring from doors and windows.  But it did not tear any more after itgot to the outskirts; it dragged along stupidly enough, then--till itcame in sight of the next hamlet; and then the bugle tooted gaily againand again the vehicle went tearing by the horses.  This sort of conductmarked every entry to a station and every exit from it; and so in thosedays children grew up with the idea that stage-coaches always tore andalways tooted; but they also grew up with the idea that pirates went intoaction in their Sunday clothes, carrying the black flag in one hand andpistolling people with the other, merely because they were so representedin the pictures--but these illusions vanished when later years broughttheir disenchanting wisdom.  They learned then that the stagecoach is buta poor, plodding, vulgar thing in the solitudes of the highway; and thatthe pirate is only a seedy, unfantastic "rough," when he is out of thepictures.Toward evening, the stage-coach came thundering into Hawkeye with aperfectly triumphant ostentation--which was natural and proper, forHawkey a was a pretty large town for interior Missouri.  Washington,very stiff and tired and hungry, climbed out, and wondered how he was toproceed now.  But his difficulty was quickly solved.  Col. Sellers camedown the street on a run and arrived panting for breath.  He said:"Lord bless you--I'm glad to see you, Washington--perfectly delighted tosee you, my boy!  I got your message.  Been on the look-out for you.Heard the stage horn, but had a party I couldn't shake off--man that'sgot an enormous thing on hand--wants me to put some capital into it--andI tell you, my boy, I could do worse, I could do a deal worse.  No, now,let that luggage alone; I'll fix that.  Here, Jerry, got anything to do?All right-shoulder this plunder and follow me.  Come along, Washington.Lord I'm glad to see you!  Wife and the children are just perishing tolook at you.  Bless you, they won't know you, you've grown so.  Folks allwell, I suppose?  That's good--glad to hear that.  We're always going torun down and see them, but I'm into so many operations, and they're notthings a man feels like trusting to other people, and so somehow we keepputting it off.  Fortunes in them!  Good gracious, it's the country topile up wealth in!  Here we are--here's where the Sellers dynasty hangsout.  Hump it on the door-step, Jerry--the blackest niggro in the State,Washington, but got a good heart--mighty likely boy, is Jerry.  And now Isuppose you've got to have ten cents, Jerry.  That's all right--when aman works for me--when a man--in the other pocket, I reckon--when a man--why, where the mischief as that portmonnaie!--when a--well now that'sodd--Oh, now I remember, must have left it at the bank; and b'George I'veleft my check-book, too--Polly says I ought to have a nurse--well, nomatter.  Let me have a dime, Washington, if you've got--ah, thanks.  Nowclear out, Jerry, your complexion has brought on the twilight half anhour ahead of time.  Pretty fair joke--pretty fair.  Here he is, Polly!Washington's come, children! come now, don't eat him up--finish him inthe house.  Welcome, my boy, to a mansion that is proud to shelter theson of the best man that walks on the ground.  Si Hawkins has been a goodfriend to me, and I believe I can say that whenever I've had a chance toput him into a good thing I've done it, and done it pretty cheerfully,too.  I put him into that sugar speculation--what a grand thing that was,if we hadn't held on too long!"True enough; but holding on too long had utterly ruined both of them;and the saddest part of it was, that they never had had so much money tolose before, for Sellers's sale of their mule crop that year in NewOrleans had been a great financial success.  If he had kept out of sugarand gone back home content to stick to mules it would have been a happywisdom.  As it was, he managed to kill two birds with one stone--that isto say, he killed the sugar speculation by holding for high rates till hehad to sell at the bottom figure, and that calamity killed the mule thatlaid the golden egg--which is but a figurative expression and will be sounderstood.  Sellers had returned home cheerful but empty-handed, and themule business lapsed into other hands.  The sale of the Hawkins propertyby the Sheriff had followed, and the Hawkins hearts been torn to seeUncle Dan'l and his wife pass from the auction-block into the hands of anegro trader and depart for the remote South to be seen no more by thefamily.  It had seemed like seeing their own flesh and blood sold intobanishment.Washington was greatly pleased with the Sellers mansion.  It was a two-story-and-a-half brick, and much more stylish than any of its neighbors.He was borne to the family sitting room in triumph by the swarm of littleSellerses, the parents following with their arms about each other'swaists.The whole family were poorly and cheaply dressed; and the clothing,although neat and clean, showed many evidences of having seen longservice.  The Colonel's "stovepipe" hat was napless and shiny with muchpolishing, but nevertheless it had an almost convincing expression aboutit of having been just purchased new.  The rest of his clothing wasnapless and shiny, too, but it had the air of being entirely satisfiedwith itself and blandly sorry for other people's clothes.  It was growingrather dark in the house, and the evening air was chilly, too.  Sellerssaid:"Lay off your overcoat, Washington, and draw up to the stove and makeyourself at home--just consider yourself under your own shingles my boy--I'll have a fire going, in a jiffy.  Light the lamp, Polly, dear, andlet's have things cheerful just as glad to see you, Washington, as ifyou'd been lost a century and we'd found you again!"By this time the Colonel was conveying a lighted match into a poor littlestove.  Then he propped the stove door to its place by leaning the pokeragainst it, for the hinges had retired from business.  This door frameda small square of isinglass, which now warmed up with a faint glow.Mrs. Sellers lit a cheap, showy lamp, which dissipated a good deal of thegloom, and then everybody gathered into the light and took the stove intoclose companionship.The children climbed all over Sellers, fondled him, petted him, and werelavishly petted in return.  Out from this tugging, laughing, chatteringdisguise of legs and arms and little faces, the Colonel's voice workedits way and his tireless tongue ran blithely on without interruption;and the purring little wife, diligent with her knitting, sat near at handand looked happy and proud and grateful; and she listened as one wholistens to oracles and, gospels and whose grateful soul is beingrefreshed with the bread of life.  Bye and bye the children quieted downto listen; clustered about their father, and resting their elbows on hislegs, they hung upon his words as if he were uttering the music of thespheres.A dreary old hair-cloth sofa against the wall; a few damaged chairs; thesmall table the lamp stood on; the crippled stove--these thingsconstituted the furniture of the room.  There was no carpet on the floor;on the wall were occasional square-shaped interruptions of the generaltint of the plaster which betrayed that there used to be pictures in thehouse--but there were none now.  There were no mantel ornaments, unlessone might bring himself to regard as an ornament a clock which never camewithin fifteen strokes of striking the right time, and whose hands alwayshitched together at twenty-two minutes past anything and traveled incompany the rest of the way home."Remarkable clock!" said Sellers, and got up and wound it.  "I've beenoffered--well, I wouldn't expect you to believe what I've been offeredfor that clock.  Old Gov. Hager never sees me but he says, 'Come, now,Colonel, name your price--I must have that clock!'  But my goodness I'das soon think of selling my wife.  As I was saying to---- silence in thecourt, now, she's begun to strike!  You can't talk against her--you haveto just be patient and hold up till she's said her say.  Ah well, as Iwas saying, when--she's beginning again!  Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one,twenty-two, twen---- ah, that's all.--Yes, as I was saying to old Judge---- go it, old girl, don't mind me.--Now how is that? ----isn't that agood, spirited tone?  She can wake the dead!  Sleep?  Why you might aswell try to sleep in a thunder-factory.  Now just listen at that.  She'llstrike a hundred and fifty, now, without stopping,--you'll see.  Thereain't another clock like that in Christendom."Washington hoped that this might be true, for the din was distracting--though the family, one and all, seemed filled with joy; and the more theclock "buckled down to her work" as the Colonel expressed it, and themore insupportable the clatter became, the more enchanted they allappeared to be.  When there was silence, Mrs Sellers lifted uponWashington a face that beamed with a childlike pride, and said:"It belonged to his grandmother."The look and the tone were a plain call for admiring surprise, andtherefore Washington said (it was the only thing that offered itself atthe moment:)"Indeed!""Yes, it did, didn't it father!" exclaimed one of the twins.  "She was mygreat-grandmother--and George's too; wasn't she, father!  You never sawher, but Sis has seen her, when Sis was a baby-didn't you, Sis!  Sis hasseen her most a hundred times.  She was awful deef--she's dead, now.Aint she, father!"All the children chimed in, now, with one general Babel of informationabout deceased--nobody offering to read the riot act or seeming todiscountenance the insurrection or disapprove of it in any way--but thehead twin drowned all the turmoil and held his own against the field:"It's our clock, now--and it's ,got wheels inside of it, and a thing thatflatters every time she strikes--don't it, father!  Great-grandmotherdied before hardly any of us was born--she was an Old-School Baptist andhad warts all over her--you ask father if she didn't.  She had an uncleonce that was bald-headed and used to have fits; he wasn't our uncle,I don't know what he was to us--some kin or another I reckon--father'sseen him a thousand times--hain't you, father!  We used to have a calfthat et apples and just chawed up dishrags like nothing, and if you stayhere you'll see lots of funerals--won't he, Sis!  Did you ever see ahouse afire?  I have!  Once me and Jim Terry----"But Sellers began to speak now, and the storm ceased.  He began to tellabout an enormous speculation he was thinking of embarking some capitalin--a speculation which some London bankers had been over to consult withhim about--and soon he was building glittering pyramids of coin, andWashington was presently growing opulent under the magic of hiseloquence.  But at the same time Washington was not able to ignore thecold entirely.  He was nearly as close to the stove as he could get,and yet he could not persuade himself, that he felt the slightest heat,notwithstanding the isinglass' door was still gently and serenelyglowing.  He tried to get a trifle closer to the stove, and theconsequence was, he tripped the supporting poker and the stove-doortumbled to the floor.  And then there was a revelation--there was nothingin the stove but a lighted tallow-candle!  The poor youth blushed andfelt as if lie must die with shame.  But the Colonel was onlydisconcerted for a moment--he straightway found his voice again:"A little idea of my own, Washington--one of the greatest things in theworld!  You must write and tell your father about it--don't forget that,now.  I have been reading up some European Scientific reports--friend ofmine, Count Fugier, sent them to me--sends me all sorts of things fromParis--he thinks the world of me, Fugier does.  Well, I saw that theAcademy of France had been testing the properties of heat, and they cameto the conclusion that it was a nonconductor or something like that,and of course its influence must necessarily be deadly in nervousorganizations with excitable temperaments, especially where there is anytendency toward rheumatic affections.  Bless you I saw in a moment whatwas the matter with us, and says I, out goes your fires! --no more slowtorture and certain death for me, sir.  What you want is the appearanceof heat, not the heat itself--that's the idea.  Well how to do it was thenext thing.  I just put my head, to work, pegged away, a couple of days,and here you are!  Rheumatism?  Why a man can't any more start a case ofrheumatism in this house than he can shake an opinion out of a mummy!Stove with a candle in it and a transparent door--that's it--it has beenthe salvation of this family.  Don't you fail to write your father aboutit, Washington.  And tell him the idea is mine--I'm no more conceitedthan most people, I reckon, but you know it is human nature for a man towant credit for a thing like that."Washington said with his blue lips that he would, but he said in hissecret heart that he would promote no such iniquity.  He tried to believein the healthfulness of the invention, and succeeded tolerably well;but after all he could not feel that good health in a frozen, body wasany real improvement on the rheumatism.CHAPTER VIII.          --Whan pe horde is thynne, as of seruyse,          Nought replenesshed with grete diuersite          Of mete & drinke, good chere may then suffise          With honest talkyng----                                   The Book of Curtesye.          MAMMON.  Come on, sir.  Now, you set your foot on shore          In Novo Orbe; here's the rich Peru:          And there within, sir, are the golden mines,          Great Solomon's Ophir!----                                   B. JonsonThe supper at Col. Sellers's was not sumptuous, in the beginning, but itimproved on acquaintance.  That is to say, that what Washington regardedat first sight as mere lowly potatoes, presently became awe-inspiringagricultural productions that had been reared in some ducal garden beyondthe sea, under the sacred eye of the duke himself, who had sent them toSellers; the bread was from corn which could be grown in only one favoredlocality in the earth and only a favored few could get it; the Riocoffee, which at first seemed execrable to the taste, took to itself animproved flavor when Washington was told to drink it slowly and not hurrywhat should be a lingering luxury in order to be fully appreciated--itwas from the private stores of a Brazilian nobleman with anunrememberable name.  The Colonel's tongue was a magician's wand thatturned dried apples into figs and water into wine as easily as it couldchange a hovel into a palace and present poverty into imminent futureriches.Washington slept in a cold bed in a carpetless room and woke up in apalace in the morning; at least the palace lingered during the momentthat he was rubbing his eyes and getting his bearings--and then itdisappeared and he recognized that the Colonel's inspiring talk had beeninfluencing his dreams.  Fatigue had made him sleep late; when he enteredthe sitting room he noticed that the old hair-cloth sofa was absent; whenhe sat down to breakfast the Colonel tossed six or seven dollars in billson the table, counted them over, said he was a little short and must callupon his banker; then returned the bills to his wallet with theindifferent air of a man who is used to money.  The breakfast was not animprovement upon the supper, but the Colonel talked it up and transformedit into an oriental feast.  Bye and bye, he said:"I intend to look out for you, Washington, my boy.  I hunted up a placefor you yesterday, but I am not referring to that,--now--that is a merelivelihood--mere bread and butter; but when I say I mean to look out foryou I mean something very different.  I mean to put things in your waythan will make a mere livelihood a trifling thing.  I'll put you in a wayto make more money than you'll ever know what to do with.  You'll beright here where I can put my hand on you when anything turns up.  I'vegot some prodigious operations on foot; but I'm keeping quiet; mum's theword; your old hand don't go around pow-wowing and letting everybody seehis k'yards and find out his little game.  But all in good time,Washington, all in good time.  You'll see.  Now there's an operation incorn that looks well.  Some New York men are trying to get me to go intoit--buy up all the growing crops and just boss the market when theymature--ah I tell you it's a great thing.  And it only costs a trifle;two millions or two and a half will do it.  I haven't exactly promisedyet--there's no hurry--the more indifferent I seem, you know, the moreanxious those fellows will get.  And then there is the hog speculation--that's bigger still.  We've got quiet men at work," [he was veryimpressive here,] "mousing around, to get propositions out of all thefarmers in the whole west and northwest for the hog crop, and otheragents quietly getting propositions and terms out of all themanufactories--and don't you see, if we can get all the hogs and all theslaughter horses into our hands on the dead quiet--whew! it would takethree ships to carry the money.--I've looked into the thing--calculatedall the chances for and all the chances against, and though I shake myhead and hesitate and keep on thinking, apparently, I've got my mind madeup that if the thing can be done on a capital of six millions, that's thehorse to put up money on!  Why Washington--but what's the use of talkingabout it--any man can see that there's whole Atlantic oceans of cash init, gulfs and bays thrown in.  But there's a bigger thing than that, yesbigger----"Why Colonel, you can't want anything bigger!" said Washington, his eyesblazing.  "Oh, I wish I could go into either of those speculations--Ionly wish I had money--I wish I wasn't cramped and kept down and fetteredwith poverty, and such prodigious chances lying right here in sight!Oh, it is a fearful thing to be poor.  But don't throw away those things--they are so splendid and I can see how sure they are.  Don't throw themaway for something still better and maybe fail in it!  I wouldn't,Colonel.  I would stick to these.  I wish father were here and were hisold self again--Oh, he never in his life had such chances as these are.Colonel; you can't improve on these--no man can improve on them!"A sweet, compassionate smile played about the Colonel's features, and heleaned over the table with the air of a man who is "going to show you"and do it without the least trouble:"Why Washington, my boy, these things are nothing.  They look large ofcourse--they look large to a novice, but to a man who has been all hislife accustomed to large operations--shaw!  They're well enough to whileaway an idle hour with, or furnish a bit of employment that will give atrifle of idle capital a chance to earn its bread while it is waiting forsomething to do, but--now just listen a moment--just let me give you anidea of what we old veterans of commerce call 'business.'  Here's theRothschild's proposition--this is between you and me, you understand----"Washington nodded three or four times impatiently, and his glowing eyessaid, "Yes, yes--hurry--I understand----"----"for I wouldn't have it get out for a fortune.  They want me to go inwith them on the sly--agent was here two weeks ago about it--go in on thesly" [voice down to an impressive whisper, now,] "and buy up a hundredand thirteen wild cat banks in Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, Illinois andMissouri--notes of these banks are at all sorts of discount now--averagediscount of the hundred and thirteen is forty-four per cent--buy them allup, you see, and then all of a sudden let the cat out of the bag!  Whiz!the stock of every one of those wildcats would spin up to a tremendouspremium before you could turn a handspring--profit on the speculation nota dollar less than forty millions!" [An eloquent pause, while themarvelous vision settled into W.'s focus.]  "Where's your hogs now?Why my dear innocent boy, we would just sit down on the front door-stepsand peddle banks like lucifer matches!"Washington finally got his breath and said:"Oh, it is perfectly wonderful!  Why couldn't these things have happenedin father's day?  And I--it's of no use--they simply lie before my faceand mock me.  There is nothing for me but to stand helpless and see otherpeople reap the astonishing harvest.""Never mind, Washington, don't you worry.  I'll fix you.  There's plentyof chances.  How much money have you got?In the presence of so many millions, Washington could not keep fromblushing when he had to confess that he had but eighteen dollars in theworld."Well, all right--don't despair.  Other people have been obliged to beginwith less.  I have a small idea that may develop into something for usboth, all in good time.  Keep your money close and add to it.  I'll makeit breed.  I've been experimenting (to pass away the time,) on a littlepreparation for curing sore eyes--a kind of decoction nine-tenths waterand the other tenth drugs that don't cost more than a dollar a barrel;I'm still experimenting; there's one ingredient wanted yet to perfect thething, and somehow I can't just manage to hit upon the thing that'snecessary, and I don't dare talk with a chemist, of course.  But I'mprogressing, and before many weeks I wager the country will ring with thefame of Beriah Sellers' Infallible Imperial Oriental Optic Liniment andSalvation for Sore Eyes--the Medical Wonder of the Age!  Small bottlesfifty cents, large ones a dollar.  Average cost, five and seven cents forthe two sizes.The first year sell, say, ten thousand bottles in Missouri, seventhousand in Iowa, three thousand in Arkansas, four thousand in Kentucky,six thousand in Illinois, and say twenty-five thousand in the rest of thecountry.  Total, fifty five thousand bottles; profit clear of allexpenses, twenty thousand dollars at the very lowest calculation.  Allthe capital needed is to manufacture the first two thousand bottles--say a hundred and fifty dollars--then the money would begin to flow in.The second year, sales would reach 200,000 bottles--clear profit, say,$75,000--and in the meantime the great factory would be building in St.Louis, to cost, say, $100,000.  The third year we could, easily sell1,000,000 bottles in the United States and----""O, splendid!" said Washington.  "Let's commence right away--let's----""----1,000,000 bottles in the United States--profit at least $350,000--and then it would begin to be time to turn our attention toward the realidea of the business.""The real idea of it!  Ain't $350,000 a year a pretty real----""Stuff!  Why what an infant you are, Washington--what a guileless, short-sighted, easily-contented innocent you, are, my poor little country-bredknow-nothing!  Would I go to all that trouble and bother for the poorcrumbs a body might pick up in this country?  Now do I look like a manwho---- does my history suggest that I am a man who deals in trifles,contents himself with the narrow horizon that hems in the common herd,sees no further than the end of his nose?  Now you know that that is notme--couldn't be me.  You ought to know that if I throw my time andabilities into a patent medicine, it's a patent medicine whose field ofoperations is the solid earth! its clients the swarming nations thatinhabit it!  Why what is the republic of America for an eye-watercountry?  Lord bless you, it is nothing but a barren highway that you'vegot to cross to get to the true eye-water market!  Why, Washington, inthe Oriental countries people swarm like the sands of the desert; everysquare mile of ground upholds its thousands upon thousands of strugglinghuman creatures--and every separate and individual devil of them's gotthe ophthalmia!  It's as natural to them as noses are--and sin.  It'sborn with them, it stays with them, it's all that some of them have leftwhen they die.  Three years of introductory trade in the orient and whatwill be the result?  Why, our headquarters would be in Constantinople andour hindquarters in Further India!  Factories and warehouses in Cairo,Ispahan, Bagdad, Damascus, Jerusalem, Yedo, Peking, Bangkok, Delhi,Bombay--and Calcutta!  Annual income--well, God only knows how manymillions and millions apiece!"Washington was so dazed, so bewildered--his heart and his eyes hadwandered so far away among the strange lands beyond the seas, and suchavalanches of coin and currency had fluttered and jingled confusedly downbefore him, that he was now as one who has been whirling round and roundfor a time, and, stopping all at once, finds his surroundings stillwhirling and all objects a dancing chaos.  However, little by little theSellers family cooled down and crystalized into shape, and the poor roomlost its glitter and resumed its poverty.  Then the youth found his voiceand begged Sellers to drop everything and hurry up the eye-water; and hegot his eighteen dollars and tried to force it upon the Colonel--pleadedwith him to take it--implored him to do it.  But the Colonel would not;said he would not need the capital (in his native magnificent way hecalled that eighteen dollars Capital) till the eye-water was anaccomplished fact.  He made Washington easy in his mind, though, bypromising that he would call for it just as soon as the invention wasfinished, and he added the glad tidings that nobody but just they twoshould be admitted to a share in the speculation.When Washington left the breakfast table he could have worshiped thatman.  Washington was one of that kind of people whose hopes are in thevery, clouds one day and in the gutter the next.  He walked on air, now.The Colonel was ready to take him around and introduce him to theemployment he had found for him, but Washington begged for a few momentsin which to write home; with his kind of people, to ride to-day's newinterest to death and put off yesterday's till another time, is natureitself.  He ran up stairs and wrote glowingly, enthusiastically, to hismother about the hogs and the corn, the banks and the eye-water--andadded a few inconsequential millions to each project.  And he said thatpeople little dreamed what a man Col. Sellers was, and that the worldwould open its eyes when it found out.  And he closed his letter thus:"So make yourself perfectly easy, mother-in a little while you shall haveeverything you want, and more.  I am not likely to stint you in anything,I fancy.  This money will not be for me, alone, but for all of us.I want all to share alike; and there is going to be far more for eachthan one person can spend.  Break it to father cautiously--you understandthe need of that--break it to him cautiously, for he has had such cruelhard fortune, and is so stricken by it that great good news mightprostrate him more surely than even bad, for he is used to the bad butis grown sadly unaccustomed to the other.  Tell Laura--tell all thechildren.  And write to Clay about it if he is not with you yet.  You maytell Clay that whatever I get he can freely share in-freely.  He knowsthat that is true--there will be no need that I should swear to that tomake him believe it.  Good-bye--and mind what I say: Rest perfectly easy,one and all of you, for our troubles are nearly at an end."Poor lad, he could not know that his mother would cry some loving,compassionate tears over his letter and put off the family with asynopsis of its contents which conveyed a deal of love to then but notmuch idea of his prospects or projects.  And he never dreamed that such ajoyful letter could sadden her and fill her night with sighs, andtroubled thoughts, and bodings of the future, instead of filling it withpeace and blessing it with restful sleep.When the letter was done, Washington and the Colonel sallied forth, andas they walked along Washington learned what he was to be.  He was to bea clerk in a real estate office.  Instantly the fickle youth's dreamsforsook the magic eye-water and flew back to the Tennessee Land.  And thegorgeous possibilities of that great domain straightway began to occupyhis imagination to such a degree that he could scarcely manage to keepeven enough of his attention upon the Colonel's talk to retain thegeneral run of what he was saying.  He was glad it was a real estateoffice--he was a made man now, sure.The Colonel said that General Boswell was a rich man and had a good andgrowing business; and that Washington's work world be light and he wouldget forty dollars a month and be boarded and lodged in the General'sfamily--which was as good as ten dollars more; and even better, for hecould not live as well even at the "City Hotel" as he would there, andyet the hotel charged fifteen dollars a month where a man had a goodroom.General Boswell was in his office; a comfortable looking place, withplenty of outline maps hanging about the walls and in the windows, anda spectacled man was marking out another one on a long table.  The officewas in the principal street.  The General received Washington with akindly but reserved politeness.  Washington rather liked his looks.He was about fifty years old, dignified, well preserved and well dressed.After the Colonel took his leave, the General talked a while withWashington--his talk consisting chiefly of instructions about theclerical duties of the place.  He seemed satisfied as to Washington'sability to take care of the books, he was evidently a pretty fairtheoretical bookkeeper, and experience would soon harden theory intopractice.  By and by dinner-time came, and the two walked to theGeneral's house; and now Washington noticed an instinct in himself thatmoved him to keep not in the General's rear, exactly, but yet not at hisside--somehow the old gentleman's dignity and reserve did not inspirefamiliarity.CHAPTER IXWashington dreamed his way along the street, his fancy flitting fromgrain to hogs, from hogs to banks, from banks to eyewater, from eye-waterto Tennessee Land, and lingering but a feverish moment upon each of thesefascinations.  He was conscious of but one outward thing, to wit, theGeneral, and he was really not vividly conscious of him.Arrived at the finest dwelling in the town, they entered it and were athome.  Washington was introduced to Mrs. Boswell, and his imagination wason the point of flitting into the vapory realms of speculation again,when a lovely girl of sixteen or seventeen came in.  This vision sweptWashington's mind clear of its chaos of glittering rubbish in an instant.Beauty had fascinated him before; many times he had been in love even forweeks at a time with the same object but his heart had never suffered sosudden and so fierce an assault as this, within his recollection.Louise Boswell occupied his mind and drifted among his multiplicationtables all the afternoon.  He was constantly catching himself in areverie--reveries made up of recalling how she looked when she firstburst upon him ; how her voice thrilled him when she first spoke; howcharmed the very air seemed by her presence.  Blissful as the afternoonwas, delivered up to such a revel as this, it seemed an eternity, soimpatient was he to see the girl again.  Other afternoons like itfollowed.  Washington plunged into this love affair as he plunged intoeverything else--upon impulse and without reflection.  As the days wentby it seemed plain that he was growing in favor with Louise,--notsweepingly so, but yet perceptibly, he fancied.  His attentions to hertroubled her father and mother a little, and they warned Louise, withoutstating particulars or making allusions to any special person, that agirl was sure to make a mistake who allowed herself to marry anybody buta man who could support her well.Some instinct taught Washington that his present lack of money would bean obstruction, though possibly not a bar, to his hopes, and straightwayhis poverty became a torture to him which cast all his former sufferingsunder that held into the shade.  He longed for riches now as he had everlonged for them before.He had been once or twice to dine with Col. Sellers, and had beendiscouraged to note that the Colonel's bill of fare was falling off bothin quantity and quality--a sign, he feared, that the lacking ingredientin the eye-water still remained undiscovered--though Sellers alwaysexplained that these changes in the family diet had been ordered by thedoctor, or suggested by some new scientific work the Colonel had stumbledupon.  But it always turned out that the lacking ingredient was stilllacking--though it always appeared, at the same time, that the Colonelwas right on its heels.Every time the Colonel came into the real estate office Washington'sheart bounded and his eyes lighted with hope, but it always turned outthat the Colonel was merely on the scent of some vast, undefined landedspeculation--although he was customarily able to say that he was nearerto the all-necessary ingredient than ever, and could almost name the hourwhen success would dawn.  And then Washington's heart world sink againand a sigh would tell when it touched bottom.About this time a letter came, saying that Judge Hawkins had been ailingfor a fortnight, and was now considered to be seriously ill.  It wasthought best that Washington should come home.  The news filled him withgrief, for he loved and honored his father; the Boswells were touched bythe youth's sorrow, and even the General unbent and said encouragingthings to him.--There was balm in this; but when Louise bade him good-bye, and shook his hand and said, "Don't be cast down--it will all comeout right--I know it will all come out right," it seemed a blessed thingto be in misfortune, and the tears that welled up to his eyes were themessengers of an adoring and a grateful heart; and when the girl saw themand answering tears came into her own eyes, Washington could hardlycontain the excess of happiness that poured into the cavities of hisbreast that were so lately stored to the roof with grief.All the way home he nursed his woe and exalted it.  He pictured himselfas she must be picturing him: a noble, struggling young spirit persecutedby misfortune, but bravely and patiently waiting in the shadow of a dreadcalamity and preparing to meet the blow as became one who was all tooused to hard fortune and the pitiless buffetings of fate.  These thoughtsmade him weep, and weep more broken-heartedly than ever; and be wishedthat she could see his sufferings now.There was nothing significant in the fact that Louise, dreamy anddistraught, stood at her bedroom bureau that night, scribbling"Washington" here and there over a sheet of paper.  But there wassomething significant in the fact that she scratched the word out everytime she wrote it; examined the erasure critically to see if anybodycould guess at what the word had been; then buried it under a maze ofobliterating lines; and finally, as if still unsatisfied, burned thepaper.When Washington reached home, he recognized at once how serious hisfather's case was.  The darkened room, the labored breathing andoccasional moanings of the patient, the tip-toeing of the attendants andtheir whispered consultations, were full of sad meaning.  For three orfour nights Mrs. Hawkins and Laura had been watching by the bedside; Clayhad arrived, preceding Washington by one day, and he was now added to thecorps of watchers.  Mr. Hawkins would have none but these three, thoughneighborly assistance was offered by old friends.  From this time forththree-hour watches were instituted, and day and night the watchers kepttheir vigils.  By degrees Laura and her mother began to show wear, butneither of them would yield a minute of their tasks to Clay.  He venturedonce to let the midnight hour pass without calling Laura, but he venturedno more; there was that about her rebuke when he tried to explain, thattaught him that to let her sleep when she might be ministering to herfather's needs, was to rob her of moments that were priceless in hereyes; he perceived that she regarded it as a privilege to watch, not aburden.  And, he had noticed, also, that when midnight struck, thepatient turned his eyes toward the door, with an expectancy in them whichpresently grew into a longing but brightened into contentment as soonas the door opened and Laura appeared.  And he did not need Laura'srebuke when he heard his father say:"Clay is good, and you are tired, poor child; but I wanted you so.""Clay is not good, father--he did not call me.  I would not have treatedhim so.  How could you do it, Clay?"Clay begged forgiveness and promised not to break faith again; and as hebetook him to his bed, he said to himself:  "It's a steadfast littlesoul; whoever thinks he is doing the Duchess a kindness by intimatingthat she is not sufficient for any undertaking she puts her hand to,makes a mistake; and if I did not know it before, I know now that thereare surer ways of pleasing her than by trying to lighten her labor whenthat labor consists in wearing herself out for the sake of a person sheloves."A week drifted by, and all the while the patient sank lower and lower.The night drew on that was to end all suspense.  It was a wintry one.The darkness gathered, the snow was falling, the wind wailed plaintivelyabout the house or shook it with fitful gusts.  The doctor had paid hislast visit and gone away with that dismal remark to the nearest friend ofthe family that he "believed there was nothing more that he could do"--a remark which is always overheard by some one it is not meant for andstrikes a lingering half-conscious hope dead with a withering shock;the medicine phials had been removed from the bedside and put out ofsight, and all things made orderly and meet for the solemn event that wasimpending; the patient, with closed eyes, lay scarcely breathing; thewatchers sat by and wiped the gathering damps from his forehead while thesilent tears flowed down their faces; the deep hush was only interruptedby sobs from the children, grouped about the bed.After a time--it was toward midnight now--Mr. Hawkins roused out of adoze, looked about him and was evidently trying to speak.  InstantlyLaura lifted his head and in a failing voice he said, while something ofthe old light shone in his eyes:"Wife--children--come nearer--nearer.  The darkness grows.  Let me seeyou all, once more."The group closed together at the bedside, and their tears and sobs camenow without restraint."I am leaving you in cruel poverty.  I have been--so foolish--so short-sighted.  But courage!  A better day is--is coming.  Never lose sight ofthe Tennessee Land!  Be wary.  There is wealth stored up for you there--wealth that is boundless!  The children shall hold up their heads withthe best in the land, yet.  Where are the papers?--Have you got thepapers safe?  Show them--show them to me!"Under his strong excitement his voice had gathered power and his lastsentences were spoken with scarcely a perceptible halt or hindrance.With an effort he had raised himself almost without assistance to asitting posture.  But now the fire faded out of his eyes and be fell backexhausted.  The papers were brought and held before him, and theanswering smile that flitted across his face showed that he wassatisfied.  He closed his eyes, and the signs of approaching dissolutionmultiplied rapidly.  He lay almost motionless for a little while, thensuddenly partly raised his head and looked about him as one who peersinto a dim uncertain light.  He muttered:"Gone?  No--I see you--still.  It is--it is-over.  But you are--safe.Safe.  The Ten-----"The voice died out in a whisper; the sentence was never finished.  Theemaciated fingers began to pick at the coverlet, a fatal sign.  After atime there were no sounds but the cries of the mourners within and thegusty turmoil of the wind without.  Laura had bent down and kissed herfather's lips as the spirit left the body; but she did not sob, or utterany ejaculation; her tears flowed silently.  Then she closed the deadeyes, and crossed the hands upon the breast; after a season, she kissedthe forehead reverently, drew the sheet up over the face, and then walkedapart and sat down with the look of one who is done with life and has nofurther interest in its joys and sorrows, its hopes or its ambitions.Clay buried his face in the coverlet of the bed; when the other childrenand the mother realized that death was indeed come at last, they threwthemselves into each others' arms and gave way to a frenzy of grief.CHAPTER X.Only two or three days had elapsed since the funeral, when somethinghappened which was to change the drift of Laura's life somewhat, andinfluence in a greater or lesser degree the formation of her character.Major Lackland had once been a man of note in the State--a man ofextraordinary natural ability and as extraordinary learning.  He had beenuniversally trusted and honored in his day, but had finally, fallen intomisfortune; while serving his third term in Congress, and while upon thepoint of being elevated to the Senate--which was considered the summit ofearthly aggrandizement in those days--he had yielded to temptation, whenin distress for money wherewith to save his estate; and sold his vote.His crime was discovered, and his fall followed instantly.  Nothing couldreinstate him in the confidence of the people, his ruin wasirretrievable--his disgrace complete.  All doors were closed against him,all men avoided him.  After years of skulking retirement and dissipation,death had relieved him of his troubles at last, and his funeral followedclose upon that of Mr. Hawkins.  He died as he had latterly lived--whollyalone and friendless.  He had no relatives--or if he had they did notacknowledge him.  The coroner's jury found certain memoranda upon hisbody and about the premises which revealed a fact not suspected by thevillagers before-viz., that Laura was not the child of Mr. and Mrs.Hawkins.The gossips were soon at work.  They were but little hampered by the factthat the memoranda referred to betrayed nothing but the bare circumstancethat Laura's real parents were unknown, and stopped there.  So far frombeing hampered by this, the gossips seemed to gain all the more freedomfrom it.  They supplied all the missing information themselves, theyfilled up all the blanks.  The town soon teemed with histories of Laura'sorigin and secret history, no two versions precisely alike, but allelaborate, exhaustive, mysterious and interesting, and all agreeing inone vital particular-to-wit, that there was a suspicious cloud about herbirth, not to say a disreputable one.Laura began to encounter cold looks, averted eyes and peculiar nods andgestures which perplexed her beyond measure; but presently the pervadinggossip found its way to her, and she understood them--then.  Her pridewas stung.  She was astonished, and at first incredulous.  She was aboutto ask her mother if there was any truth in these reports, but uponsecond thought held her peace.  She soon gathered that Major Lackland'smemoranda seemed to refer to letters which had passed between himself andJudge Hawkins.  She shaped her course without difficulty the day thatthat hint reached her.That night she sat in her room till all was still, and then she stoleinto the garret and began a search.  She rummaged long among boxes ofmusty papers relating to business matters of no, interest to her, but atlast she found several bundles of letters.  One bundle was marked"private," and in that she found what she wanted.  She selected six oreight letters from the package and began to devour their contents,heedless of the cold.By the dates, these letters were from five to seven years old.  They wereall from Major Lackland to Mr. Hawkins.  The substance of them was, thatsome one in the east had been inquiring of Major Lackland about a lostchild and its parents, and that it was conjectured that the child mightbe Laura.Evidently some of the letters were missing, for the name of the inquirerwas not mentioned; there was a casual reference to "this handsome-featured aristocratic gentleman," as if the reader and the writer wereaccustomed to speak of him and knew who was meant.In one letter the Major said he agreed with Mr. Hawkins that the inquirerseemed not altogether on the wrong track; but he also agreed that itwould be best to keep quiet until more convincing developments wereforthcoming.Another letter said that "the poor soul broke completely down when be sawLaura's picture, and declared it must be she."Still another said:     "He seems entirely alone in the world, and his heart is so wrapped     up in this thing that I believe that if it proved a false hope, it     would kill him; I have persuaded him to wait a little while and go     west when I go."Another letter had this paragraph in it:     "He is better one day and worse the next, and is out of his mind a     good deal of the time.  Lately his case has developed a something     which is a wonder to the hired nurses, but which will not be much of     a marvel to you if you have read medical philosophy much.  It is     this: his lost memory returns to him when he is delirious, and goes     away again when he is himself-just as old Canada Joe used to talk     the French patois of his boyhood in the delirium of typhus fever,     though he could not do it when his mind was clear.  Now this poor     gentleman's memory has always broken down before he reached the     explosion of the steamer; he could only remember starting up the     river with his wife and child, and he had an idea that there was a     race, but he was not certain; he could not name the boat he was on;     there was a dead blank of a month or more that supplied not an item     to his recollection.  It was not for me to assist him, of course.     But now in his delirium it all comes out: the names of the boats,     every incident of the explosion, and likewise the details of his     astonishing escape--that is, up to where, just as a yawl-boat was     approaching him (he was clinging to the starboard wheel of the     burning wreck at the time), a falling timber struck him on the head.     But I will write out his wonderful escape in full to-morrow or next     day.  Of course the physicians will not let me tell him now that our     Laura is indeed his child--that must come later, when his health is     thoroughly restored.  His case is not considered dangerous at all;     he will recover presently, the doctors say.  But they insist that he     must travel a little when he gets well--they recommend a short sea     voyage, and they say he can be persuaded to try it if we continue to     keep him in ignorance and promise to let him see L. as soon as he     returns."The letter that bore the latest date of all, contained this clause:     "It is the most unaccountable thing in the world; the mystery     remains as impenetrable as ever; I have hunted high and low for him,     and inquired of everybody, but in vain ; all trace of him ends at     that hotel in New York ; I never have seen or heard of him since,     up to this day; he could hardly have sailed, for his name does not     appear upon the books of any shipping office in New York or Boston     or Baltimore.  How fortunate it seems, now, that we kept this thing     to ourselves; Laura still has a father in you, and it is better for     her that we drop this subject here forever."That was all.  Random remarks here and there, being pieced together gaveLaura a vague impression of a man of fine presence, abort forty-three orforty-five years of age, with dark hair and eyes, and a slight limp inhis walk--it was not stated which leg was defective.  And this indistinctshadow represented her father.  She made an exhaustive search for themissing letters, but found none.  They had probably been burned; and shedoubted not that the ones she had ferreted out would have shared the samefate if Mr. Hawkins had not been a dreamer, void of method, whose mindwas perhaps in a state of conflagration over some bright new speculationwhen he received them.She sat long, with the letters in her lap, thinking--and unconsciouslyfreezing.  She felt like a lost person who has traveled down a long lanein good hope of escape, and, just as the night descends finds hisprogress barred by a bridge-less river whose further shore, if it hasone, is lost in the darkness.  If she could only have found these lettersa month sooner!  That was her thought.  But now the dead had carriedtheir secrets with them.  A dreary, melancholy settled down upon her.An undefined sense of injury crept into her heart.  She grew verymiserable.She had just reached the romantic age--the age when there is a sadsweetness, a dismal comfort to a girl to find out that there is a mysteryconnected with her birth, which no other piece of good luck can afford.She had more than her rightful share of practical good sense, but stillshe was human; and to be human is to have one's little modicum of romancesecreted away in one's composition.  One never ceases to make a hero ofone's self, (in private,) during life, but only alters the style of hisheroism from time to time as the drifting years belittle certain gods ofhis admiration and raise up others in their stead that seem greater.The recent wearing days and nights of watching, and the wasting griefthat had possessed her, combined with the profound depression thatnaturally came with the reaction of idleness, made Laura peculiarlysusceptible at this time to romantic impressions.  She was a heroine,now, with a mysterious father somewhere.  She could not really tellwhether she wanted to find him and spoil it all or not; but still all thetraditions of romance pointed to the making the attempt as the usual andnecessary, course to follow; therefore she would some day begin thesearch when opportunity should offer.Now a former thought struck her--she would speak to Mrs. Hawkins.And naturally enough Mrs. Hawkins appeared on the stage at that moment.She said she knew all--she knew that Laura had discovered the secret thatMr. Hawkins, the elder children, Col. Sellers and herself had kept solong and so faithfully; and she cried and said that now that troubles hadbegun they would never end; her daughter's love would wean itself awayfrom her and her heart would break.  Her grief so wrought upon Laura thatthe girl almost forgot her own troubles for the moment in her compassionfor her mother's distress.  Finally Mrs. Hawkins said:"Speak to me, child--do not forsake me.  Forget all this miserable talk.Say I am your mother!--I have loved you so long, and there is no other.I am your mother, in the sight of God, and nothing shall ever take youfrom me!"All barriers fell, before this appeal.  Laura put her arms about hermother's neck and said:"You are my mother, and always shall be.  We will be as we have alwaysbeen; and neither this foolish talk nor any other thing shall part us ormake us less to each other than we are this hour."There was no longer any sense of separation or estrangement between them.Indeed their love seemed more perfect now than it had ever been before.By and by they went down stairs and sat by the fire and talked long andearnestly about Laura's history and the letters.  But it transpired thatMrs. Hawkins had never known of this correspondence between her husbandand Major Lackland.  With his usual consideration for his wife, Mr.Hawkins had shielded her from the worry the matter would have caused her.Laura went to bed at last with a mind that had gained largely intranquility and had lost correspondingly in morbid romantic exaltation.She was pensive, the next day, and subdued; but that was not matter forremark, for she did not differ from the mournful friends about her inthat respect.  Clay and Washington were the same loving and admiringbrothers now that they had always been.  The great secret was new to someof the younger children, but their love suffered no change under thewonderful revelation.It is barely possible that things might have presently settled down intotheir old rut and the mystery have lost the bulk of its romanticsublimity in Laura's eyes, if the village gossips could have quieteddown.  But they could not quiet down and they did not.  Day after daythey called at the house, ostensibly upon visits of condolence, and theypumped away at the mother and the children without seeming to know thattheir questionings were in bad taste.  They meant no harm they onlywanted to know.  Villagers always want to know.The family fought shy of the questionings, and of course that was hightestimony "if the Duchess was respectably born, why didn't they come outand prove it?--why did they, stick to that poor thin story about pickingher up out of a steamboat explosion?"Under this ceaseless persecution, Laura's morbid self-communing wasrenewed.  At night the day's contribution of detraction, innuendo andmalicious conjecture would be canvassed in her mind, and then she woulddrift into a course of thinking.  As her thoughts ran on, the indignanttears would spring to her eyes, and she would spit out fierce littleejaculations at intervals.  But finally she would grow calmer and saysome comforting disdainful thing--something like this:"But who are they?--Animals!  What are their opinions to me?  Let themtalk--I will not stoop to be affected by it.  I could hate----.Nonsense--nobody I care for or in any way respect is changed toward me,I fancy."She may have supposed she was thinking of many individuals, but it wasnot so--she was thinking of only one.  And her heart warmed somewhat,too, the while.  One day a friend overheard a conversation like this:--and naturally came and told her all about it:"Ned, they say you don't go there any more.  How is that?""Well, I don't; but I tell you it's not because I don't want to and it'snot because I think it is any matter who her father was or who he wasn't,either; it's only on account of this talk, talk, talk.  I think she is afine girl every way, and so would you if you knew her as well as I do;but you know how it is when a girl once gets talked about--it's all upwith her--the world won't ever let her alone, after that."The only comment Laura made upon this revelation, was:"Then it appears that if this trouble had not occurred I could have hadthe happiness of Mr. Ned Thurston's serious attentions.  He is wellfavored in person, and well liked, too, I believe, and comes of one ofthe first families of the village.  He is prosperous, too, I hear; hasbeen a doctor a year, now, and has had two patients--no, three, I think;yes, it was three.  I attended their funerals.  Well, other people havehoped and been disappointed; I am not alone in that.  I wish you couldstay to dinner, Maria--we are going to have sausages; and besides,I wanted to talk to you about Hawkeye and make you promise to come andsee us when we are settled there."But Maria could not stay.  She had come to mingle romantic tears withLaura's over the lover's defection and had found herself dealing with aheart that could not rise to an appreciation of affliction because itsinterest was all centred in sausages.But as soon as Maria was gone, Laura stamped her expressive foot andsaid:"The coward!  Are all books lies?  I thought he would fly to the front,and be brave and noble, and stand up for me against all the world, anddefy my enemies, and wither these gossips with his scorn!  Poor crawlingthing, let him go.  I do begin to despise thin world!"She lapsed into thought.  Presently she said:"If the time ever comes, and I get a chance, Oh, I'll----"She could not find a word that was strong enough, perhaps.  By and by shesaid:"Well, I am glad of it--I'm glad of it.  I never cared anything for himanyway!"And then, with small consistency, she cried a little, and patted her footmore indignantly than ever.CHAPTER XITwo months had gone by and the Hawkins family were domiciled in Hawkeye.Washington was at work in the real estate office again, and wasalternately in paradise or the other place just as it happened thatLouise was gracious to him or seemingly indifferent--because indifferenceor preoccupation could mean nothing else than that she was thinking ofsome other young person.  Col. Sellers had asked him several times, todine with him, when he first returned to Hawkeye, but Washington, for noparticular reason, had not accepted.  No particular reason except onewhich he preferred to keep to himself--viz. that he could not bear to beaway from Louise.  It occurred to him, now, that the Colonel had notinvited him lately--could he be offended?  He resolved to go that veryday, and give the Colonel a pleasant surprise.  It was a good idea;especially as Louise had absented herself from breakfast that morning,and torn his heart; he would tear hers, now, and let her see how it felt.The Sellers family were just starting to dinner when Washington burstupon them with his surprise.  For an instant the Colonel lookednonplussed, and just a bit uncomfortable; and Mrs. Sellers lookedactually distressed; but the next moment the head of the house washimself again, and exclaimed:"All right, my boy, all right--always glad to see you--always glad tohear your voice and take you by the hand.  Don't wait for specialinvitations--that's all nonsense among friends.  Just come whenever youcan, and come as often as you can--the oftener the better.  You can'tplease us any better than that, Washington; the little woman will tellyou so herself.  We don't pretend to style.  Plain folks, you know--plainfolks.  Just a plain family dinner, but such as it is, our friends arealways welcome, I reckon you know that yourself, Washington.  Run along,children, run along; Lafayette,--[**In those old days the average mancalled his children after his most revered literary and historical idols;consequently there was hardly a family, at least in the West, but had aWashington in it--and also a Lafayette, a Franklin, and six or eightsounding names from Byron, Scott, and the Bible, if the offspring heldout.  To visit such a family, was to find one's self confronted by acongress made up of representatives of the imperial myths and themajestic dead of all the ages.  There was something thrilling about it,to a stranger, not to say awe inspiring.]--stand off the cat's tail,child, can't you see what you're doing?--Come, come, come, Roderick Dhu,it isn't nice for little boys to hang onto young gentlemen's coat tails--but never mind him, Washington, he's full of spirits and don't mean anyharm.  Children will be children, you know.  Take the chair next to Mrs.Sellers, Washington--tut, tut, Marie Antoinette, let your brother havethe fork if he wants it, you are bigger than he is."Washington contemplated the banquet, and wondered if he were in his rightmind.  Was this the plain family dinner?  And was it all present?  It wassoon apparent that this was indeed the dinner: it was all on the table:it consisted of abundance of clear, fresh water, and a basin of rawturnips--nothing more.Washington stole a glance at Mrs. Sellers's face, and would have giventhe world, the next moment, if he could have spared her that.  The poorwoman's face was crimson, and the tears stood in her eyes.  Washingtondid not know what to do.  He wished he had never come there and spied outthis cruel poverty and brought pain to that poor little lady's heart andshame to her cheek; but he was there, and there was no escape.  Col.Sellers hitched back his coat sleeves airily from his wrists as whoshould say "Now for solid enjoyment!" seized a fork, flourished it andbegan to harpoon turnips and deposit them in the plates before him "Letme help you, Washington--Lafyette pass this plate Washington--ah, well,well, my boy, things are looking pretty bright, now, I tell you.Speculation--my! the whole atmosphere's full of money.  I would'nt takethree fortunes for one little operation I've got on hand now--haveanything from the casters?  No?  Well, you're right, you're right.  Somepeople like mustard with turnips, but--now there was Baron Poniatowski--Lord, but that man did know how to live!--true Russian you know, Russianto the back bone; I say to my wife, give me a Russian every time, for atable comrade.  The Baron used to say, 'Take mustard, Sellers, try themustard,--a man can't know what turnips are in perfection without,mustard,' but I always said, 'No, Baron, I'm a plain man and I want myfood plain--none of your embellishments for Beriah Sellers--no madedishes for me!  And it's the best way--high living kills more than itcures in this world, you can rest assured of that.--Yes indeed,Washington, I've got one little operation on hand that--take some morewater--help yourself, won't you?--help yourself, there's plenty of it.--You'll find it pretty good, I guess.  How does that fruit strike you?"Washington said he did not know that he had ever tasted better.  He didnot add that he detested turnips even when they were cooked loathed themin their natural state.  No, he kept this to himself, and praised theturnips to the peril of his soul."I thought you'd like them.  Examine them--examine them--they'll bear it.See how perfectly firm and juicy they are--they can't start any like themin this part of the country, I can tell you.  These are from New Jersey--I imported them myself.  They cost like sin, too; but lord bless me,I go in for having the best of a thing, even if it does cost a littlemore--it's the best economy, in the long run.  These are the EarlyMalcolm--it's a turnip that can't be produced except in just one orchard,and the supply never is up to the demand.  Take some more water,Washington--you can't drink too much water with fruit--all the doctorssay that.  The plague can't come where this article is, my boy!""Plague?  What plague?""What plague, indeed?  Why the Asiatic plague that nearly depopulatedLondon a couple of centuries ago.""But how does that concern us?  There is no plague here, I reckon.""Sh! I've let it out!  Well, never mind--just keep it to yourself.Perhaps I oughtn't said anything, but its bound to come out sooner orlater, so what is the odds?  Old McDowells wouldn't like me to--to--bother it all, I'll jest tell the whole thing and let it go.  You see,I've been down to St. Louis, and I happened to run across old Dr.McDowells--thinks the world of me, does the doctor.  He's a man thatkeeps himself to himself, and well he may, for he knows that he's got areputation that covers the whole earth--he won't condescend to openhimself out to many people, but lord bless you, he and I are just likebrothers; he won't let me go to a hotel when I'm in the city--says I'mthe only man that's company to him, and I don't know but there's sometruth in it, too, because although I never like to glorify myself andmake a great to-do over what I am or what I can do or what I know,I don't mind saying here among friends that I am better read up in mostsciences, maybe, than the general run of professional men in these days.Well, the other day he let me into a little secret, strictly on thequiet, about this matter of the plague."You see it's booming right along in our direction--follows the GulfStream, you know, just as all those epidemics do, and within three monthsit will be just waltzing through this land like a whirlwind!  And whoeverit touches can make his will and contract for the funeral.  Well youcan't cure it, you know, but you can prevent it.  How?  Turnips! that'sit!  Turnips and water!  Nothing like it in the world, old McDowellssays, just fill yourself up two or three times a day, and you can snapyour fingers at the plague.  Sh!--keep mum, but just you confine yourselfto that diet and you're all right.  I wouldn't have old McDowells knowthat I told about it for anything--he never would speak to me again.Take some more water, Washington--the more water you drink, the better.Here, let me give you some more of the turnips.  No, no, no, now, Iinsist.  There, now.  Absorb those.  They're, mighty sustaining--brimfull of nutriment--all the medical books say so.  Just eat from four toseven good-sized turnips at a meal, and drink from a pint and a half to aquart of water, and then just sit around a couple of hours and let themferment.  You'll feel like a fighting cock next day."Fifteen or twenty minutes later the Colonel's tongue was still chatteringaway--he had piled up several future fortunes out of several incipient"operations" which he had blundered into within the past week, and wasnow soaring along through some brilliant expectations born of latepromising experiments upon the lacking ingredient of the eye-water.And at such a time Washington ought to have been a rapt and enthusiasticlistener, but he was not, for two matters disturbed his mind anddistracted his attention.  One was, that he discovered, to his confusionand shame, that in allowing himself to be helped a second time to theturnips, he had robbed those hungry children.  He had not needed thedreadful "fruit," and had not wanted it; and when he saw the patheticsorrow in their faces when they asked for more and there was no more togive them, he hated himself for his stupidity and pitied the famishingyoung things with all his heart.  The other matter that disturbed him wasthe dire inflation that had begun in his stomach.  It grew and grew, itbecame more and more insupportable.  Evidently the turnips were"fermenting."  He forced himself to sit still as long as he could, buthis anguish conquered him at last.He rose in the midst of the Colonel's talk and excused himself on theplea of a previous engagement.  The Colonel followed him to the door,promising over and over again that he would use his influence to get someof the Early Malcolms for him, and insisting that he should not be such astranger but come and take pot-luck with him every chance he got.Washington was glad enough to get away and feel free again.  Heimmediately bent his steps toward home.In bed he passed an hour that threatened to turn his hair gray, and thena blessed calm settled down upon him that filled his heart withgratitude.  Weak and languid, he made shift to turn himself about andseek rest and sleep; and as his soul hovered upon the brink ofunconciousness, he heaved a long, deep sigh, and said to himself that inhis heart he had cursed the Colonel's preventive of rheumatism, before,and now let the plague come if it must--he was done with preventives;if ever any man beguiled him with turnips and water again, let him diethe death.If he dreamed at all that night, no gossiping spirit disturbed hisvisions to whisper in his ear of certain matters just then in bud in theEast, more than a thousand miles away that after the lapse of a few yearswould develop influences which would profoundly affect the fate andfortunes of the Hawkins family.CHAPTER XII"Oh, it's easy enough to make a fortune," Henry said."It seems to be easier than it is, I begin to think," replied Philip."Well, why don't you go into something?  You'll never dig it out of theAstor Library."If there be any place and time in the world where and when it seems easyto "go into something" it is in Broadway on a spring morning, when one iswalking city-ward, and has before him the long lines of palace-shops withan occasional spire seen through the soft haze that lies over the lowertown, and hears the roar and hum of its multitudinous traffic.To the young American, here or elsewhere, the paths to fortune areinnumerable and all open; there is invitation in the air and success inall his wide horizon.  He is embarrassed which to choose, and is notunlikely to waste years in dallying with his chances, before givinghimself to the serious tug and strain of a single object.  He has notraditions to bind him or guide him, and his impulse is to break awayfrom the occupation his father has followed, and make a new way forhimself.Philip Sterling used to say that if he should seriously set himself forten years to any one of the dozen projects that were in his brain, hefelt that he could be a rich man.  He wanted to be rich, he had a sinceredesire for a fortune, but for some unaccountable reason he hesitatedabout addressing himself to the narrow work of getting it.  He neverwalked Broadway, a part of its tide of abundant shifting life, withoutfeeling something of the flush of wealth, and unconsciously taking theelastic step of one well-to-do in this prosperous world.Especially at night in the crowded theatre--Philip was too young toremember the old Chambers' Street box, where the serious Burton led hishilarious and pagan crew--in the intervals of the screaming comedy, whenthe orchestra scraped and grunted and tooted its dissolute tunes, theworld seemed full of opportunities to Philip, and his heart exulted witha conscious ability to take any of its prizes he chose to pluck.Perhaps it was the swimming ease of the acting, on the stage, wherevirtue had its reward in three easy acts, perhaps it was the excessivelight of the house, or the music, or the buzz of the excited talk betweenacts, perhaps it was youth which believed everything, but for some reasonwhile Philip was at the theatre he had the utmost confidence in life andhis ready victory in it.Delightful illusion of paint and tinsel and silk attire, of cheapsentiment and high and mighty dialogue!  Will there not always be rosinenough for the squeaking fiddle-bow?Do we not all like the maudlin hero, who is sneaking round the rightentrance, in wait to steal the pretty wife of his rich and tyrannicalneighbor from the paste-board cottage at the left entrance? and when headvances down to the foot-lights and defiantly informs the audience that,"he who lays his hand on a woman except in the way of kindness," do wenot all applaud so as to drown the rest of the sentence?Philip never was fortunate enough to hear what would become of a man whoshould lay his hand on a woman with the exception named; but he learnedafterwards that the woman who lays her hand on a man, without anyexception whatsoever, is always acquitted by the jury.The fact was, though Philip Sterling did not know it, that he wantedseveral other things quite as much as he wanted wealth.  The modestfellow would have liked fame thrust upon him for some worthy achievement;it might be for a book, or for the skillful management of some greatnewspaper, or for some daring expedition like that of Lt. Strain or Dr.Kane.  He was unable to decide exactly what it should be.  Sometimes hethought he would like to stand in a conspicuous pulpit and humbly preachthe gospel of repentance; and it even crossed his mind that it would benoble to give himself to a missionary life to some benighted region,where the date-palm grows, and the nightingale's voice is in tune, andthe bul-bul sings on the off nights.  If he were good enough he wouldattach himself to that company of young men in the Theological Seminary,who were seeing New York life in preparation for the ministry.Philip was a New England boy and had graduated at Yale; he had notcarried off with him all the learning of that venerable institution, buthe knew some things that were not in the regular course of study.  A verygood use of the English language and considerable knowledge of itsliterature was one of them; he could sing a song very well, not in timeto be sure, but with enthusiasm; he could make a magnetic speech at amoment's notice in the class room, the debating society, or upon anyfence or dry-goods box that was convenient; he could lift himself by onearm, and do the giant swing in the gymnasium; he could strike out fromhis left shoulder; he could handle an oar like a professional and pullstroke in a winning race.  Philip had a good appetite, a sunny temper,and a clear hearty laugh.  He had brown hair, hazel eyes set wide apart,a broad but not high forehead, and a fresh winning face.  He was six feethigh, with broad shoulders, long legs and a swinging gait; one of thoseloose-jointed, capable fellows, who saunter into the world with a freeair and usually make a stir in whatever company they enter.After he left college Philip took the advice of friends and read law.Law seemed to him well enough as a science, but he never could discover apractical case where it appeared to him worth while to go to law, and allthe clients who stopped with this new clerk in the ante-room of the lawoffice where he was writing, Philip invariably advised to settle--nomatter how, but settle--greatly to the disgust of his employer, who knewthat justice between man and man could only be attained by the recognizedprocesses, with the attendant fees.  Besides Philip hated the copying ofpleadings, and he was certain that a life of "whereases" and "aforesaids"and whipping the devil round the stump, would be intolerable.[Note: these few paragraphs are nearly an autobiography of the life ofCharles Dudley Warner whose contributions to the story start here withChapter XII.  D.W.]His pen therefore, and whereas, and not as aforesaid, strayed off intoother scribbling.  In an unfortunate hour, he had two or three papersaccepted by first-class magazines, at three dollars the printed page,and, behold, his vocation was open to him.  He would make his mark inliterature.Life has no moment so sweet as that in which a young man believes himselfcalled into the immortal ranks of the masters of literature.  It is sucha noble ambition, that it is a pity it has usually such a shallowfoundation.At the time of this history, Philip had gone to New York for a career.With his talent he thought he should have little difficulty in getting aneditorial position upon a metro politan newspaper; not that he knewanything about news paper work, or ,had the least idea of journalism; heknew he was not fitted for the technicalities of the subordinatedepartments, but he could write leaders with perfect ease, he was sure.The drudgery of the newspaper office was too distaste ful, and besides itwould be beneath the dignity of a graduate and a successful magazinewriter.  He wanted to begin at the top of the ladder.To his surprise he found that every situation in the editorial departmentof the journals was full, always had been full, was always likely to befull.  It seemed to him that the newspaper managers didn't want genius,but mere plodding and grubbing.  Philip therefore read diligently in theAstor library, planned literary works that should compel attention, andnursed his genius.  He had no friend wise enough to tell him to step intothe Dorking Convention, then in session, make a sketch of the men andwomen on the platform, and take it to the editor of the Daily Grapevine,and see what he could get a line for it.One day he had an offer from some country friends, who believed in him,to take charge of a provincial daily newspaper, and he went to consultMr. Gringo--Gringo who years ago managed the Atlas--about taking thesituation."Take it of course," says Gringo, take anything that offers, why not?""But they want me to make it an opposition paper.""Well, make it that.  That party is going to succeed, it's going to electthe next president.""I don't believe it," said Philip, stoutly, "its wrong in principle, andit ought not to succeed, but I don't see how I can go for a thing I don'tbelieve in.""O, very well," said Gringo, turning away with a shade of contempt,"you'll find if you are going into literature and newspaper work that youcan't afford a conscience like that."But Philip did afford it, and he wrote, thanking his friends, anddeclining because he said the political scheme would fail, and ought tofail.  And he went back to his books and to his waiting for an openinglarge enough for his dignified entrance into the literary world.It was in this time of rather impatient waiting that Philip was onemorning walking down Broadway with Henry Brierly.  He frequentlyaccompanied Henry part way down town to what the latter called his officein Broad Street, to which he went, or pretended to go, with regularityevery day.  It was evident to the most casual acquaintance that he was aman of affairs, and that his time was engrossed in the largest sort ofoperations, about which there was a mysterious air.  His liability to besuddenly summoned to Washington, or Boston or Montreal or even toLiverpool was always imminent.  He never was so summoned, but none of hisacquaintances would have been surprised to hear any day that he had goneto Panama or Peoria, or to hear from him that he had bought the Bank ofCommerce.The two were intimate at that time,--they had been class, mates--and sawa great deal of each other.  Indeed, they lived together in Ninth Street,in a boarding-house, there, which had the honor of lodging and partiallyfeeding several other young fellows of like kidney, who have since gonetheir several ways into fame or into obscurity.It was during the morning walk to which reference has been made thatHenry Brierly suddenly said, "Philip, how would you like to go toSt. Jo?""I think I should like it of all things," replied Philip, with somehesitation, "but what for.""Oh, it's a big operation.  We are going, a lot of us, railroad men,engineers, contractors.  You know my uncle is a great railroad man.  I'veno doubt I can get you a chance to go if you'll go.""But in what capacity would I go?""Well, I'm going as an engineer.  You can go as one.""I don't know an engine from a coal cart.""Field engineer, civil engineer.  You can begin by carrying a rod, andputting down the figures.  It's easy enough.  I'll show you about that.We'll get Trautwine and some of those books.""Yes, but what is it for, what is it all about?""Why don't you see?  We lay out a line, spot the good land, enter it up,know where the stations are to be, spot them, buy lots; there's heaps ofmoney in it.  We wouldn't engineer long.""When do you go?" was Philip's next question, after some moments ofsilence."To-morrow.  Is that too soon?""No, its not too soon.  I've been ready to go anywhere for six months.The fact is, Henry, that I'm about tired of trying to force myself intothings, and am quite willing to try floating with the stream for a while,and see where I will land.  This seems like a providential call; it'ssudden enough."The two young men who were by this time full of the adventure, went downto the Wall street office of Henry's uncle and had a talk with that wilyoperator.  The uncle knew Philip very well, and was pleased with hisfrank enthusiasm, and willing enough to give him a trial in the westernventure.  It was settled therefore, in the prompt way in which things aresettled in New York, that they would start with the rest of the companynext morning for the west.On the way up town these adventurers bought books on engineering, andsuits of India-rubber, which they supposed they would need in a new andprobably damp country, and many other things which nobody ever neededanywhere.The night was spent in packing up and writing letters, for Philip wouldnot take such an important step without informing his friends.  If theydisapprove, thought he, I've done my duty by letting them know.  Happyyouth, that is ready to pack its valise, and start for Cathay on anhour's notice."By the way," calls out Philip from his bed-room, to Henry, "where isSt. Jo.?""Why, it's in Missouri somewhere, on the frontier I think.  We'll get amap.""Never mind the map.  We will find the place itself.  I was afraid it wasnearer home."Philip wrote a long letter, first of all, to his mother, full of love andglowing anticipations of his new opening.  He wouldn't bother her withbusiness details, but he hoped that the day was not far off when shewould see him return, with a moderate fortune, and something to add tothe comfort of her advancing years.To his uncle he said that he had made an arrangement with some New Yorkcapitalists to go to Missouri, in a land and railroad operation, whichwould at least give him a knowledge of the world and not unlikely offerhim a business opening.  He knew his uncle would be glad to hear that hehad at last turned his thoughts to a practical matter.It was to Ruth Bolton that Philip wrote last.  He might never see heragain; he went to seek his fortune.  He well knew the perils of thefrontier, the savage state of society, the lurking Indians and thedangers of fever.  But there was no real danger to a person who took careof himself.  Might he write to her often and, tell her of his life.If he returned with a fortune, perhaps and perhaps.  If he wasunsuccessful, or if he never returned--perhaps it would be as well.No time or distance, however, would ever lessen his interest in her.  Hewould say good-night, but not good-bye.In the soft beginning of a Spring morning, long before New York hadbreakfasted, while yet the air of expectation hung about the wharves ofthe metropolis, our young adventurers made their way to the Jersey Cityrailway station of the Erie road, to begin the long, swinging, crookedjourney, over what a writer of a former day called a causeway of crackedrails and cows, to the West.CHAPTER XIII.          What ever to say be toke in his entente,          his langage was so fayer & pertynante,          yt semeth unto manys herying not only the worde,          but veryly the thyng.                              Caxton's Book of Curtesye.In the party of which our travelers found themselves members, was DuffBrown, the great railroad contractor, and subsequently a well-knownmember of Congress; a bluff, jovial Bost'n man, thick-set, close shaven,with a heavy jaw and a low forehead--a very pleasant man if you were notin his way.  He had government contracts also, custom houses and drydocks, from Portland to New Orleans, and managed to get out of congress,in appropriations, about weight for weight of gold for the stonefurnished.Associated with him, and also of this party, was Rodney Schaick, a sleekNew York broker, a man as prominent in the church as in the stockexchange, dainty in his dress, smooth of speech, the necessary complementof Duff Brown in any enterprise that needed assurance and adroitness.It would be difficult to find a pleasanter traveling party one that shookoff more readily the artificial restraints of Puritanic strictness, andtook the world with good-natured allowance.  Money was plenty for everyattainable luxury, and there seemed to be no doubt that its supply wouldcontinue, and that fortunes were about to be made without a great deal oftoil.  Even Philip soon caught the prevailing spirit; Barry did not needany inoculation, he always talked in six figures.  It was as natural forthe dear boy to be rich as it is for most people to be poor.The elders of the party were not long in discovering the fact, whichalmost all travelers to the west soon find out; that the water was poor.It must have been by a lucky premonition of this that they all had brandyflasks with which to qualify the water of the country; and it was nodoubt from an uneasy feeling of the danger of being poisoned that theykept experimenting, mixing a little of the dangerous and changing fluid,as they passed along, with the contents of the flasks, thus saving theirlives hour by hour.  Philip learned afterwards that temperance and thestrict observance of Sunday and a certain gravity of deportment aregeographical habits, which people do not usually carry with them awayfrom home.Our travelers stopped in Chicago long enough to see that they could maketheir fortunes there in two week's tine, but it did not seem worth while;the west was more attractive; the further one went the wider theopportunities opened.They took railroad to Alton and the steamboat from there to St. Louis,for the change and to have a glimpse of the river."Isn't this jolly?" cried Henry, dancing out of the barber's room, andcoming down the deck with a one, two, three step, shaven, curled andperfumed after his usual exquisite fashion."What's jolly?" asked Philip, looking out upon the dreary and monotonouswaste through which the shaking steamboat was coughing its way."Why, the whole thing; it's immense I can tell you.  I wouldn't give thatto be guaranteed a hundred thousand cold cash in a year's time.""Where's Mr. Brown?""He is in the saloon, playing poker with Schaick and that long hairedparty with the striped trousers, who scrambled aboard when the stageplank was half hauled in, and the big Delegate to Congress from outwest.""That's a fine looking fellow, that delegate, with his glossy, blackwhiskers; looks like a Washington man; I shouldn't think he'd be atpoker.""Oh, its only five cent ante, just to make it interesting, the Delegatesaid.""But I shouldn't think a representative in Congress would play poker anyway in a public steamboat.""Nonsense, you've got to pass the time.  I tried a hand myself, but thoseold fellows are too many for me.  The Delegate knows all the points.I'd bet a hundred dollars he will ante his way right into the UnitedStates Senate when his territory comes in.  He's got the cheek for it.""He has the grave and thoughtful manner of expectoration of a public man,for one thing," added Philip."Harry," said Philip, after a pause, "what have you got on those bigboots for; do you expect to wade ashore?""I'm breaking 'em in."The fact was Harry had got himself up in what he thought a proper costumefor a new country, and was in appearance a sort of compromise between adandy of Broadway and a backwoodsman.  Harry, with blue eyes, freshcomplexion, silken whiskers and curly chestnut hair, was as handsome asa fashion plate.  He wore this morning a soft hat, a short cutaway coat,an open vest displaying immaculate linen, a leathern belt round hiswaist, and top-boots of soft leather, well polished, that came above hisknees and required a string attached to his belt to keep them up.  Thelight hearted fellow gloried in these shining encasements of his wellshaped legs, and told Philip that they were a perfect protection againstprairie rattle-snakes, which never strike above the knee.The landscape still wore an almost wintry appearance when our travelersleft Chicago.  It was a genial spring day when they landed at St. Louis;the birds were singing, the blossoms of peach trees in city garden plots,made the air sweet, and in the roar and tumult on the long river leveethey found an excitement that accorded with their own hopefulanticipations.The party went to the Southern Hotel, where the great Duff Brown was verywell known, and indeed was a man of so much importance that even theoffice clerk was respectful to him.  He might have respected in him alsoa certain vulgar swagger and insolence of money, which the clerk greatlyadmired.The young fellows liked the house and liked the city; it seemed to them amighty free and hospitable town.  Coming from the East they were struckwith many peculiarities.  Everybody smoked in the streets, for one thing,they noticed; everybody "took a drink" in an open manner whenever hewished to do so or was asked, as if the habit needed no concealment orapology.  In the evening when they walked about they found people sittingon the door-steps of their dwellings, in a manner not usual in a northerncity; in front of some of the hotels and saloons the side walks werefilled with chairs and benches--Paris fashion, said Harry--upon whichpeople lounged in these warm spring evenings, smoking, always smoking;and the clink of glasses and of billiard balls was in the air.  It wasdelightful.Harry at once found on landing that his back-woods custom would not beneeded in St. Louis, and that, in fact, he had need of all the resourcesof his wardrobe to keep even with the young swells of the town.  But thisdid not much matter, for Harry was always superior to his clothes.As they were likely to be detained some time in the city, Harry toldPhilip that he was going to improve his time.  And he did.  It was anencouragement to any industrious man to see this young fellow rise,carefully dress himself, eat his breakfast deliberately, smoke his cigartranquilly, and then repair to his room, to what he called his work, witha grave and occupied manner, but with perfect cheerfulness.Harry would take off his coat, remove his cravat, roll up his shirt-sleeves, give his curly hair the right touch before the glass, get outhis book on engineering, his boxes of instruments, his drawing paper,his profile paper, open the book of logarithms, mix his India ink,sharpen his pencils, light a cigar, and sit down at the table to "lay outa line," with the most grave notion that he was mastering the details ofengineering.  He would spend half a day in these preparations withoutever working out a problem or having the faintest conception of the useof lines or logarithms.  And when he had finished, he had the mostcheerful confidence that he had done a good day's work.It made no difference, however, whether Harry was in his room in a hotelor in a tent, Philip soon found, he was just the same.  In camp he wouldget himself, up in the most elaborate toilet at his command, polish hislong boots to the top, lay out his work before him, and spend an hour orlonger, if anybody was looking at him, humming airs, knitting his brows,and "working" at engineering; and if a crowd of gaping rustics werelooking on all the while it was perfectly satisfactory to him."You see," he says to Philip one morning at the hotel when he was thusengaged, "I want to get the theory of this thing, so that I can have acheck on the engineers.""I thought you were going to be an engineer yourself,"  queried Philip."Not many times, if the court knows herself.  There's better game.  Brownand Schaick have, or will have, the control for the whole line of theSalt Lick Pacific Extension, forty thousand dollars a mile over theprairie, with extra for hard-pan--and it'll be pretty much all hardpanI can tell you; besides every alternate section of land on this line.There's millions in the job.  I'm to have the sub-contract for the firstfifty miles, and you can bet it's a soft thing.""I'll tell you what you do, Philip," continued Larry, in a burst ofgenerosity, "if I don't get you into my contract, you'll be with theengineers, and you jest stick a stake at the first ground marked for adepot, buy the land of the farmer before he knows where the depot willbe, and we'll turn a hundred or so on that.  I'll advance the money forthe payments, and you can sell the lots.  Schaick is going to let me haveten thousand just for a flyer in such operations.""But that's a good deal of money.""Wait till you are used to handling money.  I didn't come out here for abagatelle.  My uncle wanted me to stay East and go in on the Mobilecustom house, work up the Washington end of it; he said there was afortune in it for a smart young fellow, but I preferred to take thechances out here.  Did I tell you I had an offer from Bobbett and Fanshawto go into their office as confidential clerk on a salary of tenthousand?""Why didn't you take it ?" asked Philip, to whom a salary of two thousandwould have seemed wealth, before he started on this journey."Take it?  I'd rather operate on my own hook;" said Harry, in his mostairy manner.A few evenings after their arrival at the Southern, Philip and Harry madethe acquaintance of a very agreeable gentleman, whom they had frequentlyseen before about the hotel corridors, and passed a casual word with.  Hehad the air of a man of business, and was evidently a person ofimportance.The precipitating of this casual intercourse into the more substantialform of an acquaintanceship was the work of the gentleman himself, andoccurred in this wise.  Meeting the two friends in the lobby one evening,he asked them to give him the time, and added:"Excuse me, gentlemen--strangers in St. Louis?  Ali, yes-yes.  From theEast, perhaps?  Ah; just so, just so.  Eastern born myself--Virginia.Sellers is my name--Beriah Sellers.Ah! by the way--New York, did you say?  That reminds me; just met somegentlemen from your State, a week or two ago--very prominent gentlemen--in public life they are; you must know them, without doubt.  Let me see--let me see.  Curious those names have escaped me.  I know they were fromyour State, because I remember afterward my old friend Governor Shacklebysaid to me--fine man, is the Governor--one of the finest men our countryhas produced--said he, Colonel, how did you like those New Yorkgentlemen?--not many such men in the world,--Colonel Sellers,' said theGovernor--yes, it was New York he said--I remember it distinctly.I can't recall those names, somehow.  But no matter.  Stopping here,gentlemen--stopping at the Southern?"In shaping their reply in their minds, the title "Mr." had a place in it;but when their turn had arrived to speak, the title "Colonel" came fromtheir lips instead.They said yes, they were abiding at the Southern, and thought it a verygood house."Yes, yes, the Southern is fair.  I myself go to the Planter's, old,aristocratic house.  We Southern gentlemen don't change our ways, youknow.  I always make it my home there when I run down from Hawkeye--myplantation is in Hawkeye, a little up in the country.  You should knowthe Planter's."Philip and Harry both said they should like to see a hotel that had beenso famous in its day--a cheerful hostelrie, Philip said it must have beenwhere duels were fought there across the dining-room table."You may believe it, sir, an uncommonly pleasant lodging.  Shall wewalk?"And the three strolled along the streets, the Colonel talking all the wayin the most liberal and friendly manner, and with a frank open-heartedness that inspired confidence."Yes, born East myself, raised all along, know the West--a great country,gentlemen.  The place for a young fellow of spirit to pick up a fortune,simply pick it up, it's lying round loose here.  Not a day that I don'tput aside an opportunity; too busy to look into it.  Management of my ownproperty takes my time.  First visit?  Looking for an opening?""Yes, looking around," replied Harry."Ah, here we are.  You'd rather sit here in front than go to myapartments?  So had I. An opening eh?"The Colonel's eyes twinkled.  "Ah, just so.  The country is opening up,all we want is capital to develop it.  Slap down the rails and bring theland into market.  The richest land on God Almighty's footstool is lyingright out there.  If I had my capital free I could plant it formillions.""I suppose your capital is largely in your plantation?" asked Philip."Well, partly, sir, partly.  I'm down here now with reference to a littleoperation--a little side thing merely.  By the way gentlemen, excuse theliberty, but it's about my usual time"--The Colonel paused, but as no movement of his acquaintances followed thisplain remark, he added, in an explanatory manner,"I'm rather particular about the exact time--have to be in this climate."Even this open declaration of his hospitable intention not beingunderstood the Colonel politely said,"Gentlemen, will you take something?"Col. Sellers led the way to a saloon on Fourth street under the hotel,and the young gentlemen fell into the custom of the country."Not that," said the Colonel to the bar-keeper, who shoved along thecounter a bottle of apparently corn-whiskey, as if he had done it beforeon the same order; "not that," with a wave of the hand.  "That Otard ifyou please.  Yes.  Never take an inferior liquor, gentlemen, not in theevening, in this climate.  There.  That's the stuff.  My respects!"The hospitable gentleman, having disposed of his liquor, remarking thatit was not quite the thing--"when a man has his own cellar to go to, heis apt to get a little fastidious about his liquors"--called for cigars.But the brand offered did not suit him; he motioned the box away, andasked for some particular Havana's, those in separate wrappers."I always smoke this sort, gentlemen; they are a little more expensive,but you'll learn, in this climate, that you'd better not economize onpoor cigars"Having imparted this valuable piece of information, the Colonel lightedthe fragrant cigar with satisfaction, and then carelessly put his fingersinto his right vest pocket.  That movement being without result, with ashade of disappointment on his face, he felt in his left vest pocket.Not finding anything there, he looked up with a serious and annoyed air,anxiously slapped his right pantaloon's pocket, and then his left, andexclaimed,"By George, that's annoying.  By George, that's mortifying.  Never hadanything of that kind happen to me before.  I've left my pocket-book.Hold!  Here's a bill, after all.  No, thunder, it's a receipt.""Allow me," said Philip, seeing how seriously the Colonel was annoyed,and taking out his purse.The Colonel protested he couldn't think of it, and muttered something tothe barkeeper about "hanging it up," but the vender of exhilaration madeno sign, and Philip had the privilege of paying the costly shot; Col.Sellers profusely apologizing and claiming the right "next time, nexttime."As soon as Beriah Sellers had bade his friends good night and seen themdepart, he did not retire apartments in the Planter's, but took his wayto his lodgings with a friend in a distant part of the city.CHAPTER XIV.The letter that Philip Sterling wrote to Ruth Bolton, on the evening ofsetting out to seek his fortune in the west, found that young lady in herown father's house in Philadelphia.  It was one of the pleasantest of themany charming suburban houses in that hospitable city, which isterritorially one of the largest cities in the world, and only preventedfrom becoming the convenient metropolis of the country by the intrusivestrip of Camden and Amboy sand which shuts it off from the Atlanticocean.  It is a city of steady thrift, the arms of which might well bethe deliberate but delicious terrapin that imparts such a royal flavor toits feasts.It was a spring morning, and perhaps it was the influence of it that madeRuth a little restless, satisfied neither with the out-doors nor the in-doors.  Her sisters had gone to the city to show some country visitorsIndependence Hall, Girard College and Fairmount Water Works and Park,four objects which Americans cannot die peacefully, even in Naples,without having seen.  But Ruth confessed that she was tired of them, andalso of the Mint.  She was tired of other things.  She tried this morningan air or two upon the piano, sang a simple song in a sweet but slightlymetallic voice, and then seating herself by the open window, readPhilip's letter.  Was she thinking about Philip, as she gazed across thefresh lawn over the tree tops to the Chelton Hills, or of that worldwhich his entrance, into her tradition-bound life had been one of themeans of opening to her?  Whatever she thought, she was not idly musing,as one might see by the expression of her face.  After a time she took upa book ; it was a medical work, and to all appearance about asinteresting to a girl of eighteen as the statutes at large; but her facewas soon aglow over its pages, and she was so absorbed in it that she didnot notice the entrance of her mother at the open door."Ruth?""Well, mother," said the young student, looking up, with a shade ofimpatience."I wanted to talk with thee a little about thy plans.""Mother; thee knows I couldn't stand it at Westfield; the school stifledme, it's a place to turn young people into dried fruit.""I know," said Margaret Bolton, with a half anxious smile, thee chafesagainst all the ways of Friends, but what will thee do?  Why is thee sodiscontented?""If I must say it, mother, I want to go away, and get out of this deadlevel."With a look half of pain and half of pity, her mother answered, "I amsure thee is little interfered with; thee dresses as thee will, and goeswhere thee pleases, to any church thee likes, and thee has music.  I hada visit yesterday from the society's committee by way of discipline,because we have a piano in the house, which is against the rules.""I hope thee told the elders that father and I are responsible for thepiano, and that, much as thee loves music, thee is never in the room whenit is played.  Fortunately father is already out of meeting, so theycan't discipline him.  I heard father tell cousin Abner that he waswhipped so often for whistling when he was a boy that he was determinedto have what compensation he could get now.""Thy ways greatly try me, Ruth, and all thy relations.  I desire thyhappiness first of all, but thee is starting out on a dangerous path.Is thy father willing thee should go away to a school of the world'speople?""I have not asked him," Ruth replied with a look that might imply thatshe was one of those determined little bodies who first made up her ownmind and then compelled others to make up theirs in accordance with hers."And when thee has got the education thee wants, and lost all relish forthe society of thy friends and the ways of thy ancestors, what then?"Ruth turned square round to her mother, and with an impassive face andnot the slightest change of tone, said,"Mother, I'm going to study medicine?"Margaret Bolton almost lost for a moment her habitual placidity."Thee, study medicine!  A slight frail girl like thee, study medicine!Does thee think thee could stand it six months?  And the lectures,and the dissecting rooms, has thee thought of the dissecting rooms?""Mother," said Ruth calmly, "I have thought it all over.  I know I can gothrough the whole, clinics, dissecting room and all.  Does thee think Ilack nerve?  What is there to fear in a person dead more than in a personliving?""But thy health and strength, child; thee can never stand the severeapplication.  And, besides, suppose thee does learn medicine?""I will practice it.""Here?""Here.""Where thee and thy family are known?""If I can get patients.""I hope at least, Ruth, thee will let us know when thee opens an office,"said her mother, with an approach to sarcasm that she rarely indulged in,as she rose and left the room.Ruth sat quite still for a tine, with face intent and flushed.  It wasout now.  She had begun her open battle.The sight-seers returned in high spirits from the city.  Was there anybuilding in Greece to compare with Girard College, was there ever such amagnificent pile of stone devised for the shelter of poor orphans?  Thinkof the stone shingles of the roof eight inches thick!  Ruth asked theenthusiasts if they would like to live in such a sounding mausoleum, withits great halls and echoing rooms, and no comfortable place in it for theaccommodation of any body?  If they were orphans, would they like to bebrought up in a Grecian temple?And then there was Broad street!  Wasn't it the broadest and the longest-street in the world?  There certainly was no end to it, and even Ruth wasPhiladelphian enough to believe that a street ought not to have any end,or architectural point upon which the weary eye could rest.But neither St. Girard, nor Broad street, neither wonders of the Mint northe glories of the Hall where the ghosts of our fathers sit alwayssigning the Declaration; impressed the visitors so much as the splendorsof the Chestnut street windows, and the bargains on Eighth street.The truth is that the country cousins had come to town to attend theYearly Meeting, and the amount of shopping that preceded that religiousevent was scarcely exceeded by the preparations for the opera in moreworldly circles."Is thee going to the Yearly Meeting, Ruth?" asked one of the girls."I have nothing to wear," replied that demure person.  "If thee wants tosee new bonnets, orthodox to a shade and conformed to the letter of thetrue form, thee must go to the Arch Street Meeting.  Any departure fromeither color or shape would be instantly taken note of.  It has occupiedmother a long time, to find at the shops the exact shade for her newbonnet.  Oh, thee must go by all means.  But thee won't see there asweeter woman than mother.""And thee won't go?""Why should I?  I've been again and again.  If I go to Meeting at all Ilike best to sit in the quiet old house in Germantown, where the windowsare all open and I can see the trees, and hear the stir of the leaves.It's such a crush at the Yearly Meeting at Arch Street, and then there'sthe row of sleek-looking young men who line the curbstone and stare at usas we come out.  No, I don't feel at home there."That evening Ruth and her father sat late by the drawing-room fire, asthey were quite apt to do at night.  It was always a time of confidences."Thee has another letter from young Sterling," said Eli Bolton."Yes.  Philip has gone to the far west.""How far?""He doesn't say, but it's on the frontier, and on the map everythingbeyond it is marked 'Indians' and 'desert,' and looks as desolate as aWednesday Meeting.""Humph.  It was time for him to do something.  Is he going to start adaily newspaper among the Kick-a-poos?""Father, thee's unjust to Philip.  He's going into business.""What sort of business can a young man go into without capital?""He doesn't say exactly what it is," said Ruth a little dubiously, "butit's something about land and railroads, and thee knows, father, thatfortunes are made nobody knows exactly how, in a new country.""I should think so, you innocent puss, and in an old one too.  But Philipis honest, and he has talent enough, if he will stop scribbling, to makehis way.  But thee may as well take care of theeself, Ruth, and not godawdling along with a young man in his adventures, until thy own mind isa little more settled what thee wants."This excellent advice did not seem to impress Ruth greatly, for she waslooking away with that abstraction of vision which often came into hergrey eyes, and at length she exclaimed, with a sort of impatience,"I wish I could go west, or south, or somewhere.  What a box women areput into, measured for it, and put in young; if we go anywhere it's in abox, veiled and pinioned and shut in by disabilities.  Father, I shouldlike to break things and get loose!"What a sweet-voiced little innocent, it was to be sure."Thee will no doubt break things enough when thy time comes, child; womenalways have; but what does thee want now that thee hasn't?""I want to be something, to make myself something, to do something.  Whyshould I rust, and be stupid, and sit in inaction because I am a girl?What would happen to me if thee should lose thy property and die?  Whatone useful thing could I do for a living, for the support of mother andthe children?  And if I had a fortune, would thee want me to lead auseless life?""Has thy mother led a useless life?""Somewhat that depends upon whether her children amount to anything,"retorted the sharp little disputant.  "What's the good, father, of aseries of human beings who don't advance any?"Friend Eli, who had long ago laid aside the Quaker dress, and was out ofMeeting, and who in fact after a youth of doubt could not yet define hisbelief, nevertheless looked with some wonder at this fierce young eagleof his, hatched in a Friend's dove-cote.  But he only said,"Has thee consulted thy mother about a career, I suppose it is a careerthee wants?"Ruth did not reply directly; she complained that her mother didn'tunderstand her.  But that wise and placid woman understood the sweetrebel a great deal better than Ruth understood herself.  She also had ahistory, possibly, and had sometime beaten her young wings against thecage of custom, and indulged in dreams of a new social order, and hadpassed through that fiery period when it seems possible for one mind,which has not yet tried its limits, to break up and re-arrange the world.Ruth replied to Philip's letter in due time and in the most cordial andunsentimental manner.  Philip liked the letter, as he did everything shedid; but he had a dim notion that there was more about herself in theletter than about him.  He took it with him from the Southern Hotel, whenhe went to walk, and read it over and again in an unfrequented street ashe stumbled along. The rather common-place and unformed hand-writingseemed to him peculiar and characteristic, different from that of anyother woman.Ruth was glad to hear that Philip had made a push into the world, and shewas sure that his talent and courage would make a way for him.  Sheshould pray for his success at any rate, and especially that the Indians,in St. Louis, would not take his scalp.Philip looked rather dubious at this sentence, and wished that he hadwritten nothing about Indians.CHAPTER XV.Eli Bolton and his wife talked over Ruth's case, as they had often donebefore, with no little anxiety.  Alone of all their children she wasimpatient of the restraints and monotony of the Friends' Society, andwholly indisposed to accept the "inner light" as a guide into a life ofacceptance and inaction.  When Margaret told her husband of Ruth's newestproject, he did not exhibit so much surprise as she hoped for.  In facthe said that he did not see why a woman should not enter the medicalprofession if she felt a call to it."But," said Margaret, "consider her total inexperience of the world, andher frail health.  Can such a slight little body endure the ordeal of thepreparation for, or the strain of, the practice of the profession?""Did thee ever think, Margaret, whether, she can endure being thwarted inan, object on which she has so set her heart, as she has on this?  Theehas trained her thyself at home, in her enfeebled childhood, and theeknows how strong her will is, and what she has been able to accomplish inself-culture by the simple force of her determination.  She never will besatisfied until she has tried her own strength.""I wish," said Margaret, with an inconsequence that is not exclusivelyfeminine, "that she were in the way to fall in love and marry by and by.I think that would cure her of some of her notions.  I am not sure but ifshe went away, to some distant school, into an entirely new life, herthoughts would be diverted."Eli Bolton almost laughed as he regarded his wife, with eyes that neverlooked at her except fondly, and replied,"Perhaps thee remembers that thee had notions also, before we weremarried, and before thee became a member of Meeting.  I think Ruth comeshonestly by certain tendencies which thee has hidden under the Friend'sdress."Margaret could not say no to this, and while she paused, it was evidentthat memory was busy with suggestions to shake her present opinions."Why not let Ruth try the study for a time," suggested Eli; "there is afair beginning of a Woman's Medical College in the city.  Quite likelyshe will soon find that she needs first a more general culture, and fall,in with thy wish that she should see more of the world at some largeschool."There really seemed to be nothing else to be done, and Margaret consentedat length without approving.  And it was agreed that Ruth, in order tospare her fatigue, should take lodgings with friends near the college andmake a trial in the pursuit of that science to which we all owe ourlives, and sometimes as by a miracle of escape.That day Mr. Bolton brought home a stranger to dinner, Mr. Bigler of thegreat firm of Pennybacker, Bigler & Small, railroad contractors.  He wasalways bringing home somebody, who had a scheme; to build a road, or opena mine, or plant a swamp with cane to grow paper-stock, or found ahospital, or invest in a patent shad-bone separator, or start a collegesomewhere on the frontier, contiguous to a land speculation.The Bolton house was a sort of hotel for this kind of people.  They werealways coming.  Ruth had known them from childhood, and she used to saythat her father attracted them as naturally as a sugar hogshead doesflies.  Ruth had an idea that a large portion of the world lived bygetting the rest of the world into schemes.  Mr. Bolton never could say"no" to any of them, not even, said Ruth again, to the society forstamping oyster shells with scripture texts before they were sold atretail.Mr. Bigler's plan this time, about which he talked loudly, with his mouthfull, all dinner time, was the building of the Tunkhannock, Rattlesnakeand Youngwomans-town railroad, which would not only be a great highway tothe west, but would open to market inexhaustible coal-fields and untoldmillions of lumber.  The plan of operations was very simple."We'll buy the lands," explained he, "on long time, backed by the notesof good men; and then mortgage them for money enough to get the road wellon.  Then get the towns on the line to issue their bonds for stock, andsell their bonds for enough to complete the road, and partly stock it,especially if we mortgage each section as we complete it.  We can thensell the rest of the stock on the prospect of the business of the roadthrough an improved country, and also sell the lands at a big advance,on the strength of the road.  All we want," continued Mr. Bigler in hisfrank manner, "is a few thousand dollars to start the surveys, andarrange things in the legislature.  There is some parties will have to beseen, who might make us trouble.""It will take a good deal of money to start the enterprise," remarked Mr.Bolton, who knew very well what "seeing" a Pennsylvania Legislaturemeant, but was too polite to tell Mr. Bigler what he thought of him,while he was his guest; "what security would one have for it?"Mr. Bigler smiled a hard kind of smile, and said, "You'd be inside, Mr.Bolton, and you'd have the first chance in the deal."This was rather unintelligible to Ruth, who was nevertheless somewhatamused by the study of a type of character she had seen before.At length she interrupted the conversation by asking,"You'd sell the stock, I suppose, Mr. Bigler, to anybody who wasattracted by the prospectus?""O, certainly, serve all alike," said Mr. Bigler, now noticing Ruth forthe first time, and a little puzzled by the serene, intelligent face thatwas turned towards him."Well, what would become of the poor people who had been led to put theirlittle money into the speculation, when you got out of it and left ithalf way?"It would be no more true to say of Mr. Bigler that he was or could beembarrassed, than to say that a brass counterfeit dollar-piece wouldchange color when refused; the question annoyed him a little, in Mr.Bolton's presence."Why, yes, Miss, of course, in a great enterprise for the benefit of thecommunity there will little things occur, which, which--and, of course,the poor ought to be looked to; I tell my wife, that the poor must belooked to; if you can tell who are poor--there's so many impostors.  Andthen, there's so many poor in the legislature to be looked after," saidthe contractor with a sort of a chuckle, "isn't that so, Mr. Bolton?"Eli Bolton replied that he never had much to do with the legislature."Yes," continued this public benefactor, "an uncommon poor lot this year,uncommon.  Consequently an expensive lot.  The fact is, Mr. Bolton, thatthe price is raised so high on United States Senator now, that it affectsthe whole market; you can't get any public improvement through onreasonable terms.  Simony is what I call it, Simony," repeated Mr.Bigler, as if he had said a good thing.Mr. Bigler went on and gave some very interesting details of the intimateconnection between railroads and politics, and thoroughly entertainedhimself all dinner time, and as much disgusted Ruth, who asked no morequestions, and her father who replied in monosyllables:"I wish," said Ruth to her father, after the guest had gone, "that youwouldn't bring home any more such horrid men.  Do all men who wear bigdiamond breast-pins, flourish their knives at table, and use bad grammar,and cheat?""O, child, thee mustn't be too observing.  Mr. Bigler is one of the mostimportant men in the state; nobody has more influence at Harrisburg.I don't like him any more than thee does, but I'd better lend him alittle money than to have his ill will.""Father, I think thee'd better have his ill-will than his company.  Is ittrue that he gave money to help build the pretty little church ofSt. James the Less, and that he is, one of the vestrymen?""Yes.  He is not such a bad fellow.  One of the men in Third street askedhim the other day, whether his was a high church or a low church?  Biglersaid he didn't know; he'd been in it once, and he could touch the ceilingin the side aisle with his hand.""I think he's just horrid," was Ruth's final summary of him, after themanner of the swift judgment of women, with no consideration of theextenuating circumstances.  Mr. Bigler had no idea that he had not made agood impression on the whole family; he certainly intended to beagreeable.  Margaret agreed with her daughter, and though she never saidanything to such people, she was grateful to Ruth for sticking at leastone pin into him.Such was the serenity of the Bolton household that a stranger in it wouldnever have suspected there was any opposition to Ruth's going to theMedical School.  And she went quietly to take her residence in town, andbegan her attendance of the lectures, as if it were the most naturalthing in the world.  She did not heed, if she heard, the busy andwondering gossip of relations and acquaintances, gossip that has no lesscurrency among the Friends than elsewhere because it is whispered slylyand creeps about in an undertone.Ruth was absorbed, and for the first time in her life thoroughly happy;happy in the freedom of her life, and in the keen enjoyment of theinvestigation that broadened its field day by day.  She was in highspirits when she came home to spend First Days; the house was full of hergaiety and her merry laugh, and the children wished that Ruth would nevergo away again.  But her mother noticed, with a little anxiety, thesometimes flushed face, and the sign of an eager spirit in the kindlingeyes, and, as well, the serious air of determination and endurance in herface at unguarded moments.The college was a small one and it sustained itself not withoutdifficulty in this city, which is so conservative, and is yet the originof so many radical movements.  There were not more than a dozenattendants on the lectures all together, so that the enterprise had theair of an experiment, and the fascination of pioneering for those engagedin it.  There was one woman physician driving about town in her carriage,attacking the most violent diseases in all quarters with persistentcourage, like a modern Bellona in her war chariot, who was popularlysupposed to gather in fees to the amount ten to twenty thousand dollars ayear.  Perhaps some of these students looked forward to the near day whenthey would support such a practice and a husband besides, but it isunknown that any of them ever went further than practice in hospitals andin their own nurseries, and it is feared that some of them were quite asready as their sisters, in emergencies, to "call a man."If Ruth had any exaggerated expectations of a professional life, she keptthem to herself, and was known to her fellows of the class simply as acheerful, sincere student, eager in her investigations, and neverimpatient at anything, except an insinuation that women had not as muchmental capacity for science as men."They really say," said one young Quaker sprig to another youth of hisage, "that Ruth Bolton is really going to be a saw-bones, attendslectures, cuts up bodies, and all that.  She's cool enough for a surgeon,anyway."  He spoke feelingly, for he had very likely been weighed inRuth's calm eyes sometime, and thoroughly scared by the little laugh thataccompanied a puzzling reply to one of his conversational nothings.  Suchyoung gentlemen, at this time, did not come very distinctly into Ruth'shorizon, except as amusing circumstances.About the details of her student life, Ruth said very little to herfriends, but they had reason to know, afterwards, that it required allher nerve and the almost complete exhaustion of her physical strength,to carry her through.  She began her anatomical practice upon detachedportions of the human frame, which were brought into the demonstratingroom--dissecting the eye, the ear, and a small tangle of muscles andnerves--an occupation which had not much more savor of death in it thanthe analysis of a portion of a plant out of which the life went when itwas plucked up by the roots.  Custom inures the most sensitive persons tothat which is at first most repellant; and in the late war we saw themost delicate women, who could not at home endure the sight of blood,become so used to scenes of carnage, that they walked the hospitals andthe margins of battle-fields, amid the poor remnants of torn humanity,with as perfect self-possession as if they were strolling in a flowergarden.It happened that Ruth was one evening deep in a line of investigationwhich she could not finish or understand without demonstration, and soeager was she in it, that it seemed as if she could not wait till thenext day.  She, therefore, persuaded a fellow student, who was readingthat evening with her, to go down to the dissecting room of the college,and ascertain what they wanted to know by an hour's work there.  Perhaps,also, Ruth wanted to test her own nerve, and to see whether the power ofassociation was stronger in her mind than her own will.The janitor of the shabby and comfortless old building admitted thegirls, not without suspicion, and gave them lighted candles, which theywould need, without other remark than "there's a new one, Miss," as thegirls went up the broad stairs.They climbed to the third story, and paused before a door, which theyunlocked, and which admitted them into a long apartment, with a row ofwindows on one side and one at the end.  The room was without light, savefrom the stars and the candles the girls carried, which revealed to themdimly two long and several small tables, a few benches and chairs, acouple of skeletons hanging on the wall, a sink, and cloth-covered heapsof something upon the tables here and there.The windows were open, and the cool night wind came in strong enough toflutter a white covering now and then, and to shake the loose casements.But all the sweet odors of the night could not take from the room a faintsuggestion of mortality.The young ladies paused a moment.  The room itself was familiar enough,but night makes almost any chamber eerie, and especially such a room ofdetention as this where the mortal parts of the unburied might--almost besupposed to be, visited, on the sighing night winds, by the wanderingspirits of their late tenants.Opposite and at some distance across the roofs of lower buildings, thegirls saw a tall edifice, the long upper story of which seemed to be adancing hall.  The windows of that were also open, and through them theyheard the scream of the jiggered and tortured violin, and the pump, pumpof the oboe, and saw the moving shapes of men and women in quicktransition, and heard the prompter's drawl."I wonder," said Ruth, "what the girls dancing there would think if theysaw us, or knew that there was such a room as this so near them."She did not speak very loud, and, perhaps unconsciously, the girls drewnear to each other as they approached the long table in the centre of theroom.  A straight object lay upon it, covered with a sheet.  This wasdoubtless "the new one" of which the janitor spoke.  Ruth advanced, andwith a not very steady hand lifted the white covering from the upper partof the figure and turned it down.  Both the girls started.  It was anegro.  The black face seemed to defy the pallor of death, and assertedan ugly life-likeness that was frightful.Ruth was as pale as the white sheet, and her comrade whispered, "Comeaway, Ruth, it is awful."Perhaps it was the wavering light of the candles, perhaps it was only theagony from a death of pain, but the repulsive black face seemed to wear ascowl that said, "Haven't you yet done with the outcast, persecuted blackman, but you must now haul him from his grave, and send even your womento dismember his body?"Who is this dead man, one of thousands who died yesterday, and will bedust anon, to protest that science shall not turn his worthless carcassto some account?Ruth could have had no such thought, for with a pity in her sweet face,that for the moment overcame fear and disgust, she reverently replacedthe covering, and went away to her own table, as her companion did tohers.  And there for an hour they worked at their several problems,without speaking, but not without an awe of the presence there, "the newone," and not without an awful sense of life itself, as they heard thepulsations of the music and the light laughter from the dancing-hall.When, at length, they went away, and locked the dreadful room behindthem, and came out into the street, where people were passing, they, forthe first time, realized, in the relief they felt, what a nervous strainthey had been under.CHAPTER XVI.While Ruth was thus absorbed in her new occupation, and the spring waswearing away, Philip and his friends were still detained at the SouthernHotel.  The great contractors had concluded their business with the stateand railroad officials and with the lesser contractors, and departed forthe East.  But the serious illness of one of the engineers kept Philipand Henry in the city and occupied in alternate watchings.Philip wrote to Ruth of the new acquaintance they had made, Col. Sellers,an enthusiastic and hospitable gentleman, very much interested in thedevelopment of the country, and in their success.  They had not had anopportunity to visit at his place "up in the country" yet, but theColonel often dined with them, and in confidence, confided to them hisprojects, and seemed to take a great liking to them, especially to hisfriend Harry.  It was true that he never seemed to have ready money,but he was engaged in very large operations.The correspondence was not very brisk between these two young persons,so differently occupied; for though Philip wrote long letters, he gotbrief ones in reply, full of sharp little observations however, such asone concerning Col. Sellers, namely, that such men dined at their houseevery week.Ruth's proposed occupation astonished Philip immensely, but while heargued it and discussed it, he did not dare hint to her his fear that itwould interfere with his most cherished plans.  He too sincerelyrespected Ruth's judgment to make any protest, however, and he would havedefended her course against the world.This enforced waiting at St. Louis was very irksome to Philip.  His moneywas running away, for one thing, and he longed to get into the field,and see for himself what chance there was for a fortune or even anoccupation.  The contractors had given the young men leave to join theengineer corps as soon as they could, but otherwise had made no provisionfor them, and in fact had left them with only the most indefiniteexpectations of something large in the future.Harry was entirely happy; in his circumstances.  He very soon kneweverybody, from the governor of the state down to the waiters at thehotel.  He had the Wall street slang at his tongue's end; he alwaystalked like a capitalist, and entered with enthusiasm into all the landand railway schemes with which the air was thick.Col. Sellers and Harry talked together by the hour and by the day.  Harryinformed his new friend that he was going out with the engineer corps ofthe Salt Lick Pacific Extension, but that wasn't his real business."I'm to have, with another party," said Harry, "a big contract in theroad, as soon as it is let; and, meantime, I'm with the engineers to spyout the best land and the depot sites.""It's everything," suggested' the Colonel, "in knowing where to invest.I've known people throwaway their money because they  were tooconsequential to take Sellers' advice.  Others, again, have made theirpile on taking it.  I've looked over the ground; I've been studying itfor twenty years.  You can't put your finger on a spot in the map ofMissouri that I don't know as if I'd made it.  When you want to placeanything," continued the Colonel, confidently, "just let Beriah Sellersknow.  That's all.""Oh, I haven't got much in ready money I can lay my hands on now, but ifa fellow could do anything with fifteen or twenty thousand dollars,as a beginning, I shall draw for that when I see the right opening.""Well, that's something, that's something, fifteen or twenty thousanddollars, say twenty--as an advance," said the Colonel reflectively, as ifturning over his mind for a project that could be entered on with such atrifling sum."I'll tell you what it is--but only to you Mr. Brierly, only to you,mind; I've got a little project that I've been keeping.  It looks small,looks small on paper, but it's got a big future.  What should you say,sir, to a city, built up like the rod of Aladdin had touched it, built upin two years, where now you wouldn't expect it any more than you'd expecta light-house on the top of Pilot Knob? and you could own the land!  Itcan be done, sir.  It can be done!"The Colonel hitched up his chair close to Harry, laid his hand on hisknee, and, first looking about him, said in a low voice, "The Salt LickPacific Extension is going to run through Stone's Landing!  The Almightynever laid out a cleaner piece of level prairie for a city; and it's thenatural center of all that region of hemp and tobacco.""What makes you think the road will go there?  It's twenty miles, on themap, off the straight line of the road?""You can't tell what is the straight line till the engineers have beenover it.  Between us, I have talked with Jeff Thompson, the divisionengineer.  He understands the wants of Stone's Landing, and the claims ofthe inhabitants--who are to be there.  Jeff says that a railroad is for-the accommodation of the people and not for the benefit of gophers; andif, he don't run this to Stone's Landing he'll be damned!  You ought toknow Jeff; he's one of the most enthusiastic engineers in this westerncountry, and one of the best fellows that ever looked through the bottomof a glass."The recommendation was not undeserved.  There was nothing that Jeffwouldn't do, to accommodate a friend, from sharing his last dollar withhim, to winging him in a duel.  When he understood from Col. Sellers.how the land lay at Stone's Landing, he cordially shook hands with thatgentleman, asked him to drink, and fairly roared out, "Why, God bless mysoul, Colonel, a word from one Virginia gentleman to another is 'nuffced.'  There's Stone's Landing been waiting for a railroad more than fourthousand years, and damme if she shan't have it."Philip had not so much faith as Harry in Stone's Landing, when the latteropened the project to him, but Harry talked about it as if he alreadyowned that incipient city.Harry thoroughly believed in all his projects and inventions, and livedday by day in their golden atmosphere.  Everybody liked the young fellow,for how could they help liking one of such engaging manners and largefortune?  The waiters at the hotel would do more for him than for anyother guest, and he made a great many acquaintances among the people ofSt. Louis, who liked his sensible and liberal views about the developmentof the western country, and about St. Louis.  He said it ought to be thenational capital.  Harry made partial arrangements with several of themerchants for furnishing supplies for his contract on the Salt LickPacific Extension; consulted the maps with the engineers, and went overthe profiles with the contractors, figuring out estimates for bids.He was exceedingly busy with those things when he was not at the bedsideof his sick acquaintance, or arranging the details of his speculationwith Col. Sellers.Meantime the days went along and the weeks, and the money in Harry'spocket got lower and lower.  He was just as liberal with what he had asbefore, indeed it was his nature to be free with his money or with thatof others, and he could lend or spend a dollar with an air that made itseem like ten.  At length, at the end of one week, when his hotel billwas presented, Harry found not a cent in his pocket to meet it.  Hecarelessly remarked to the landlord that he was not that day in funds,but he would draw on New York, and he sat down and wrote to thecontractors in that city a glowing letter about the prospects of theroad, and asked them to advance a hundred or two, until he got at work.No reply came.  He wrote again, in an unoffended business like tone,suggesting that he had better draw at three days.  A short answer came tothis, simply saying that money was very tight in Wall street just then,and that he had better join the engineer corps as soon as he could.But the bill had to be paid, and Harry took it to Philip, and asked himif he thought he hadn't better draw on his uncle.  Philip had not muchfaith in Harry's power of "drawing," and told him that he would pay thebill himself.  Whereupon Harry dismissed the matter then and thereafterfrom his thoughts, and, like a light-hearted good fellow as he was, gavehimself no more trouble about his board-bills.  Philip paid them, swollenas they were with a monstrous list of extras; but he seriously countedthe diminishing bulk of his own hoard, which was all the money he had inthe world.  Had he not tacitly agreed to share with Harry to the last inthis adventure, and would not the generous fellow divide; with him if he,Philip, were in want and Harry had anything?The fever at length got tired of tormenting the stout young engineer, wholay sick at the hotel, and left him, very thin, a little sallow but an"acclimated" man.  Everybody said he was "acclimated" now, and said itcheerfully.  What it is to be acclimated to western fevers no two personsexactly agree.Some say it is a sort of vaccination that renders death by some malignanttype of fever less probable.  Some regard it as a sort of initiation,like that into the Odd Fellows, which renders one liable to his regulardues thereafter.  Others consider it merely the acquisition of a habit oftaking every morning before breakfast a dose of bitters, composed ofwhiskey and assafoetida, out of the acclimation jug.Jeff Thompson afterwards told Philip that he once asked Senator Atchison,then acting Vice-President: of the United States, about the possibilityof acclimation; he thought the opinion of the second officer of our greatgovernment would be, valuable on this point.  They were sitting togetheron a bench before a country tavern, in the free converse permitted by ourdemocratic habits."I suppose, Senator, that you have become acclimated to this country?""Well," said the Vice-President, crossing his legs, pulling his wide-awake down over his forehead, causing a passing chicken to hop quicklyone side by the accuracy of his aim, and speaking with senatorialdeliberation, "I think I have.  I've been here twenty-five years, anddash, dash my dash to dash, if I haven't entertained twenty-five separateand distinct earthquakes, one a year.  The niggro is the only person whocan stand the fever and ague of this region."The convalescence of the engineer was the signal for breaking up quartersat St. Louis, and the young fortune-hunters started up the river in goodspirits.  It was only the second time either of them had been upon aMississippi steamboat, and nearly everything they saw had the charm ofnovelty.  Col. Sellers was at the landing to bid thorn good-bye."I shall send you up that basket of champagne by the next boat; no, no;no thanks; you'll find it not bad in camp," he cried out as the plank washauled in.  "My respects to Thompson.  Tell him to sight for Stone's.Let me know, Mr. Brierly, when you are ready to locate; I'll come overfrom Hawkeye.  Goodbye."And the last the young fellows saw of the Colonel, he was waving his hat,and beaming prosperity and good luck.The voyage was delightful, and was not long enough to become monotonous.The travelers scarcely had time indeed to get accustomed to the splendorsof the great saloon where the tables were spread for meals, a marvel ofpaint and gilding, its ceiling hung with fancifully cut tissue-paper ofmany colors, festooned and arranged in endless patterns.  The whole wasmore beautiful than a barber's shop.  The printed bill of fare at dinnerwas longer and more varied, the proprietors justly boasted, than that ofany hotel in New York.  It must have been the work of an author of talentand imagination, and it surely was not his fault if the dinner itself wasto a certain extent a delusion, and if the guests got something thattasted pretty much the same whatever dish they ordered; nor was it hisfault if a general flavor of rose in all the dessert dishes suggestedthat they hid passed through the barber's saloon on their way from thekitchen.The travelers landed at a little settlement on the left bank, and at oncetook horses for the camp in the interior, carrying their clothes andblankets strapped behind the saddles.  Harry was dressed as we have seenhim once before, and his long and shining boots attracted not a littlethe attention of the few persons they met on the road, and especially ofthe bright faced wenches who lightly stepped along the highway,picturesque in their colored kerchiefs, carrying light baskets, or ridingupon mules and balancing before them a heavier load.Harry sang fragments of operas and talked abort their fortune.  Philipeven was excited by the sense of freedom and adventure, and the beauty ofthe landscape.  The prairie, with its new grass and unending acres ofbrilliant flowers--chiefly the innumerable varieties of phlox-bore thelook of years of cultivation, and the occasional open groves of whiteoaks gave it a park-like appearance.  It was hardly unreasonable toexpect to see at any moment, the gables and square windows of anElizabethan mansion in one of the well kept groves.Towards sunset of the third day, when the young gentlemen thought theyought to be near the town of Magnolia, near which they had been directedto find the engineers' camp, they descried a log house and drew up beforeit to enquire the way.  Half the building was store, and half wasdwelling house.  At the door of the latter stood a regress with a brightturban on her head, to whom Philip called,"Can you tell me, auntie, how far it is to the town of Magnolia?""Why, bress you chile," laughed the woman, "you's dere now."It was true.  This log horse was the compactly built town, and allcreation was its suburbs.  The engineers' camp was only two or threemiles distant."You's boun' to find it," directed auntie, "if you don't keah nuffin'bout de road, and go fo' de sun-down."A brisk gallop brought the riders in sight of the twinkling light of thecamp, just as the stars came out.  It lay in a little hollow, where asmall stream ran through a sparse grove of young white oaks.  A halfdozen tents were pitched under the trees, horses and oxen were corraledat a little distance, and a group of men sat on camp stools or lay onblankets about a bright fire.  The twang of a banjo became audible asthey drew nearer, and they saw a couple of negroes, from some neighboringplantation, "breaking down" a juba in approved style, amid the "hi, hi's"of the spectators.Mr. Jeff Thompson, for it was the camp of this redoubtable engineer, gavethe travelers a hearty welcome, offered them ground room in his own tent,ordered supper, and set out a small jug, a drop from which he declarednecessary on account of the chill of the evening."I never saw an Eastern man," said Jeff, "who knew how to drink from ajug with one hand.  It's as easy as lying.  So."  He grasped the handlewith the right hand, threw the jug back upon his arm, and applied hislips to the nozzle.  It was an act as graceful as it was simple."Besides," said Mr. Thompson, setting it down, "it puts every man on hishonor as to quantity."Early to turn in was the rule of the camp, and by nine o'clock everybodywas under his blanket, except Jeff himself, who worked awhile at histable over his field-book, and then arose, stepped outside the tent doorand sang, in a strong and not unmelodious tenor, the Star Spangled Bannerfrom beginning to end.  It proved to be his nightly practice to let offthe unexpended seam of his conversational powers, in the words of thisstirring song.It was a long time before Philip got to sleep.  He saw the fire light,he saw the clear stars through the tree-tops, he heard the gurgle of thestream, the stamp of the horses, the occasional barking of the dog whichfollowed the cook's wagon, the hooting of an owl; and when these failedhe saw Jeff, standing on a battlement, mid the rocket's red ,glare, andheard him sing, "Oh, say, can you see?", It was the first time he hadever slept on the ground.CHAPTER XVII.          ----"We have view'd it,          And measur'd it within all, by the scale          The richest tract of land, love, in the kingdom!          There will be made seventeen or eighteeen millions,          Or more, as't may be handled!                              The Devil is an Ass.Nobody dressed more like an engineer than Mr. Henry Brierly.  Thecompleteness of his appointments was the envy of the corps, and the gayfellow himself was the admiration of the camp servants, axemen, teamstersand cooks."I reckon you didn't git them boots no wher's this side o' Sent Louis?"queried the tall Missouri youth who acted as commissariy's assistant."No, New York.""Yas, I've heern o' New York," continued the butternut lad, attentivelystudying each item of Harry's dress, and endeavoring to cover his designwith interesting conversation.  "'N there's Massachusetts.","It's not far off.""I've heern Massachusetts was a ----- of a place.  Les, see, what state'sMassachusetts in?""Massachusetts," kindly replied Harry, "is in the state of Boston.""Abolish'n wan't it?  They must a cost right smart," referring to theboots.Harry shouldered his rod and went to the field, tramped over the prairieby day, and figured up results at night, with the utmost cheerfulness andindustry, and plotted the line on the profile paper, without, however,the least idea of engineering practical or theoretical.  Perhaps therewas not a great deal of scientific knowledge in the entire corps, nor wasvery much needed.  They were making, what is called a preliminary survey,and the chief object of a preliminary survey was to get up an excitementabout the road, to interest every town in that part of the state in it,under the belief that the road would run through it, and to get the aidof every planter upon the prospect that a station would be on his land.Mr. Jeff Thompson was the most popular engineer who could be found forthis work.  He did not bother himself much about details orpracticabilities of location, but ran merrily along, sighting from thetop of one divide to the top of another, and striking "plumb" every townsite and big plantation within twenty or thirty miles of his route.  Inhis own language he "just went booming."This course gave Harry an opportunity, as he said, to learn the practicaldetails of engineering, and it gave Philip a chance to see the country,and to judge for himself what prospect of a fortune it offered.  Both heand Harry got the "refusal" of more than one plantation as they wentalong, and wrote urgent letters to their eastern correspondents, upon thebeauty of the land and the certainty that it would quadruple in value assoon as the road was finally located.  It seemed strange to them thatcapitalists did not flock out there and secure this land.They had not been in the field over two weeks when Harry wrote to hisfriend Col. Sellers that he'd better be on the move, for the line wascertain to go to Stone's Landing.  Any one who looked at the line on themap, as it was laid down from day to day, would have been uncertain whichway it was going; but Jeff had declared that in his judgment the onlypracticable route from the point they then stood on was to follow thedivide to Stone's Landing, and it was generally understood that that townwould be the next one hit."We'll make it, boys," said the chief, "if we have to go in a balloon."And make it they did In less than a week, this indomitable engineer hadcarried his moving caravan over slues and branches, across bottoms andalong divides, and pitched his tents in the very heart of the city ofStone's Landing."Well, I'll be dashed," was heard the cheery voice of Mr. Thompson, as hestepped outside the tent door at sunrise next morning.  "If this don'tget me.  I say, yon, Grayson, get out your sighting iron and see if youcan find old Sellers' town.  Blame me if we wouldn't have run plumb by itif twilight had held on a little longer.  Oh!  Sterling, Brierly, get upand see the city.  There's a steamboat just coming round the bend."  AndJeff roared with laughter.  "The mayor'll be round here to breakfast."The fellows turned out of the tents, rubbing their eyes, and stared aboutthem.  They were camped on the second bench of the narrow bottom of acrooked, sluggish stream, that was some five rods wide in the presentgood stage of water.  Before them were a dozen log cabins, with stick andmud chimneys, irregularly disposed on either side of a not very welldefined road, which did not seem to know its own mind exactly, and, afterstraggling through the town, wandered off over the rolling prairie in anuncertain way, as if it had started for nowhere and was quite likely toreach its destination.  Just as it left the town, however, it was cheeredand assisted by a guide-board, upon which was the legend "10 Mils toHawkeye."The road had never been made except by the travel over it, and at thisseason--the rainy June--it was a way of ruts cut in the black soil, andof fathomless mud-holes.  In the principal street of the city, it hadreceived more attention; for hogs; great and small, rooted about in itand wallowed in it, turning the street into a liquid quagmire which couldonly be crossed on pieces of plank thrown here and there.About the chief cabin, which was the store and grocery of this mart oftrade, the mud was more liquid than elsewhere, and the rude platform infront of it and the dry-goods boxes mounted thereon were places of refugefor all the loafers of the place.  Down by the stream was a dilapidatedbuilding which served for a hemp warehouse, and a shaky wharf extendedout from it, into the water.  In fact a flat-boat was there moored by it,it's setting poles lying across the gunwales.  Above the town the streamwas crossed by a crazy wooden bridge, the supports of which leaned allways in the soggy soil; the absence of a plank here and there in theflooring made the crossing of the bridge faster than a walk an offensenot necessary to be prohibited by law."This, gentlemen," said Jeff, "is Columbus River, alias Goose Run.  If itwas widened, and deepened, and straightened, and  made, long enough, itwould be one of the finest rivers in the western country."As the sun rose and sent his level beams along the stream, the thinstratum of mist, or malaria, rose also and dispersed, but the light wasnot able to enliven the dull water nor give any hint of its apparentlyfathomless depth.  Venerable mud-turtles crawled up and roosted upon theold logs in the stream, their backs glistening in the sun, the firstinhabitants of the metropolis to begin the active business of the day.It was not long, however, before smoke began to issue from the citychimnies; and before the engineers, had finished their breakfast theywere the object of the curious inspection of six or eight boys and men,who lounged into the camp and gazed about them with languid interest,their hands in their pockets every one."Good morning; gentlemen," called out the chief engineer, from the table."Good mawning," drawled out the spokesman of the party.  "I allow thish-yers the railroad, I heern it was a-comin'.""Yes, this is the railroad; all but the rails and the ironhorse.""I reckon you kin git all the rails you want oaten my white oak timberover, thar," replied the first speaker, who appeared to be a man ofproperty and willing to strike up a trade."You'll have to negotiate with the contractors about the rails, sir,"said Jeff; "here's Mr. Brierly, I've no doubt would like to buy yourrails when the time comes.""O," said the man, "I thought maybe you'd fetch the whole bilin alongwith you.  But if you want rails, I've got em, haint I Eph.""Heaps," said Eph, without taking his eyes off the group at the table."Well," said Mr. Thompson, rising from his seat and moving towards histent, "the railroad has come to Stone's Landing, sure; I move we take adrink on it all round."The proposal met with universal favor.  Jeff gave prosperity to Stone'sLanding and navigation to Goose Run, and the toast was washed down withgusto, in the simple fluid of corn; and with the return compliment that arail road was a good thing, and that Jeff Thompson was no slouch.About ten o'clock a horse and wagon was descried making a slow approachto the camp over the prairie.  As it drew near, the wagon was seen tocontain a portly gentleman, who hitched impatiently forward on his seat,shook the reins and gently touched up his horse, in the vain attempt tocommunicate his own energy to that dull beast, and looked eagerly at thetents.  When the conveyance at length drew up to Mr. Thompson's door,the gentleman descended with great deliberation, straightened himself up,rubbed his hands, and beaming satisfaction from every part of his radiantframe, advanced to the group that was gathered to welcome him, and whichhad saluted him by name as soon as he came within hearing."Welcome to Napoleon, gentlemen, welcome.  I am proud to see you hereMr. Thompson.  You are, looking well Mr. Sterling.  This is the country,sir.  Right glad to see you Mr. Brierly.  You got that basket ofchampagne?  No?  Those blasted river thieves!  I'll never send anythingmore by 'em.  The best brand, Roederer.  The last I had in my cellar,from a lot sent me by Sir George Gore--took him out on a buffalo hunt,when he visited our, country.  Is always sending me some trifle.  Youhaven't looked about any yet, gentlemen?  It's in the rough yet, in therough.  Those buildings will all have to come down.  That's the place forthe public square, Court House, hotels, churches, jail--all that sort ofthing.  About where we stand, the deepo.  How does that strike yourengineering eye, Mr. Thompson?  Down yonder the business streets, runningto the wharves.  The University up there, on rising ground, sightlyplace, see the river for miles.  That's Columbus river, only forty-ninemiles to the Missouri.  You see what it is, placid, steady, no current tointerfere with navigation, wants widening in places and dredging, dredgeout the harbor and raise a levee in front of the town; made by nature onpurpose for a mart.  Look at all this country, not another buildingwithin ten miles, no other navigable stream, lay of the land points righthere; hemp, tobacco, corn, must come here.  The railroad will do it,Napoleon won't know itself in a year.""Don't now evidently," said Philip aside to Harry.  "Have you breakfastedColonel?""Hastily.  Cup of coffee.  Can't trust any coffee I don't import myself.But I put up a basket of provisions,--wife would put in a few delicacies,women always will, and a half dozen of that Burgundy, I was telling youof Mr. Briefly.  By the way, you never got to dine with me."  And theColonel strode away to the wagon and looked under the seat for thebasket.Apparently it was not there.  For the Colonel raised up the flap, lookedin front and behind, and then exclaimed,"Confound it.  That comes of not doing a thing yourself.  I trusted tothe women folks to set that basket in the wagon, and it ain't there."The camp cook speedily prepared a savory breakfast for the Colonel,broiled chicken, eggs, corn-bread, and coffee, to which he did amplejustice, and topped  off with a drop of Old Bourbon, from Mr. Thompson'sprivate store, a brand which he said he knew well, he should think itcame from his own sideboard.While the engineer corps went to the field, to run back a couple of milesand ascertain, approximately, if a road could ever get down to theLanding, and to sight ahead across the Run, and see if it could ever getout again, Col. Sellers and Harry sat down and began to roughly map outthe city of Napoleon on a large piece of drawing paper."I've got the refusal of a mile square here," said the Colonel, "in ournames, for a year, with a quarter interest reserved for the four owners."They laid out the town liberally, not lacking room, leaving space for therailroad to come in, and for the river as it was to be when improved.The engineers reported that the railroad could come in, by taking alittle sweep and crossing the stream on a high bridge, but the gradeswould be steep.  Col. Sellers said he didn't care so much about thegrades, if the road could only be made to reach the elevators on theriver.  The next day Mr. Thompson made a hasty survey of the stream for amile or two, so that the Colonel and Harry were enabled to show on theirmap how nobly that would accommodate the city.  Jeff took a littlewriting from the Colonel and Harry for a prospective share but Philipdeclined to join in, saying that he had no money, and didn't want to makeengagements he couldn't fulfill.The next morning the camp moved on, followed till it was out of sight bythe listless eyes of the group in front of the store, one of whomremarked that, "he'd be doggoned if he ever expected to see that railroadany mo'."Harry went with the Colonel to Hawkeye to complete their arrangements, apart of which was the preparation of a petition to congress for theimprovement of the navigation of Columbus River.CHAPTER XVIII.Eight years have passed since the death of Mr. Hawkins.  Eight years arenot many in the life of a nation or the history of a state, but theymaybe years of destiny that shall fix the current of the centuryfollowing.  Such years were those that followed the little scrimmage onLexington Common.  Such years were those that followed the double-shotteddemand for the surrender of Fort Sumter.  History is never done withinquiring of these years, and summoning witnesses about them, and tryingto understand their significance.The eight years in America from 1860 to 1868 uprooted institutions thatwere centuries old, changed the politics of a people, transformed thesocial life of half the country, and wrought so profoundly upon theentire national character that the influence cannot be measured short oftwo or three generations.As we are accustomed to interpret the economy of providence, the life ofthe individual is as nothing to that of the nation or the race; but whocan say, in the broader view and the more intelligent weight of values,that the life of one man is not more than that of a nationality, and thatthere is not a tribunal where the tragedy of one human soul shall notseem more significant than the overturning of any human institutionwhatever?When one thinks of the tremendous forces of the upper and the netherworld which play for the mastery of the soul of a woman during the fewyears in which she passes from plastic girlhood to the ripe maturity ofwomanhood, he may well stand in awe before the momentous drama.What capacities she has of purity, tenderness, goodness; what capacitiesof vileness, bitterness and evil.  Nature must needs be lavish with themother and creator of men, and centre in her all the possibilities oflife.  And a few critical years can decide whether her life is to be fullof sweetness and light, whether she is to be the vestal of a holy temple,or whether she will be the fallen priestess of a desecrated shrine.There are women, it is true, who seem to be capable neither of risingmuch nor of falling much, and whom a conventional life saves from anyspecial development of character.But Laura was not one of them.  She had the fatal gift of beauty, andthat more fatal gift which does not always accompany mere beauty, thepower of fascination, a power that may, indeed, exist without beauty.She had will, and pride and courage and ambition, and she was left to bevery much her own guide at the age when romance comes to the aid ofpassion, and when the awakening powers of her vigorous mind had littleobject on which to discipline themselves.The tremendous conflict that was fought in this girl's soul none of thoseabout her knew, and very few knew that her life had in it anythingunusual or romantic or strange.Those were troublous days in Hawkeye as well as in most other Missouritowns, days of confusion, when between Unionist and Confederateoccupations, sudden maraudings and bush-whackings and raids, individualsescaped observation or comment in actions that would have filled the townwith scandal in quiet times.Fortunately we only need to deal with Laura's life at this periodhistorically, and look back upon such portions of it as will serve toreveal the woman as she was at the time of the arrival of Mr. HarryBrierly in Hawkeye.The Hawkins family were settled there, and had a hard enough strugglewith poverty and the necessity of keeping up appearances in accord withtheir own family pride and the large expectations they secretly cherishedof a fortune in the Knobs of East Tennessee.  How pinched they wereperhaps no one knew but Clay, to whom they looked for almost their wholesupport.  Washington had been in Hawkeye off and on, attracted awayoccasionally by some tremendous speculation, from which he invariablyreturned to Gen. Boswell's office as poor as he went.  He was theinventor of no one knew how many useless contrivances, which were notworth patenting, and his years had been passed in dreaming and planningto no purpose; until he was now a man of about thirty, without aprofession or a permanent occupation, a tall, brown-haired, dreamy personof the best intentions and the frailest resolution.  Probably howeverthe, eight years had been happier to him than to any others in hiscircle, for the time had been mostly spent in a blissful dream of thecoming of enormous wealth.He went out with a company from Hawkeye to the war, and was not wantingin courage, but be would have been a better soldier if he had been lessengaged in contrivances for circumventing the enemy by strategy unknownto the books.It happened to him to be captured in one of his self-appointedexpeditions, but the federal colonel released him, after a shortexamination, satisfied that he could most injure the confederate forcesopposed to the Unionists by returning him to his regiment.  Col. Sellerswas of course a prominent man during the war.  He was captain of the homeguards in Hawkeye, and he never left home except upon one occasion, whenon the strength of a rumor, he executed a flank movement and fortifiedStone's Landing, a place which no one unacquainted with the country wouldbe likely to find."Gad," said the Colonel afterwards, "the Landing is the key to upperMissouri, and it is the only place the enemy never captured.  If otherplaces had been defended as well as that was, the result would have beendifferent, sir."The Colonel had his own theories about war as he had in other things.If everybody had stayed at home as he did, he said, the South never wouldhave been conquered.  For what would there have been to conquer?  Mr.Jeff Davis was constantly writing him to take command of a corps in theconfederate army, but Col. Sellers said, no, his duty was at home.  Andhe was by no means idle.  He was the inventor of the famous air torpedo,which came very near destroying the Union armies in Missouri, and thecity of St. Louis itself.His plan was to fill a torpedo with Greek fire and poisonous and deadlymissiles, attach it to a balloon, and then let it sail away over thehostile camp and explode at the right moment, when the time-fuse burnedout.  He intended to use this invention in the capture of St. Louis,exploding his torpedoes over the city, and raining destruction upon ituntil the army of occupation would gladly capitulate.  He was unable toprocure the Greek fire, but he constructed a vicious torpedo which wouldhave answered the purpose, but the first one prematurely exploded in hiswood-house, blowing it clean away, and setting fire to his house.  Theneighbors helped him put out the conflagration, but they discouraged anymore experiments of that sort.The patriotic old gentleman, however, planted so much powder and so manyexplosive contrivances in the roads leading into Hawkeye, and then forgotthe exact spots of danger, that people were afraid to travel thehighways, and used to come to town across the fields, The Colonel's mottowas, "Millions for defence but not one cent for tribute."When Laura came to Hawkeye she might have forgotten the annoyances of thegossips of Murpheysburg and have out lived the bitterness that wasgrowing in her heart, if she had been thrown less upon herself, or if thesurroundings of her life had been more congenial and helpful.  But shehad little society, less and less as she grew older that was congenial toher, and her mind preyed upon itself; and the mystery of her birth atonce chagrined her and raised in her the most extravagant expectations.She was proud and she felt the sting of poverty.  She could not but beconscious of her beauty also, and she was vain of that, and came to takea sort of delight in the exercise of her fascinations upon the ratherloutish young men who came in her way and whom she despised.There was another world opened to her--a world of books.  But it was notthe best world of that sort, for the small libraries she had access to inHawkeye were decidedly miscellaneous, and largely made up of romances andfictions which fed her imagination with the most exaggerated notions oflife, and showed her men and women in a very false sort of heroism.  Fromthese stories she learned what a woman of keen intellect and some culturejoined to beauty and fascination of manner, might expect to accomplish insociety as she read of it; and along with these ideas she imbibed othervery crude ones in regard to the emancipation of woman.There were also other books-histories, biographies of distinguishedpeople, travels in far lands, poems, especially those of Byron, Scott andShelley and Moore, which she eagerly absorbed, and appropriated therefromwhat was to her liking.  Nobody in Hawkeye had read so much or, after afashion, studied so diligently as Laura.  She passed for an accomplishedgirl, and no doubt thought herself one, as she was, judged by anystandard near her.During the war there came to Hawkeye a confederate officer, Col. Selby,who was stationed there for a time, in command of that district.  He wasa handsome, soldierly man of thirty years, a graduate of the Universityof Virginia, and of distinguished family, if his story might be believed,and, it was evident, a man of the world and of extensive travel andadventure.To find in such an out of the way country place a woman like Laura was apiece of good luck upon which Col. Selby congratulated himself.  He wasstudiously polite to her and treated her with a consideration to whichshe was unaccustomed.  She had read of such men, but she had never seenone before, one so high-bred, so noble in sentiment, so entertaining inconversation, so engaging in manner.It is a long story; unfortunately it is an old story, and it need not bedwelt on.  Laura loved him, and believed that his love for her was aspure and deep as her own.  She worshipped him and would have counted herlife a little thing to give him, if he would only love her and let herfeed the hunger of her heart upon him.The passion possessed her whole being, and lifted her up, till she seemedto walk on air.  It was all true, then, the romances she had read, thebliss of love she had dreamed of.  Why had she never noticed before howblithesome the world was, how jocund with love; the birds sang it, thetrees whispered it to her as she passed, the very flowers beneath herfeet strewed the way as for a bridal march.When the Colonel went away they were engaged to be married, as soon as hecould make certain arrangements which he represented to be necessary, andquit the army.  He wrote to her from Harding, a small town in thesouthwest corner of the state, saying that he should be held in theservice longer than he had expected, but that it would not be more than afew months, then he should be at liberty to take her to Chicago where hehad property, and should have business, either now or as soon as the warwas over, which he thought could not last long.  Meantime why should theybe separated?  He was established in comfortable quarters, and if shecould find company and join him, they would be married, and gain so manymore months of happiness.Was woman ever prudent when she loved?  Laura went to Harding, theneighbors supposed to nurse Washington who had fallen ill there.Her engagement was, of course, known in Hawkeye, and was indeed a matterof pride to her family.  Mrs. Hawkins would have told the first inquirerthat.  Laura had gone to be married; but Laura had cautioned her; she didnot want to be thought of, she said, as going in search of a husband; letthe news come back after she was married.So she traveled to Harding on the pretence we have mentioned, and wasmarried.  She was married, but something must have happened on that veryday or the next that alarmed her.  Washington did not know then or afterwhat it was, but Laura bound him not to send news of her marriage toHawkeye yet, and to enjoin her mother not to speak of it.  Whatever cruelsuspicion or nameless dread this was, Laura tried bravely to put it away,and not let it cloud her happiness.Communication that summer, as may be imagined, was neither regular norfrequent between the remote confederate camp at Harding and Hawkeye, andLaura was in a measure lost sight of--indeed, everyone had troublesenough of his own without borrowing from his neighbors.Laura had given herself utterly to her husband, and if he had faults, ifhe was selfish, if he was sometimes coarse, if he was dissipated, she didnot or would not see it.  It was the passion of her life, the time whenher whole nature went to flood tide and swept away all barriers.  Was herhusband ever cold or indifferent?  She shut her eyes to everything buther sense of possession of her idol.Three months passed.  One morning her husband informed her that he hadbeen ordered South, and must go within two hours."I can be ready," said Laura, cheerfully."But I can't take you.  You must go back to Hawkeye.""Can't-take-me?" Laura asked, with wonder in her eyes.  "I can't livewithout you.  You said ----- ""O bother what I said,"--and the Colonel took up his sword to buckle iton, and then continued coolly, "the fact is Laura, our romance is playedout."Laura heard, but she did not comprehend.  She caught his arm and cried,"George, how can you joke so cruelly?  I will go any where with you.I will wait any where.  I can't go back to Hawkeye.""Well, go where you like.  Perhaps," continued he with a sneer, "youwould do as well to wait here, for another colonel."Laura's brain whirled.  She did not yet comprehend.  "What does thismean?  Where are you going?""It means," said the officer, in measured words, "that you haven'tanything to show for a legal marriage, and that I am going to NewOrleans.""It's a lie, George, it's a lie.  I am your wife.  I shall go.  I shallfollow you to New Orleans.""Perhaps my wife might not like it!"Laura raised her head, her eyes flamed with fire, she tried to utter acry, and fell senseless on the floor.When she came to herself the Colonel was gone.  Washington Hawkins stoodat her bedside.  Did she come to herself?  Was there anything left in herheart but hate and bitterness, a sense of an infamous wrong at the handsof the only man she had ever loved?She returned to Hawkeye.  With the exception of Washington and hismother, no one knew what had happened.  The neighbors supposed that theengagement with Col. Selby had fallen through.  Laura was ill for a longtime, but she recovered; she had that resolution in her that couldconquer death almost.  And with her health came back her beauty, and anadded fascination, a something that might be mistaken for sadness.  Isthere a beauty in the knowledge of evil, a beauty that shines out in theface of a person whose inward life is transformed by some terribleexperience?  Is the pathos in the eyes of the Beatrice Cenci from herguilt or her innocence?Laura was not much changed.  The lovely woman had a devil in her heart.That was all.CHAPTER XIX.Mr. Harry Brierly drew his pay as an engineer while he was living at theCity Hotel in Hawkeye.  Mr. Thompson had been kind enough to say that itdidn't make any difference whether he was with the corps or not; andalthough Harry protested to the Colonel daily and to Washington Hawkinsthat he must go back at once to the line and superintend the lay-out withreference to his contract, yet he did not go, but wrote instead longletters to Philip, instructing him to keep his eye out, and to let himknow when any difficulty occurred that required his presence.Meantime Harry blossomed out in the society of Hawkeye, as he did in anysociety where fortune cast him and he had the slightest opportunity toexpand.  Indeed the talents of a rich and accomplished young fellow likeHarry were not likely to go unappreciated in such a place.  A landoperator, engaged in vast speculations, a favorite in the select circlesof New York, in correspondence with brokers and bankers, intimate withpublic men at Washington, one who could play the guitar and touch thebanjo lightly, and who had an eye for a pretty girl, and knew thelanguage of flattery, was welcome everywhere in Hawkeye.  Even Miss LauraHawkins thought it worth while to use her fascinations upon him, and toendeavor to entangle the volatile fellow in the meshes of herattractions."Gad," says Harry to the Colonel, "she's a superb creature, she'd make astir in New York, money or no money.  There are men I know would give hera railroad or an opera house, or whatever she wanted--at least they'dpromise."Harry had a way of looking at women as he looked at anything else in theworld he wanted, and he half resolved to appropriate Miss Laura, duringhis stay in Hawkeye.  Perhaps the Colonel divined his thoughts, or wasoffended at Harry's talk, for he replied,"No nonsense, Mr. Brierly.  Nonsense won't do in Hawkeye, not with myfriends.  The Hawkins' blood is good blood, all the way from Tennessee.The Hawkinses are under the weather now, but their Tennessee property ismillions when it comes into market.""Of course, Colonel.  Not the least offense intended.  But you can seeshe is a fascinating woman.  I was only thinking, as to thisappropriation, now, what such a woman could do in Washington.  Allcorrect, too, all correct.  Common thing, I assure you in Washington; thewives of senators, representatives, cabinet officers, all sorts of wives,and some who are not wives, use their influence.  You want anappointment?  Do you go to Senator X?  Not much.  You get on the rightside of his wife.  Is it an appropriation?  You'd go 'straight to theCommittee, or to the Interior office, I suppose?  You'd learn better thanthat.  It takes a woman to get any thing through the Land Office: I tellyou, Miss Laura would fascinate an appropriation right through the Senateand the House of Representatives in one session, if she was inWashington, as your friend, Colonel, of course as your friend.""Would you have her sign our petition?" asked the Colonel, innocently.Harry laughed.  "Women don't get anything by petitioning Congress; nobodydoes, that's for form.  Petitions are referred somewhere, and that's thelast of them; you can't refer a handsome woman so easily, when she ispresent.  They prefer 'em mostly."The petition however was elaborately drawn up, with a glowing descriptionof Napoleon and the adjacent country, and a statement of the absolutenecessity to the prosperity of that region and of one of the stations onthe great through route to the Pacific, of the, immediate improvement ofColumbus River; to this was appended a map of the city and a survey ofthe river.  It was signed by all the people at Stone's Landing who couldwrite their names, by Col. Beriah Sellers, and the Colonel agreed to havethe names headed by all the senators and representatives from the stateand by a sprinkling of ex-governors and ex-members of congress.  Whencompleted it was a formidable document.  Its preparation and that of moreminute plots of the new city consumed the valuable time of Sellers andHarry for many weeks, and served to keep them both in the highestspirits.In the eyes of Washington Hawkins, Harry was a superior being, a man whowas able to bring things to pass in a way that excited his enthusiasm.He never tired of listening to his stories of what he had done and ofwhat he was going to do.  As for Washington, Harry thought he was a manof ability and comprehension, but "too visionary," he told the Colonel.The Colonel said he might be right, but he had never noticed anythingvisionary about him."He's got his plans, sir.  God bless my soul, at his age, I was full ofplans.  But experience sobers a man, I never touch any thing now thathasn't been weighed in my judgment; and when Beriah Sellers puts hisjudgment on a thing, there it is."Whatever might have been Harry's intentions with regard to Laura, he sawmore and more of her every day, until he got to be restless and nervouswhen he was not with her.That consummate artist in passion allowed him to believe that thefascination was mainly on his side, and so worked upon his vanity, whileinflaming his ardor, that he scarcely knew what he was about.  Hercoolness and coyness were even made to appear the simple precautions of amodest timidity, and attracted him even more than the little tendernessesinto which she was occasionally surprised.  He could never be away fromher long, day or evening; and in a short time their intimacy was the towntalk.  She played with him so adroitly that Harry thought she wasabsorbed in love for him, and yet he was amazed that he did not get onfaster in his conquest.And when he thought of it, he was piqued as well.  A country girl, poorenough, that was evident; living with her family in a cheap and mostunattractive frame house, such as carpenters build in America, scantilyfurnished and unadorned; without the adventitious aids of dress or jewelsor the fine manners of society--Harry couldn't understand it.  But shefascinated him, and held him just beyond the line of absolute familiarityat the same time.  While he was with her she made him forget that theHawkins' house was nothing but a wooden tenement, with four small squarerooms on the ground floor and a half story; it might have been a palacefor aught he knew.Perhaps Laura was older than Harry.  She was, at any rate, at that ripeage when beauty in woman seems more solid than in the budding period ofgirlhood, and she had come to understand her powers perfectly, and toknow exactly how much of the susceptibility and archness of the girl itwas profitable to retain.  She saw that many women, with the bestintentions, make a mistake of carrying too much girlishness intowomanhood.  Such a woman would have attracted Harry at any time, but onlya woman with a cool brain and exquisite art could have made him lose hishead in this way; for Harry thought himself a man of the world.  Theyoung fellow never dreamed that he was merely being experimented on; hewas to her a man of another society and another culture, different fromthat she had any knowledge of except in books, and she was not unwillingto try on him the fascinations of her mind and person.For Laura had her dreams.  She detested the narrow limits in which herlot was cast, she hated poverty.  Much of her reading had been of modernworks of fiction, written by her own sex, which had revealed to hersomething of her own powers and given her indeed, an exaggerated notionof the influence, the wealth, the position a woman may attain who hasbeauty and talent and ambition and a little culture, and is not tooscrupulous in the use of them.  She wanted to be rich, she wanted luxury,she wanted men at her feet, her slaves, and she had not--thanks to someof the novels she had read--the nicest discrimination between notorietyand reputation; perhaps she did not know how fatal notoriety usually isto the bloom of womanhood.With the other Hawkins children Laura had been brought up in the beliefthat they had inherited a fortune in the Tennessee Lands.  She did not byany means share all the delusion of the family; but her brain was notseldom busy with schemes about it.  Washington seemed to her only todream of it and to be willing to wait for its riches to fall upon him ina golden shower; but she was impatient, and wished she were a man to takehold of the business."You men must enjoy your schemes and your activity and liberty to goabout the world," she said to Harry one day, when he had been talking ofNew York and Washington and his incessant engagements."Oh, yes," replied that martyr to business, "it's all well enough, if youdon't have too much of it, but it only has one object.""What is that?""If a woman doesn't know, it's useless to tell her.  What do you supposeI am staying in Hawkeye for, week after week, when I ought to be with mycorps?""I suppose it's your business with Col. Sellers about Napoleon, you'vealways told me so," answered Laura, with a look intended to contradicther words."And now I tell you that is all arranged, I suppose you'll tell me Iought to go?""Harry!" exclaimed Laura, touching his arm and letting her pretty handrest there a moment.  "Why should I want you to go away?  The only personin Hawkeye who understands me.""But you refuse to understand me," replied Harry, flattered but stillpetulant.  "You are like an iceberg, when we are alone."Laura looked up with wonder in her great eyes, and something like a blushsuffusing her face, followed by a look of langour that penetrated Harry'sheart as if it had been longing."Did I ever show any want of confidence in you, Harry?"  And she gave himher hand, which Harry pressed with effusion--something in her manner toldhim that he must be content with that favor.It was always so.  She excited his hopes and denied him, inflamed hispassion and restrained it, and wound him in her toils day by day.  Towhat purpose?  It was keen delight to Laura to prove that she had powerover men.Laura liked to hear about life at the east, and especially about theluxurious society in which Mr. Brierly moved when he was at home.  Itpleased her imagination to fancy herself a queen in it."You should be a winter in Washington," Harry said."But I have no acquaintances there.""Don't know any of the families of the congressmen?  They like to have apretty woman staying with them.""Not one.""Suppose Col. Sellers should, have business there; say, about thisColumbus River appropriation?""Sellers!" and Laura laughed."You needn't laugh.  Queerer things have happened.  Sellers knowseverybody from Missouri, and from the West, too, for that matter.  He'dintroduce you to Washington life quick enough.  It doesn't need a crowbarto break your way into society there as it does in Philadelphia.  It'sdemocratic, Washington is.  Money or beauty will open any door.  If Iwere a handsome woman, I shouldn't want any better place than the capitalto pick up a prince or a fortune.""Thank you," replied Laura.  "But I prefer the quiet of home, and thelove of those I know;" and her face wore a look of sweet contentment andunworldliness that finished Mr. Harry Brierly for the day.Nevertheless, the hint that Harry had dropped fell upon good ground, andbore fruit an hundred fold; it worked in her mind until she had built upa plan on it, and almost a career for herself.  Why not, she said, whyshouldn't I do as other women have done?  She took the first opportunityto see Col. Sellers, and to sound him about the Washington visit.  Howwas he getting on with his navigation scheme, would it be likely to takehim from home to Jefferson City; or to Washington, perhaps?"Well, maybe.  If the people of Napoleon want me to go to Washington, andlook after that matter, I might tear myself from my home.  It's beensuggested to me, but--not a word of it to Mrs. Sellers and the children.Maybe they wouldn't like to think of their father in Washington.  ButDilworthy, Senator Dilworthy, says to me, 'Colonel, you are the man, youcould influence more votes than any one else on such a measure, an oldsettler, a man of the people, you know the wants of Missouri; you've arespect for religion too, says he, and know how the cause of the gospelgoes with improvements: Which is true enough, Miss Laura, and hasn't beenenough thought of in connection with Napoleon.  He's an able man,Dilworthy, and a good man.  A man has got to be good to succeed as hehas.  He's only been in Congress a few years, and he must be worth amillion.  First thing in the morning when he stayed with me he askedabout family prayers, whether we had 'em before or after breakfast.I hated to disappoint the Senator, but I had to out with it, tell him wedidn't have 'em, not steady.  He said he understood, businessinterruptions and all that, some men were well enough without, but as forhim he never neglected the ordinances of religion.  He doubted if theColumbus River appropriation would succeed if we did not invoke theDivine Blessing on it."Perhaps it is unnecessary to say to the reader that Senator Dilworthy hadnot stayed with Col. Sellers while he was in Hawkeye; this visit to hishouse being only one of the Colonel's hallucinations--one of thoseinstant creations of his fertile fancy, which were always flashing intohis brain and out of his mouth in the course of any conversation andwithout interrupting the flow of it.During the summer Philip rode across the country and made a short visitin Hawkeye, giving Harry an opportunity to show him the progress that heand the Colonel had made in their operation at Stone's Landing, tointroduce him also to Laura, and to borrow a little money when hedeparted.  Harry bragged about his conquest, as was his habit, and tookPhilip round to see his western prize.Laura received Mr. Philip with a courtesy and a slight hauteur thatrather surprised and not a little interested him.  He saw at once thatshe was older than Harry, and soon made up his mind that she was leadinghis friend a country dance to which he was unaccustomed.  At least hethought he saw that, and half hinted as much to Harry, who flared up atonce; but on a second visit Philip was not so sure, the young lady wascertainly kind and friendly and almost confiding with Harry, and treatedPhilip with the greatest consideration.  She deferred to his opinions,and listened attentively when he talked, and in time met his frank mannerwith an equal frankness, so that he was quite convinced that whatever shemight feel towards Harry, she was sincere with him.  Perhaps his manlyway did win her liking.  Perhaps in her mind, she compared him withHarry, and recognized in him a man to whom a woman might give her wholesoul, recklessly and with little care if she lost it.  Philip was notinvincible to her beauty nor to the intellectual charm of her presence.The week seemed very short that he passed in Hawkeye, and when he badeLaura good by, he seemed to have known her a year."We shall see you again, Mr. Sterling," she said as she gave him herhand, with just a shade of sadness in her handsome eyes.And when he turned away she followed him with a look that might havedisturbed his serenity, if he had not at the moment had a little squareletter in his breast pocket, dated at Philadelphia, and signed "Ruth."CHAPTER XX.The visit of Senator Abner Dilworthy was an event in Hawkeye.  When aSenator, whose place is in Washington moving among the Great and guidingthe destinies of the nation, condescends to mingle among the people andaccept the hospitalities of such a place as Hawkeye, the honor is notconsidered a light one.  All, parties are flattered by it and politicsare forgotten in the presence of one so distinguished among his fellows.Senator Dilworthy, who was from a neighboring state, had been a Unionistin the darkest days of his country, and had thriven by it, but was thatany reason why Col. Sellers, who had been a confederate and had notthriven by it, should give him the cold shoulder?The Senator was the guest of his old friend Gen. Boswell, but it almostappeared that he was indebted to Col. Sellers for the unreservedhospitalities of the town.  It was the large hearted Colonel who, in amanner, gave him the freedom of the city."You are known here, sir," said the Colonel," and Hawkeye is proud ofyou.  You will find every door open, and a welcome at every hearthstone.I should insist upon your going to my house, if you were not claimed byyour older friend Gen. Boswell.  But you will mingle with our people, andyou will see here developments that will surprise you."The Colonel was so profuse in his hospitality that he must have made theimpression upon himself that he had entertained the Senator at his ownmansion during his stay; at any rate, he afterwards always spoke of himas his guest, and not seldom referred to the Senator's relish of certainviands on his table.  He did, in fact, press him to dine upon the morningof the day the Senator was going away.Senator Dilworthy was large and portly, though not tall--a pleasantspoken man, a popular man with the people.He took a lively interest in the town and all the surrounding country,and made many inquiries as to the progress of agriculture, of education,and of religion, and especially as to the condition of the emancipatedrace."Providence," he said, "has placed them in our hands, and although youand I, General, might have chosen a different destiny for them, under theConstitution, yet Providence knows best.""You can't do much with 'em," interrupted Col. Sellers.  "They are aspeculating race, sir, disinclined to work for white folks withoutsecurity, planning how to live by only working for themselves.  Idle,sir, there's my garden just a ruin of weeds.  Nothing practical in 'em.""There is some truth in your observation, Colonel, but you must educatethem.""You educate the niggro and you make him more speculating than he wasbefore.  If he won't stick to any industry except for himself now, whatwill he do then?""But, Colonel, the negro when educated will be more able to make hisspeculations fruitful.""Never, sir, never.  He would only have a wider scope to injure himself.A niggro has no grasp, sir.  Now, a white man can conceive greatoperations, and carry them out; a niggro can't.""Still," replied the Senator, "granting that he might injure himself in aworldly point of view, his elevation through education would multiply hischances for the hereafter--which is the important thing after all,Colonel.  And no matter what the result is, we must fulfill our duty bythis being.""I'd elevate his soul," promptly responded the Colonel; "that's just it;you can't make his soul too immortal, but I wouldn't touch him, himself.Yes, sir!  make his soul immortal, but don't disturb the niggro as heis."Of course one of the entertainments offered the Senator was a publicreception, held in the court house, at which he made a speech to hisfellow citizens.  Col. Sellers was master of ceremonies.  He escorted theband from the city hotel to Gen. Boswell's; he marshalled the processionof Masons, of Odd Fellows, and of Firemen, the Good Templars, the Sons ofTemperance, the Cadets of Temperance, the Daughters of Rebecca, theSunday School children, and citizens generally, which followed theSenator to the court house; he bustled about the room long after everyone else was seated, and loudly cried "Order!" in the dead silence whichpreceded the introduction of the Senator by Gen. Boswell.  The occasionwas one to call out his finest powers of personal appearance, and one helong dwelt on with pleasure.This not being an edition of the Congressional Globe it is impossible togive Senator Dilworthy's speech in full.  He began somewhat as follows:"Fellow citizens: It gives me great pleasure to thus meet and mingle withyou, to lay aside for a moment the heavy duties of an official andburdensome station, and confer in familiar converse with my friends inyour great state.  The good opinion of my fellow citizens of all sectionsis the sweetest solace in all my anxieties.  I look forward with longingto the time when I can lay aside the cares of office--" ["dam sight,"shouted a tipsy fellow near the door.  Cries of "put him out."]"My friends, do not remove him.  Let the misguided man stay.  I see thathe is a victim of that evil which is swallowing up public virtue andsapping the foundation of society.  As I was saying, when I can lay downthe cares of office and retire to the sweets of private life in some suchsweet, peaceful, intelligent, wide-awake and patriotic place as Hawkeye(applause).  I have traveled much, I have seen all parts of our gloriousunion, but I have never seen a lovelier village than yours, or one thathas more signs of commercial and industrial and religious prosperity--(more applause)."The Senator then launched into a sketch of our great country, and dweltfor an hour or more upon its prosperity and the dangers which threatenedit.He then touched reverently upon the institutions of religion, and uponthe necessity of private purity, if we were to have any public morality."I trust," he said, "that there are children within the sound of myvoice," and after some remarks to them, the Senator closed with anapostrophe to "the genius of American Liberty, walking with the SundaySchool in one hand and Temperance in the other up the glorified steps ofthe National Capitol."Col. Sellers did not of course lose the opportunity to impress upon soinfluential a person as the Senator the desirability of improving thenavigation of Columbus river.  He and Mr. Brierly took the Senator overto Napoleon and opened to him their plan.  It was a plan that the Senatorcould understand without a great deal of explanation, for he seemed to befamiliar with the like improvements elsewhere.  When, however, theyreached Stone's Landing the Senator looked about him and inquired,"Is this Napoleon?""This is the nucleus, the nucleus," said the Colonel, unrolling his map."Here is the deepo, the church, the City Hall and so on.""Ah, I see.  How far from here is Columbus River?  Does that streamempty----""That, why, that's Goose Run.  Thar ain't no Columbus, thout'n it's overto Hawkeye," interrupted one of the citizens, who had come out to stareat the strangers.  "A railroad come here last summer, but it haint beenhere no mo'.""Yes, sir," the Colonel hastened to explain, "in the old records ColumbusRiver is called Goose Run.  You see how it sweeps round the town-forty-nine miles to the Missouri; sloop navigation all the way pretty much,drains this whole country; when it's improved steamboats will run rightup here.  It's got to be enlarged, deepened.  You see by the map.Columbus River.  This country must have water communication!""You'll want a considerable appropriation, Col. Sellers."I should say a million; is that your figure Mr. Brierly.""According to our surveys," said Harry, "a million would do it; a millionspent on the river would make Napoleon worth two millions at least.""I see," nodded the Senator.  "But you'd better begin by asking only fortwo or three hundred thousand, the usual way.  You can begin to sell townlots on that appropriation you know."The Senator, himself, to do him justice, was not very much interested inthe country or the stream, but he favored the appropriation, and he gavethe Colonel and Mr. Brierly to and understand that he would endeavor toget it through.  Harry, who thought he was shrewd and understoodWashington, suggested an interest.But he saw that the Senator was wounded by the suggestion."You will offend me by repeating such an observation," he said."Whatever I do will be for the public interest.  It will require aportion of the appropriation for necessary expenses, and I am sorry tosay that there are members who will have to be seen.  But you can reckonupon my humble services."This aspect of the subject was not again alluded to.  The Senatorpossessed himself of the facts, not from his observation of the ground,but from the lips of Col. Sellers, and laid the appropriation scheme awayamong his other plans for benefiting the public.It was on this visit also that the Senator made the acquaintance of Mr.Washington Hawkins, and was greatly taken with his innocence, hisguileless manner and perhaps with his ready adaptability to enter uponany plan proposed.Col. Sellers was pleased to see this interest that Washington hadawakened, especially since it was likely to further his expectations withregard to the Tennessee lands; the Senator having remarked to theColonel, that he delighted to help any deserving young man, when thepromotion of a private advantage could at the same time be made tocontribute to the general good.  And he did not doubt that this was anopportunity of that kind.The result of several conferences with Washington was that the Senatorproposed that he should go to Washington with him and become his privatesecretary and the secretary of his committee; a proposal which waseagerly accepted.The Senator spent Sunday in Hawkeye and attended church.  He cheered theheart of the worthy and zealous minister by an expression of his sympathyin his labors, and by many inquiries in regard to the religious state ofthe region.  It was not a very promising state, and the good man felt howmuch lighter his task would be, if he had the aid of such a man asSenator Dilworthy."I am glad to see, my dear sir," said the Senator, "that you give themthe doctrines.  It is owing to a neglect of the doctrines, that there issuch a fearful falling away in the country.  I wish that we might haveyou in Washington--as chaplain, now, in the senate."The good man could not but be a little flattered, and if sometimes,thereafter, in his discouraging work, he allowed the thought that hemight perhaps be called to Washington as chaplain of the Senate, to cheerhim, who can wonder.  The Senator's commendation at least did one servicefor him, it elevated him in the opinion of Hawkeye.Laura was at church alone that day, and Mr. Brierly walked home with her.A part of their way lay with that of General Boswell and SenatorDilworthy, and introductions were made.  Laura had her own reasons forwishing to know the Senator, and the Senator was not a man who could becalled indifferent to charms such as hers.  That meek young lady socommended herself to him in the short walk, that he announced hisintentions of paying his respects to her the next day, an intention whichHarry received glumly; and when the Senator was out of hearing he calledhim "an old fool.""Fie," said Laura, "I do believe you are jealous, Harry.  He is a verypleasant man.  He said you were a young man of great promise."The Senator did call next day, and the result of his visit was that hewas confirmed in his impression that there was something about him veryattractive to ladies.  He saw Laura again and again daring his stay, andfelt more and more the subtle influence of her feminine beauty, whichevery man felt who came near her.Harry was beside himself with rage while the Senator remained in town;he declared that women were always ready to drop any man for higher game;and he attributed his own ill-luck to the Senator's appearance.  Thefellow was in fact crazy about her beauty and ready to beat his brainsout in chagrin.  Perhaps Laura enjoyed his torment, but she soothed himwith blandishments that increased his ardor, and she smiled to herself tothink that he had, with all his protestations of love, never spoken ofmarriage.  Probably the vivacious fellow never had thought of it.  At anyrate when he at length went away from Hawkeye he was no nearer it.  Butthere was no telling to what desperate lengths his passion might notcarry him.Laura bade him good bye with tender regret, which, however, did notdisturb her peace or interfere with her plans.  The visit of SenatorDilworthy had become of more importance to her, and it by and by bore thefruit she longed for, in an invitation to visit his family in theNational Capital during the winter session of Congress.CHAPTER XXI.                              O lift your natures up:               Embrace our aims: work out your freedom.  Girls,               Knowledge is now no more a fountain sealed;               Drink deep until the habits of the slave,               The sins of emptiness, gossip and spite               And slander, die.                                   The Princess.Whether medicine is a science, or only an empirical method of getting aliving out of the ignorance of the human race, Ruth found before herfirst term was over at the medical school that there were other thingsshe needed to know quite as much as that which is taught in medicalbooks, and that she could never satisfy her aspirations without moregeneral culture."Does your doctor know any thing--I don't mean about medicine, but aboutthings in general, is he a man of information and good sense?" once askedan old practitioner.  "If he doesn't know any thing but medicine thechance is he doesn't know that:"The close application to her special study was beginning to tell uponRuth's delicate health also, and the summer brought with it onlyweariness and indisposition for any mental effort.In this condition of mind and body the quiet of her home and theunexciting companionship of those about her were more than ever tiresome.She followed with more interest Philip's sparkling account of his lifein the west, and longed for his experiences, and to know some of thosepeople of a world so different from here, who alternately amused anddispleased him.  He at least was learning the world, the good and the badof it, as must happen to every one who accomplishes anything in it.But what, Ruth wrote, could a woman do, tied up by custom, and cast intoparticular circumstances out of which it was almost impossible toextricate herself?  Philip thought that he would go some day andextricate Ruth, but he did not write that, for he had the instinct toknow that this was not the extrication she dreamed of, and that she mustfind out by her own experience what her heart really wanted.Philip was not a philosopher, to be sure, but he had the old fashionednotion, that whatever a woman's theories of life might be, she would comeround to matrimony, only give her time.  He could indeed recall to mindone woman--and he never knew a nobler--whose whole soul was devoted andwho believed that her life was consecrated to a certain benevolentproject in singleness of life, who yielded to the touch of matrimony, asan icicle yields to a sunbeam.Neither at home nor elsewhere did Ruth utter any complaint, or admit anyweariness or doubt of her ability to pursue the path she had marked outfor herself.  But her mother saw clearly enough her struggle withinfirmity, and was not deceived by either her gaiety or by the cheerfulcomposure which she carried into all the ordinary duties that fell toher.  She saw plainly enough that Ruth needed an entire change of sceneand of occupation, and perhaps she believed that such a change, with theknowledge of the world it would bring, would divert Ruth from a coursefor which she felt she was physically entirely unfitted.It therefore suited the wishes of all concerned, when autumn came, thatRuth should go away to school.  She selected a large New EnglandSeminary, of which she had often heard Philip speak, which was attendedby both sexes and offered almost collegiate advantages of education.Thither she went in September, and began for the second time in the yeara life new to her.The Seminary was the chief feature of Fallkill, a village of two to threethousand inhabitants.  It was a prosperous school, with three hundredstudents, a large corps of teachers, men and women, and with a venerablerusty row of academic buildings on the shaded square of the town.  Thestudents lodged and boarded in private families in the place, and so itcame about that while the school did a great deal to support the town,the town gave the students society and the sweet influences of home life.It is at least respectful to say that the influences of home life aresweet.Ruth's home, by the intervention of Philip, was in a family--one of therare exceptions in life or in fiction--that had never known better days.The Montagues, it is perhaps well to say, had intended to come over inthe Mayflower, but were detained at Delft Haven by the illness of achild.  They came over to Massachusetts Bay in another vessel, and thusescaped the onus of that brevet nobility under which the successors ofthe Mayflower Pilgrims have descended.  Having no factitious weight ofdignity to carry, the Montagues steadily improved their condition fromthe day they landed, and they were never more vigorous or prosperous thanat the date of this narrative.  With character compacted by the rigidPuritan discipline of more than two centuries, they had retained itsstrength and purity and thrown off its narrowness, and were nowblossoming under the generous modern influences.  Squire Oliver Montague,a lawyer who had retired from the practice of his profession except inrare cases, dwelt in a square old fashioned New England mile away fromthe green.  It was called a mansion because it stood alone with amplefields about it, and had an avenue of trees leading to it from the road,and on the west commanded a view of a pretty little lake with gentleslopes and nodding were now blossoming under the generous moderninfluences.  Squire Oliver Montague, a lawyer who had retired from thepractice of his profession except in rare cases, dwelt in a square oldfashioned New England groves.  But it was just a plain, roomy house,capable of extending to many guests an unpretending hospitality.The family consisted of the Squire and his wife, a son and a daughtermarried and not at home, a son in college at Cambridge, another son atthe Seminary, and a daughter Alice, who was a year or more older thanRuth.  Having only riches enough to be able to gratify reasonabledesires, and yet make their gratifications always a novelty and apleasure, the family occupied that just mean in life which is so rarelyattained, and still more rarely enjoyed without discontent.If Ruth did not find so much luxury in the house as in her own home,there were evidences of culture, of intellectual activity and of a zestin the affairs of all the world, which greatly impressed her.  Every roomhad its book-cases or book-shelves, and was more or less a library; uponevery table was liable to be a litter of new books, fresh periodicals anddaily newspapers.  There were plants in the sunny windows and some choiceengravings on the walls, with bits of color in oil or water-colors;the piano was sure to be open and strewn with music; and there werephotographs and little souvenirs here and there of foreign travel.An absence of any "what-pots" in the corners with rows of cheerfulshells, and Hindoo gods, and Chinese idols, and nests of use less boxesof lacquered wood, might be taken as denoting a languidness in the familyconcerning foreign missions, but perhaps unjustly.At any rate the life of the world flowed freely into this hospitablehouse, and there was always so much talk there of the news of the day,of the new books and of authors, of Boston radicalism and New Yorkcivilization, and the virtue of Congress, that small gossip stood a verypoor chance.All this was in many ways so new to Ruth that she seemed to have passedinto another world, in which she experienced a freedom and a mentalexhilaration unknown to her before.  Under this influence she enteredupon her studies with keen enjoyment, finding for a time all therelaxation she needed, in the charming social life at the Montague house.It is strange, she wrote to Philip, in one of her occasional letters,that you never told me more about this delightful family, and scarcelymentioned Alice who is the life of it, just the noblest girl, unselfish,knows how to do so many things, with lots of talent, with a dry humor,and an odd way of looking at things, and yet quiet and even seriousoften--one of your "capable" New England girls.  We shall be greatfriends.  It had never occurred to Philip that there was any thingextraordinary about the family that needed mention.  He knew dozens ofgirls like Alice, he thought to himself, but only one like Ruth.Good friends the two girls were from the beginning.  Ruth was a study toAlice; the product of a culture entirely foreign to her experience, somuch a child in some things, so much a woman in others; and Ruth in turn,it must be confessed, probing Alice sometimes with her serious grey eyes,wondered what her object in life was, and whether she had any purposebeyond living as she now saw her.  For she could scarcely conceive of alife that should not be devoted to the accomplishment of some definitework, and she had-no doubt that in her own case everything else wouldyield to the professional career she had marked out."So you know Philip Sterling," said Ruth one day as the girls sat attheir sewing.  Ruth never embroidered, and never sewed when she couldavoid it.  Bless her."Oh yes, we are old friends.  Philip used to come to Fallkill often whilehe was in college.  He was once rusticated here for a term.""Rusticated?""Suspended for some College scrape.  He was a great favorite here.Father and he were famous friends.  Father said that Philip had no end ofnonsense in him and was always blundering into something, but he was aroyal good fellow and would come out all right.""Did you think he was fickle?""Why, I never thought whether he was or not," replied Alice looking up."I suppose he was always in love with some girl or another, as collegeboys are.  He used to make me his confidant now and then, and be terriblyin the dumps.""Why did he come to you?" pursued Ruth you were younger than he.""I'm sure I don't know.  He was at our house a good deal.  Once at apicnic by the lake, at the risk of his own life, he saved sister Milliefrom drowning, and we all liked to have him here.  Perhaps he thought ashe had saved one sister, the other ought to help him when he was introuble.  I don't know."The fact was that Alice was a person who invited confidences, because shenever betrayed them, and gave abundant sympathy in return.  There arepersons, whom we all know, to whom human confidences, troubles and heart-aches flow as naturally its streams to a placid lake.This is not a history of Fallkill, nor of the Montague family, worthy asboth are of that honor, and this narrative cannot be diverted into longloitering with them.  If the reader visits the village to-day, he willdoubtless be pointed out the Montague dwelling, where Ruth lived, thecross-lots path she traversed to the Seminary, and the venerable chapelwith its cracked bell.In the little society of the place, the Quaker girl was a favorite, andno considerable social gathering or pleasure party was thought completewithout her.  There was something in this seemingly transparent and yetdeep character, in her childlike gaiety and enjoyment of the societyabout her, and in her not seldom absorption in herself, that would havemade her long remembered there if no events had subsequently occurred torecall her to mind.To the surprise of Alice, Ruth took to the small gaieties of the villagewith a zest of enjoyment that seemed foreign to one who had devoted herlife to a serious profession from the highest motives.  Alice likedsociety well enough, she thought, but there was nothing exciting in thatof Fallkill, nor anything novel in the attentions of the well-bred younggentlemen one met in it.  It must have worn a different aspect to Ruth,for she entered into its pleasures at first with curiosity, and then withinterest and finally with a kind of staid abandon that no one would havedeemed possible for her.  Parties, picnics, rowing-matches, moonlightstrolls, nutting expeditions in the October woods,--Alice declared thatit was a whirl of dissipation.  The fondness of Ruth, which was scarcelydisguised, for the company of agreeable young fellows, who talkednothings, gave Alice opportunity for no end of banter."Do you look upon them as I subjects, dear?" she would ask.And Ruth laughed her merriest laugh, and then looked sober again.Perhaps she was thinking, after all, whether she knew herself.If you should rear a duck in the heart of the Sahara, no doubt it wouldswim if you brought it to the Nile.Surely no one would have predicted when Ruth left Philadelphia that shewould become absorbed to this extent, and so happy, in a life so unlikethat she thought she desired.  But no one can tell how a woman will actunder any circumstances.  The reason novelists nearly always fail indepicting women when they make them act, is that they let them do whatthey have observed some woman has done at sometime or another.  And thatis where they make a mistake; for a woman will never do again what hasbeen done before.  It is this uncertainty that causes women, consideredas materials for fiction, to be so interesting to themselves and toothers.As the fall went on and the winter, Ruth did not distinguish herselfgreatly at the Fallkill Seminary as a student, a fact that apparentlygave her no anxiety, and did not diminish her enjoyment of a new sort ofpower which had awakened within her.CHAPTER XXII.In mid-winter, an event occurred of unusual interest to the inhabitantsof the Montague house, and to the friends of the young ladies who soughttheir society.This was the arrival at the Sassacua Hotel of two young gentlemen fromthe west.It is the fashion in New England to give Indian names to the publichouses, not that the late lamented savage knew how to keep a hotel, butthat his warlike name may impress the traveler who humbly craves shelterthere, and make him grateful to the noble and gentlemanly clerk if he isallowed to depart with his scalp safe.The two young gentlemen were neither students for the Fallkill Seminary,nor lecturers on physiology, nor yet life assurance solicitors, threesuppositions that almost exhausted the guessing power of the people atthe hotel in respect to the names of "Philip Sterling and Henry Brierly,Missouri," on the register.  They were handsome enough fellows, that wasevident, browned by out-door exposure, and with a free and lordly wayabout them that almost awed the hotel clerk himself.  Indeed, he verysoon set down Mr. Brierly as a gentleman of large fortune, with enormousinterests on his shoulders.  Harry had a way of casually mentioningwestern investments, through lines, the freighting business, and theroute through the Indian territory to Lower California, which wascalculated to give an importance to his lightest word."You've a pleasant town here, sir, and the most comfortable looking hotelI've seen out of New York," said Harry to the clerk; "we shall stay herea few days if you can give us a roomy suite of apartments."Harry usually had the best of everything, wherever he went, as suchfellows always do have in this accommodating world.  Philip would havebeen quite content with less expensive quarters, but there was noresisting Harry's generosity in such matters.Railroad surveying and real-estate operations were at a standstill duringthe winter in Missouri, and the young men had taken advantage of the lullto come east, Philip to see if there was any disposition in his friends,the railway contractors, to give him a share in the Salt Lick UnionPacific Extension, and Harry to open out to his uncle the prospects ofthe new city at Stone's Landing, and to procure congressional ,appropriations for the harbor and for making Goose Run navigable.  Harryhad with him a map of that noble stream and of the harbor, with a perfectnet-work of railroads centering in it, pictures of wharves, crowded withsteamboats, and of huge grain-elevators on the bank, all of which grewout of the combined imaginations of Col. Sellers and Mr. Brierly.  TheColonel had entire confidence in Harry's influence with Wall street, andwith congressmen, to bring about the consummation of their scheme, and hewaited his return in the empty house at Hawkeye, feeding his pinchedfamily upon the most gorgeous expectations with a reckless prodigality."Don't let 'em into the thing more than is necessary," says the Colonelto Harry; "give 'em a small interest; a lot apiece in the suburbs of theLanding ought to do a congressman, but I reckon you'll have to mortgage apart of the city itself to the brokers."Harry did not find that eagerness to lend money on Stone's Landing inWall street which Col. Sellers had expected, (it had seen too many suchmaps as he exhibited), although his uncle and some of the brokers lookedwith more favor on the appropriation for improving the navigation ofColumbus River, and were not disinclined to form a company for thatpurpose.  An appropriation was a tangible thing, if you could get hold ofit, and it made little difference what it was appropriated for, so longas you got hold of it.Pending these weighty negotiations, Philip has persuaded Harry to take alittle run up to Fallkill, a not difficult task, for that young man wouldat any time have turned his back upon all the land in the West at sightof a new and pretty face, and he had, it must be confessed, a facility inlove making which made it not at all an interference with the moreserious business of life.  He could not, to be sure, conceive how Philipcould be interested in a young lady who was studying medicine, but he hadno objection to going, for he did not doubt that there were other girlsin Fallkill who were worth a week's attention.The young men were received at the house of the Montagues with thehospitality which never failed there."We are glad to see you again," exclaimed the Squire heartily, "you arewelcome Mr. Brierly, any friend of Phil's is welcome at our house""It's more like home to me, than any place except my own home," criedPhilip, as he looked about the cheerful house and went through a generalhand-shaking."It's a long time, though, since you have been here to say so," Alicesaid, with her father's frankness of manner; and I suspect we owe thevisit now to your sudden interest in the Fallkill Seminary."Philip's color came, as it had an awkward way of doing in his tell-taleface, but before he could stammer a reply, Harry came in with,"That accounts for Phil's wish to build a Seminary at Stone's Landing,our place in Missouri, when Col. Sellers insisted it should be aUniversity.  Phil appears to have a weakness for Seminaries.""It would have been better for your friend Sellers," retorted Philip,"if he had had a weakness for district schools.  Col. Sellers, MissAlice, is a great friend of Harry's, who is always trying to build ahouse by beginning at the top.""I suppose it's as easy to build a University on paper as a Seminary, andit looks better," was Harry's reflection; at which the Squire laughed,and said he quite agreed with him.  The old gentleman understood Stone'sLanding a good deal better than he would have done after an hour's talkwith either of it's expectant proprietors.At this moment, and while Philip was trying to frame a question that hefound it exceedingly difficult to put into words, the door openedquietly, and Ruth entered.  Taking in the, group with a quick glance, hereye lighted up, and with a merry smile she advanced and shook hands withPhilip.  She was so unconstrained and sincerely cordial, that it madethat hero of the west feel somehow young, and very ill at ease.For months and months he had thought of this meeting and pictured it tohimself a hundred times, but he had never imagined it would be like this.He should meet Ruth unexpectedly, as she was walking alone from theschool, perhaps, or entering the room where he was waiting for her, andshe would cry "Oh!  Phil," and then check herself, and perhaps blush, andPhilip calm but eager and enthusiastic, would reassure her by his warmmanner, and he would take her hand impressively, and she would look uptimidly, and, after his' long absence, perhaps he would be permitted toGood heavens, how many times he had come to this point, and wondered ifit could happen so.  Well, well; he had never supposed that he should bethe one embarrassed, and above all by a sincere and cordial welcome."We heard you were at the Sassacus House," were Ruth's first words; "andthis I suppose is your friend?""I beg your pardon," Philip at length blundered out, "this is Mr. Brierlyof whom I have written you."And Ruth welcomed Harry with a friendliness that Philip thought was dueto his friend, to be sure, but which seemed to him too level with herreception of himself, but which Harry received as his due from the othersex.Questions were asked about the journey and about the West, and theconversation became a general one, until Philip at length found himselftalking with the Squire in relation to land and railroads and things hecouldn't keep his mind on especially as he heard Ruth and Harry in ananimated discourse, and caught the words "New York," and "opera," and"reception," and knew that Harry was giving his imagination full range inthe world of fashion.Harry knew all about the opera, green room and all (at least he said so)and knew a good many of the operas and could make very entertainingstories of their plots, telling how the soprano came in here, and thebasso here, humming the beginning of their airs--tum-ti-tum-ti-ti--suggesting the profound dissatisfaction of the basso recitative--down-among-the-dead-men--and touching off the whole with an airy grace quitecaptivating ; though he couldn't have sung a single air through to savehimself, and he hadn't an ear to know whether it was sung correctly.  Allthe same he doted on the opera, and kept a box there, into which helounged occasionally to hear a favorite scene and meet his societyfriends.If Ruth was ever in the city he should be happy to place his box at thedisposal of Ruth and her friends.  Needless to say that she was delightedwith the offer.When she told Philip of it, that discreet young fellow only smiled, andsaid that he hoped she would be fortunate enough to be in New York someevening when Harry had not already given the use of his private box tosome other friend.The Squire pressed the visitors to let him send for their trunks andurged them to stay at his house, and Alice joined in the invitation, butPhilip had reasons for declining.  They staid to supper, however, and in;the evening Philip had a long talk apart with Ruth, a delightful hour tohim, in which she spoke freely of herself as of old, of her studies atPhiladelphia and of her plans, and she entered into his adventures andprospects in the West with a genuine and almost sisterly interest; aninterest, however, which did not exactly satisfy Philip--it was toogeneral and not personal enough to suit him.  And with all her freedom inspeaking of her own hopes, Philip could not, detect any reference tohimself in them; whereas he never undertook anything that he did notthink of Ruth in connection with it, he never made a plan that had notreference to her, and he never thought of anything as complete if shecould not share it.  Fortune, reputation these had no value to him exceptin Ruth's eyes, and there were times when it seemed to him that if Ruthwas not on this earth, he should plunge off into some remote wildernessand live in a purposeless seclusion."I hoped," said Philip; "to get a little start in connection with thisnew railroad, and make a little money, so that I could came east andengage in something more suited to my tastes.  I shouldn't like to livein the West.  Would you?"It never occurred to me whether I would or not," was the unembarrassedreply.  "One of our graduates went to Chicago, and has a nice practicethere.  I don't know where I shall go.  It would mortify motherdreadfully to have me driving about Philadelphia in a doctor's gig."Philip laughed at the idea of it.  "And does it seem as necessary to youto do it as it did before you came to Fallkill?"It was a home question, and went deeper than Philip knew, for Ruth atonce thought of practicing her profession among the young gentlemen andladies of her acquaintance in the village; but she was reluctant to admitto herself that her notions of a career had undergone any change."Oh, I don't think I should come to Fallkill to practice, but I must dosomething when I am through school; and why not medicine?"Philip would like to have explained why not, but the explanation would beof no use if it were not already obvious to Ruth.Harry was equally in his element whether instructing Squire Montagueabout the investment of capital in Missouri, the improvement of ColumbusRiver, the project he and some gentlemen in New York had for making ashorter Pacific connection with the Mississippi than the present one; ordiverting Mrs. Montague with his experience in cooking in camp; ordrawing for Miss Alice an amusing picture of the social contrasts of NewEngland and the border where he had been. Harry was a very entertainingfellow, having his imagination to help his memory, and telling hisstories as if he believed them--as perhaps he did. Alice was greatlyamused with Harry and listened so seriously to his romancing that heexceeded his usual limits.  Chance allusions to his bachelorestablishment in town and the place of his family on the Hudson, couldnot have been made by a millionaire, more naturally."I should think," queried Alice, "you would rather stay in New York thanto try the rough life at the West you have been speaking of.""Oh, adventure," ,says Harry, "I get tired of New York.  And besides Igot involved in some operations that I had to see through.  Parties inNew York only last week wanted me to go down into Arizona in a bigdiamond interest.  I told them, no, no speculation for me.  I've got myinterests in Missouri; and I wouldn't leave Philip, as long as he staysthere."When the young gentlemen were on their way back to the hotel, Mr. Philip,who was not in very good humor, broke out,"What the deuce, Harry, did you go on in that style to the Montaguesfor?""Go on?" cried Harry.  "Why shouldn't I try to make a pleasant evening?And besides, ain't I going to do those things?  What difference does itmake about the mood and tense of a mere verb?  Didn't uncle tell me onlylast Saturday, that I might as well go down to Arizona and hunt fordiamonds?  A fellow might as well make a good impression as a poor one.""Nonsense.  You'll get to believing your own romancing by and by.""Well, you'll see.  When Sellers and I get that appropriation, I'll showyou an establishment in town and another on the Hudson and a box at theopera.""Yes, it will be like Col. Sellers' plantation at Hawkeye.  Did you eversee that?""Now, don't be cross, Phil.  She's just superb, that little woman.  Younever told me.""Who's just superb?" growled Philip, fancying this turn of theconversation less than the other."Well, Mrs. Montague, if you must know."  And Harry stopped to light acigar, and then puffed on in silence.  The little quarrel didn't lastover night, for Harry never appeared to cherish any ill-will half asecond, and Philip was too sensible to continue a row about nothing; andhe had invited Harry to come with him.The young gentlemen stayed in Fallkill a week, and were every day at theMontagues, and took part in the winter gaieties of the village.  Therewere parties here and there to which the friends of Ruth and theMontagues were of course invited, and Harry in the generosity of hisnature, gave in return a little supper at the hotel, very simple indeed,with dancing in the hall, and some refreshments passed round.  And Philipfound the whole thing in the bill when he came to pay it.Before the week was over Philip thought he had a new light on thecharacter of Ruth.  Her absorption in the small gaieties of the societythere surprised him.  He had few opportunities for serious conversationwith her.  There was always some butterfly or another flitting about,and when Philip showed by his manner that he was not pleased, Ruthlaughed merrily enough and rallied him on his soberness--she declared hewas getting to be grim and unsocial.  He talked indeed more with Alicethan with Ruth, and scarcely concealed from her the trouble that was inhis mind.  It needed, in fact, no word from him, for she saw clearlyenough what was going forward, and knew her sex well enough to know therewas no remedy for it but time."Ruth is a dear girl, Philip, and has as much firmness of purpose asever, but don't you see she has just discovered that she is fond ofsociety?  Don't you let her see you are selfish about it, is my advice."The last evening they were to spend in Fallkill, they were at theMontagues, and Philip hoped that he would find Ruth in a different mood.But she was never more gay, and there was a spice of mischief in her eyeand in her laugh.  "Confound it," said Philip to himself, "she's in aperfect twitter."He would have liked to quarrel with her, and fling himself out of thehouse in tragedy style, going perhaps so far as to blindly wander offmiles into the country and bathe his throbbing brow in the chilling rainof the stars, as people do in novels; but he had no opportunity.  ForRuth was as serenely unconscious of mischief as women can be at times,and fascinated him more than ever with her little demurenesses and half-confidences.  She even said "Thee" to him once in reproach for a cuttingspeech he began.  And the sweet little word made his heart beat like atrip-hammer, for never in all her life had she said "thee" to him before.Was she fascinated with Harry's careless 'bon homie' and gay assurance?Both chatted away in high spirits, and made the evening whirl along inthe most mirthful manner.  Ruth sang for Harry, and that young gentlemanturned the leaves for her at the piano, and put in a bass note now andthen where he thought it would tell.Yes, it was a merry evening, and Philip was heartily glad when it wasover, and the long leave-taking with the family was through with."Farewell Philip.  Good night Mr. Brierly," Ruth's clear voice soundedafter them as they went down the walk.And she spoke Harry's name last, thought Philip.CHAPTER XXIII.               "O see ye not yon narrow road               So thick beset wi' thorns and briers?               That is the Path of Righteousness,               Though after it but few inquires.               "And see ye not yon braid, braid road,               That lies across the lily leven?               That is the Path of Wickedness,               Though some call it the road to Heaven."                                             Thomas the Rhymer.Phillip and Harry reached New York in very different states of mind.Harry was buoyant.  He found a letter from Col. Sellers urging him to goto Washington and confer with Senator Dilworthy.  The petition was in hishands.It had been signed by everybody of any importance in Missouri, and wouldbe presented immediately."I should go on myself," wrote the Colonel, "but I am engaged in theinvention of a process for lighting such a city as St. Louis by means ofwater; just attach my machine to the water-pipes anywhere and thedecomposition of the fluid begins, and you will have floods of light forthe mere cost of the machine.  I've nearly got the lighting part, but Iwant to attach to it a heating, cooking, washing and ironing apparatus.It's going to be the great thing, but we'd better keep this appropriationgoing while I am perfecting it."Harry took letters to several congressmen from his uncle and from Mr.Duff Brown, each of whom had an extensive acquaintance in both houseswhere they were well known as men engaged in large private operations forthe public good and men, besides, who, in the slang of the day,understood the virtues of "addition, division and silence."Senator Dilworthy introduced the petition into the Senate with the remarkthat he knew, personally, the signers of it, that they were meninterested; it was true, in the improvement of the country, but hebelieved without any selfish motive, and that so far as he knew thesigners were loyal.  It pleased him to see upon the roll the names ofmany colored citizens, and it must rejoice every friend of humanity toknow that this lately emancipated race were intelligently taking part inthe development of the resources of their native land.  He moved thereference of the petition to the proper committee.Senator Dilworthy introduced his young friend to influential members,as a person who was very well informed about the Salt Lick Extension ofthe Pacific, and was one of the Engineers who had made a careful surveyof Columbus River; and left him to exhibit his maps and plans and to showthe connection between the public treasury, the city of Napoleon andlegislation for the benefit off the whole country.Harry was the guest of Senator Dilworthy.  There was scarcely any goodmovement in which the Senator was not interested.  His house was open toall the laborers in the field of total abstinence, and much of his timewas taken up in attending the meetings of this cause.  He had a Bibleclass in the Sunday school of the church which he attended, and hesuggested to Harry that he might take a class during the time he remainedin Washington, Mr. Washington Hawkins had a class.  Harry asked theSenator if there was a class of young ladies for him to teach, and afterthat the Senator did not press the subject.Philip, if the truth must be told, was not well satisfied with hiswestern prospects, nor altogether with the people he had fallen in with.The railroad contractors held out large but rather indefinite promises.Opportunities for a fortune he did not doubt existed in Missouri, but forhimself he saw no better means for livelihood than the mastery of theprofession he had rather thoughtlessly entered upon.  During the summerhe had made considerable practical advance in the science of engineering;he had been diligent, and made himself to a certain extent necessary tothe work he was engaged on.  The contractors called him into theirconsultations frequently, as to the character of the country he had beenover, and the cost of constructing the road, the nature of the work, etc.Still Philip felt that if he was going to make either reputation or moneyas an engineer, he had a great deal of hard study before him, and it isto his credit that he did not shrink from it.  While Harry was inWashington dancing attendance upon the national legislature and makingthe acquaintance of the vast lobby that encircled it, Philip devotedhimself day and night, with an energy and a concentration he was capableof, to the learning and theory of his profession, and to the science ofrailroad building.  He wrote some papers at this time for the "Plow, theLoom and the Anvil," upon the strength of materials, and especially uponbridge-building,, which attracted considerable attention, and were copiedinto the English "Practical Magazine." They served at any rate to raisePhilip in the opinion of his friends the contractors, for practical menhave a certain superstitious estimation of ability with the pen, andthough they may a little despise the talent, they are quite ready to makeuse of it.Philip sent copies of his performances to Ruth's father and to othergentlemen whose good opinion he coveted, but he did not rest upon hislaurels.  Indeed, so diligently had he applied himself, that when it cametime for him to return to the West, he felt himself, at least in theory,competent to take charge of a division in the field.CHAPTER XXIV.The capital of the Great Republic was a new world to country-bredWashington Hawkins.  St. Louis was a greater city, but its floating.population did not hail from great distances, and so it had the generalfamily aspect of the permanent population; but Washington gathered itspeople from the four winds of heaven, and so the manners, the faces andthe fashions there, presented a variety that was infinite.  Washingtonhad never been in "society" in St. Louis, and he knew nothing of the waysof its wealthier citizens and had never inspected one of their dwellings.Consequently, everything in the nature of modern fashion and grandeur wasa new and wonderful revelation to him.Washington is an interesting city to any of us.  It seems to become moreand more interesting the oftener we visit it.  Perhaps the reader hasnever been there?  Very well.  You arrive either at night, rather toolate to do anything or see anything until morning, or you arrive so earlyin the morning that you consider it best to go to your hotel and sleep anhour or two while the sun bothers along over the Atlantic.  You cannotwell arrive at a pleasant intermediate hour, because the railwaycorporation that keeps the keys of the only door that leads into the townor out of it take care of that.  You arrive in tolerably good spirits,because it is only thirty-eight miles from Baltimore to the capital, andso you have only been insulted three times (provided you are not in asleeping car--the average is higher there): once when you renewed yourticket after stopping over in Baltimore, once when you were about toenter the "ladies' car" without knowing it was a lady's car, and onceWhen you asked the conductor at what hour you would reach Washington.You are assailed by a long rank of hackmen who shake their whips in yourface as you step out upon the sidewalk; you enter what they regard as a"carriage," in the capital, and you wonder why they do not take it out ofservice and put it in the museum: we have few enough antiquities, andit is little to our credit that we make scarcely any effort to preservethe few we have.  You reach your hotel, presently--and here let us drawthe curtain of charity--because of course you have gone to the wrong one.You being a stranger, how could you do otherwise?  There are a hundredand eighteen bad hotels, and only one good one.  The most renowned andpopular hotel of them all is perhaps the worst one known to history.It is winter, and night.  When you arrived, it was snowing.  When youreached the hotel, it was sleeting.  When you went to bed, it wasraining.  During the night it froze hard, and the wind blew some chimneysdown.  When you got up in the morning, it was foggy.  When you finishedyour breakfast at ten o'clock and went out, the sunshine was brilliant,the weather balmy and delicious, and the mud and slush deep and all-pervading.  You will like the climate when you get used to it.You naturally wish to view the city; so you take an umbrella, anovercoat, and a fan, and go forth.  The prominent features you soonlocate and get familiar with; first you glimpse the ornamental upperworks of a long, snowy palace projecting above a grove of trees, and atall, graceful white dome with a statue on it surmounting the palace andpleasantly contrasting with the background of blue sky.  That building isthe capitol; gossips will tell you that by the original estimates it wasto cost $12,000,000, and that the government did come within $21,200,000of building it for that sum.You stand at the back of the capitol to treat yourself to a view, and itis a very noble one.  You understand, the capitol stands upon the vergeof a high piece of table land, a fine commanding position, and its frontlooks out over this noble situation for a city--but it don't see it, forthe reason that when the capitol extension was decided upon, the propertyowners at once advanced their prices to such inhuman figures that thepeople went down and built the city in the muddy low marsh behind thetemple of liberty; so now the lordly front of the building, with, itsimposing colonades, its, projecting, graceful wings, its, picturesquegroups of statuary, and its long terraced ranges of steps, flowing downin white marble waves to the ground, merely looks out upon a sorrowfullittle desert of cheap boarding houses.So you observe, that you take your view from the back of the capitol.And yet not from the airy outlooks of the dome, by the way, because toget there you must pass through the great rotunda: and to do that, youwould have to see the marvelous Historical Paintings that hang there,and the bas-reliefs--and what have you done that you should suffer thus?And besides, you might have to pass through the old part of the building,and you could not help seeing Mr. Lincoln, as petrified by a young ladyartist for $10,000--and you might take his marble emancipationproclamation, which he holds out in his hand and contemplates, for afolded napkin; and you might conceive from his expression and hisattitude, that he is finding fault with the washing.  Which is not thecase.  Nobody knows what is the matter with him; but everybody feels forhim.  Well, you ought not to go into the dome anyhow, because it would beutterly impossible to go up there without seeing the frescoes in it--andwhy should you be interested in the delirium tremens of art?The capitol is a very noble and a very beautiful building, both withinand without, but you need not examine it now.  Still, if you greatlyprefer going into the dome, go.  Now your general glance gives youpicturesque stretches of gleaming water, on your left, with a sail hereand there and a lunatic asylum on shore; over beyond the water, on adistant elevation, you see a squat yellow temple which your eye dwellsupon lovingly through a blur of unmanly moisture, for it recalls yourlost boyhood and the Parthenons done in molasses candy which made itblest and beautiful.  Still in the distance, but on this side of thewater and close to its edge, the Monument to the Father of his Countrytowers out of the mud--sacred soil is the, customary term.  It has theaspect of a factory chimney with the top broken off.  The skeleton of adecaying scaffolding lingers about its summit, and tradition says thatthe spirit of Washington often comes down and sits on those rafters toenjoy this tribute of respect which the nation has reared as the symbolof its unappeasable gratitude.  The Monument is to be finished, some day,and at that time our Washington will have risen still higher in thenation's veneration, and will be known as the Great-Great-Grandfather ofhis Country.  The memorial Chimney stands in a quiet pastoral localitythat is full of reposeful expression.  With a glass you can see the cow-sheds about its base, and the contented sheep nimbling pebbles in thedesert solitudes that surround it, and the tired pigs dozing in the holycalm of its protecting shadow.Now you wrench your gaze loose, and you look down in front of you and seethe broad Pennsylvania Avenue stretching straight ahead for a mile ormore till it brings up against the iron fence in front of a pillaredgranite pile, the Treasury building-an edifice that would command respectin any capital.  The stores and hotels that wall in this broad avenue aremean, and cheap, and dingy, and are better left without comment.  Beyondthe Treasury is a fine large white barn, with wide unhandsome groundsabout it.  The President lives there.  It is ugly enough outside, butthat is nothing to what it is inside.  Dreariness, flimsiness, bad tastereduced to mathematical completeness is what the inside offers to theeye, if it remains yet what it always has been.The front and right hand views give you the city at large.  It is a widestretch of cheap little brick houses, with here and there a noblearchitectural pile lifting itself out of the midst-government buildings,these.  If the thaw is still going on when you come down and go abouttown, you will wonder at the short-sightedness of the city fathers, whenyou come to inspect the streets, in that they do not dilute the mud alittle more and use them for canals.If you inquire around a little, you will find that there are moreboardinghouses to the square acre in Washington than there are in anyother city in the land, perhaps.  If you apply for a home in one of them,it will seem odd to you to have the landlady inspect you with a severeeye and then ask you if you are a member of Congress.  Perhaps, just as apleasantry, you will say yes.  And then she will tell you that she is"full."  Then you show her her advertisement in the morning paper, andthere she stands, convicted and ashamed.  She will try to blush, and itwill be only polite in you to take the effort for the deed.  She showsyou her rooms, now, and lets yon take one--but she makes you pay inadvance for it.  That is what you will get for pretending to be a memberof Congress.  If you had been content to be merely a private citizen,your trunk would have been sufficient security for your board.  If youare curious and inquire into this thing, the chances are that yourlandlady will be ill-natured enough to say that the person and propertyof a Congressman are exempt from arrest or detention, and that with thetears in her eyes she has seen several of the people's representativeswalk off to their several States and Territories carrying her unreceiptedboard bills in their pockets for keepsakes.  And before you have been inWashington many weeks you will be mean enough to believe her, too.Of course you contrive to see everything and find out everything.  Andone of the first and most startling things you find out is, that everyindividual you encounter in the City of Washington almost--and certainlyevery separate and distinct individual in the public employment, from thehighest bureau chief, clear down to the maid who scrubs Department halls,the night watchmen of the public buildings and the darkey boy whopurifies the Department spittoons--represents Political Influence.Unless you can get the ear of a Senator, or a Congressman, or a Chief ofa Bureau or Department, and persuade him to use his "influence" in yourbehalf, you cannot get an employment of the most trivial nature inWashington.  Mere merit, fitness and capability, are useless baggage toyou without "influence."  The population of Washington consists prettymuch entirely of government employee and the people who board them.There are thousands of these employees, and they have gathered there fromevery corner of the Union and got their berths through the intercession(command is nearer the word) of the Senators and Representatives of theirrespective States.  It would be an odd circumstance to see a girl getemployment at three or four dollars a week in one of the great publiccribs without any political grandee to back her, but merely because shewas worthy, and competent, and a good citizen of a free country that"treats all persons alike."  Washington would be mildly thunderstruck atsuch a thing as that.  If you are a member of Congress, (no offence,) andone of your constituents who doesn't know anything, and does not want togo into the bother of learning something, and has no money, and noemployment, and can't earn a living, comes besieging you for help, do yousay, "Come, my friend, if your services were valuable you could getemployment elsewhere--don't want you here?  " Oh, no: You take him to aDepartment and say, "Here, give this person something to pass away thetime at--and a salary"--and the thing is done.  You throw him on hiscountry.  He is his country's child, let his country support him.  Thereis something good and motherly about Washington, the grand old benevolentNational Asylum for the Helpless.The wages received by this great hive of employees are placed at theliberal figure meet and just for skilled and competent labor.  Such ofthem as are immediately employed about the two Houses of Congress, arenot only liberally paid also, but are remembered in the customary ExtraCompensation bill which slides neatly through, annually, with the generalgrab that signalizes the last night of a session, and thus twenty percent. is added to their wages, for--for fun, no doubt.Washington Hawkins' new life was an unceasing delight to him.  SenatorDilworthy lived sumptuously, and Washington's quarters were charming--gas; running water, hot and cold; bath-room, coal-fires, rich carpets,beautiful pictures on the walls; books on religion, temperance, publiccharities and financial schemes; trim colored servants, dainty food--everything a body could wish for.  And as for stationery, there was noend to it; the government furnished it; postage stamps were not needed--the Senator's frank could convey a horse through the mails, if necessary.And then he saw such dazzling company.  Renowned generals and admiralswho had seemed but colossal myths when he was in the far west, went inand out before him or sat at the Senator's table, solidified intopalpable flesh and blood; famous statesmen crossed his path daily; thatonce rare and awe-inspiring being, a Congressman, was become a commonspectacle--a spectacle so common, indeed, that he could contemplate itwithout excitement, even without embarrassment; foreign ministers werevisible to the naked eye at happy intervals; he had looked upon thePresident himself, and lived.  And more; this world of enchantment teemedwith speculation--the whole atmosphere was thick with hand that indeedwas Washington Hawkins' native air; none other refreshed his lungs sogratefully.  He had found paradise at last.The more he saw of his chief the Senator, the more he honored him, andthe more conspicuously the moral grandeur of his character appeared tostand out.  To possess the friendship and the kindly interest of such aman, Washington said in a letter to Louise, was a happy fortune for ayoung man whose career had been so impeded and so clouded as his.The weeks drifted by;--Harry Brierly flirted, danced, added lustre to thebrilliant Senatorial receptions, and diligently "buzzed" and "button-holed" Congressmen in the interest of the Columbus River scheme; meantimeSenator Dilworthy labored hard in the same interest--and in others ofequal national importance.  Harry wrote frequently to Sellers, and alwaysencouragingly; and from these letters it was easy to see that Harry was apet with all Washington, and was likely to carry the thing through; thatthe assistance rendered him by "old Dilworthy" was pretty fair--prettyfair; "and every little helps, you know," said Harry.Washington wrote Sellers officially, now and then.  In one of his lettersit appeared that whereas no member of the House committee favored thescheme at first, there was now needed but one more vote to compass amajority report.  Closing sentence:     "Providence seems to further our efforts."          (Signed,) "ABNER DILWORTHY, U. S. S.,                         per WASHINGTON HAWKINS, P. S."At the end of a week, Washington was able to send the happy news,officially, as usual,--that the needed vote had been added and the billfavorably reported from the Committee.  Other letters recorded its perilsin Committee of the whole, and by and by its victory, by just the skin ofits teeth, on third reading and final passage.  Then came letters tellingof Mr. Dilworthy's struggles with a stubborn majority in his ownCommittee in the Senate; of how these gentlemen succumbed, one by one,till a majority was secured.Then there was a hiatus.  Washington watched every move on the board, andhe was in a good position to do this, for he was clerk of this committee,and also one other.  He received no salary as private secretary, butthese two clerkships, procured by his benefactor, paid him an aggregateof twelve dollars a day, without counting the twenty percent extracompensation which would of course be voted to him on the last night ofthe session.He saw the bill go into Committee of the whole and struggle for its lifeagain, and finally worry through.  In the fullness of time he noted itssecond reading, and by and by the day arrived when the grand ordeal came,and it was put upon its final passage.  Washington listened with batedbreath to the "Aye!" " No!" " No!" "Aye!" of the voters, for a few dreadminutes, and then could bear the suspense no longer.  He ran down fromthe gallery and hurried home to wait.At the end of two or three hours the Senator arrived in the bosom of hisfamily, and dinner was waiting.  Washington sprang forward, with theeager question on his lips, and the Senator said:"We may rejoice freely, now, my son--Providence has crowned our effortswith success."CHAPTER XXV.Washington sent grand good news to Col. Sellers that night.  To Louise hewrote:"It is beautiful to hear him talk when his heart is full of thankfulnessfor some manifestation of the Divine favor.  You shall know him, some daymy Louise, and knowing him you will honor him, as I do."Harry wrote:"I pulled it through, Colonel, but it was a tough job, there is noquestion about that.  There was not a friend to the measure in the Housecommittee when I began, and not a friend in the Senate committee exceptold Dil himself, but they were all fixed for a majority report when Ihauled off my forces.  Everybody here says you can't get a thing likethis through Congress without buying committees for straight-out cash ondelivery, but I think I've taught them a thing or two--if I could onlymake them believe it.  When I tell the old residenters that this thingwent through without buying a vote or making a promise, they say, 'That'srather too thin.'  And when I say thin or not thin it's a fact, anyway,they say, 'Come, now, but do you really believe that?' and when I say Idon't believe anything about it, I know it, they smile and say, 'Well,you are pretty innocent, or pretty blind, one or the other--there's nogetting around that.'  Why they really do believe that votes have beenbought--they do indeed.  But let them keep on thinking so.  I have foundout that if a man knows how to talk to women, and has a little gift inthe way of argument with men, he can afford to play for an appropriationagainst a money bag and give the money bag odds in the game.  We've rakedin $200,000 of Uncle Sam's money, say what they will--and there is morewhere this came from, when we want it, and I rather fancy I am the personthat can go in and occupy it, too, if I do say it myself, that shouldn't,perhaps.  I'll be with you within a week.  Scare up all the men you can,and put them to work at once.  When I get there I propose to make thingshum."  The great news lifted Sellers into the clouds.  He went to work onthe instant.  He flew hither and thither making contracts, engaging men,and steeping his soul in the ecstasies of business.  He was the happiestman in Missouri.  And Louise was the happiest woman; for presently came aletter from Washington which said:"Rejoice with me, for the long agony is over!  We have waited patientlyand faithfully, all these years, and now at last the reward is at hand.A man is to pay our family $40,000 for the Tennessee Land!  It is but alittle sum compared to what we could get by waiting, but I do so long tosee the day when I can call you my own, that I have said to myself,better take this and enjoy life in a humble way than wear out our bestdays in this miserable separation.  Besides, I can put this money intooperations here that will increase it a hundred fold, yes, a thousandfold, in a few months.  The air is full of such chances, and I know ourfamily would consent in a moment that I should put in their shares withmine.  Without a doubt we shall be worth half a million dollars in a yearfrom this time--I put it at the very lowest figure, because it is alwaysbest to be on the safe side--half a million at the very lowestcalculation, and then your father will give his consent and we can marryat last.  Oh, that will be a glorious day.  Tell our friends the goodnews--I want all to share it."And she did tell her father and mother, but they said, let it be keptstill for the present.  The careful father also told her to writeWashington and warn him not to speculate with the money, but to wait alittle and advise with one or two wise old heads.  She did this.  And shemanaged to keep the good news to herself, though it would seem that themost careless observer might have seen by her springing step and herradiant countenance that some fine piece of good fortune had descendedupon her.Harry joined the Colonel at Stone's Landing, and that dead place spranginto sudden life.  A swarm of men were hard at work, and the dull air wasfilled with the cheery music of labor.  Harry had been constitutedengineer-in-general, and he threw the full strength of his powers intohis work.  He moved among his hirelings like a king.  Authority seemed toinvest him with a new splendor.  Col. Sellers, as general superintendentof a great public enterprise, was all that a mere human being could be--and more.  These two grandees went at their imposing "improvement" withthe air of men who had been charged with the work of altering thefoundations of the globe.They turned their first attention to straightening the river just abovethe Landing, where it made a deep bend, and where the maps and plansshowed that the process of straightening would not only shorten distancebut increase the "fall."  They started a cut-off canal across thepeninsula formed by the bend, and such another tearing up of the earthand slopping around in the mud as followed the order to the men, hadnever been seen in that region before.  There was such a panic among theturtles that at the end of six hours there was not one to be found withinthree miles of Stone's Landing.  They took the young and the aged, thedecrepit and the sick upon their backs and left for tide-water indisorderly procession, the tadpoles following and the bull-frogs bringingup the rear.Saturday night came, but the men were obliged to wait, because theappropriation had not come.  Harry said he had written to hurry up themoney and it would be along presently.  So the work continued, on Monday.Stone's Landing was making quite a stir in the vicinity, by this time.Sellers threw a lot or two on the market, "as a feeler," and they soldwell.  He re-clothed his family, laid in a good stock of provisions, andstill had money left.  He started a bank account, in a small way--andmentioned the deposit casually to friends; and to strangers, too; toeverybody, in fact; but not as a new thing--on the contrary, as a matterof life-long standing.  He could not keep from buying trifles every daythat were not wholly necessary, it was such a gaudy thing to get out hisbank-book and draw a check, instead of using his old customary formula,"Charge it" Harry sold a lot or two, also--and had a dinner party or twoat Hawkeye and a general good time with the money.  Both men held onpretty strenuously for the coming big prices, however.At the end of a month things were looking bad.  Harry had besieged theNew York headquarters of the Columbus River Slack-water NavigationCompany with demands, then commands, and finally appeals, but to nopurpose; the appropriation did not come; the letters were not evenanswered.  The workmen were clamorous, now.  The Colonel and Harryretired to consult."What's to be done?" said the Colonel."Hang'd if I know.""Company say anything?""Not a word.""You telegraphed yesterday?"Yes, and the day before, too.""No answer?""None-confound them!"Then there was a long pause.  Finally both spoke at once:"I've got it!""I've got it!""What's yours?" said Harry."Give the boys thirty-day orders on the Company for the back pay.""That's it-that's my own idea to a dot.  But then--but then----""Yes, I know," said the Colonel; "I know they can't wait for the ordersto go to New York and be cashed, but what's the reason they can't getthem discounted in Hawkeye?""Of course they can.  That solves the difficulty.  Everybody knows theappropriation's been made and the Company's perfectly good."So the orders were given and the men appeased, though they grumbled alittle at first.  The orders went well enough for groceries and suchthings at a fair discount, and the work danced along gaily for a time.Two or three purchasers put up frame houses at the Landing and moved in,and of course a far-sighted but easy-going journeyman printer wanderedalong and started the "Napoleon Weekly Telegraph and LiteraryRepository"--a paper with a Latin motto from the Unabridged dictionary,and plenty of "fat" conversational tales and double-leaded poetry--allfor two dollars a year, strictly in advance.  Of course the merchantsforwarded the orders at once to New York--and never heard of them again.At the end of some weeks Harry's orders were a drug in the market--nobodywould take them at any discount whatever.  The second month closed with ariot. --Sellers was absent at the time, and Harry began an active absencehimself with the mob at his heels.  But being on horseback, he had theadvantage.  He did not tarry in Hawkeye, but went on, thus missingseveral appointments with creditors.  He was far on his flight eastward,and well out of danger when the next morning dawned.  He telegraphed theColonel to go down and quiet the laborers--he was bound east for money--everything would be right in a week--tell the men so--tell them to relyon him and not be afraid.Sellers found the mob quiet enough when he reached the Landing.They had gutted the Navigation office, then piled the beautiful engravedstock-books and things in the middle of the floor and enjoyed the bonfirewhile it lasted.  They had a liking for the Colonel, but still they hadsome idea of hanging him, as a sort of make-shift that might answer,after a fashion, in place of more satisfactory game.But they made the mistake of waiting to hear what he had to say first.Within fifteen minutes his tongue had done its work and they were allrich men. --He gave every one of them a lot in the suburbs of the city ofStone's Landing, within a mile and a half of the future post office andrailway station, and they promised to resume work as soon as Harry goteast and started the money along.  Now things were blooming and pleasantagain, but the men had no money, and nothing to live on.  The Coloneldivided with them the money he still had in bank--an act which hadnothing surprising about it because he was generally ready to dividewhatever he had with anybody that wanted it, and it was owing to thisvery trait that his family spent their days in poverty and at times werepinched with famine.When the men's minds had cooled and Sellers was gone, they hatedthemselves for letting him beguile them with fine speeches, but it wastoo late, now--they agreed to hang him another time--such time asProvidence should appoint.CHAPTER XXVI.Rumors of Ruth's frivolity and worldliness at Fallkill traveled toPhiladelphia in due time, and occasioned no little undertalk among theBolton relatives.Hannah Shoecraft told another, cousin that, for her part, she neverbelieved that Ruth had so much more "mind" than other people; and CousinHulda added that she always thought Ruth was fond of admiration, and thatwas the reason she was unwilling to wear plain clothes and attendMeeting.  The story that Ruth was "engaged" to a young gentleman offortune in Fallkill came with the other news, and helped to give point tothe little satirical remarks that went round about Ruth's desire to be adoctor!Margaret Bolton was too wise to be either surprised or alarmed by theserumors.  They might be true; she knew a woman's nature too well to thinkthem improbable, but she also knew how steadfast Ruth was in herpurposes, and that, as a brook breaks into ripples and eddies and dancesand sports by the way, and yet keeps on to the sea, it was in Ruth'snature to give back cheerful answer to the solicitations of friendlinessand pleasure, to appear idly delaying even, and sporting in the sunshine,while the current of her resolution flowed steadily on.That Ruth had this delight in the mere surface play of life that shecould, for instance, be interested in that somewhat serious by-playcalled "flirtation," or take any delight in the exercise of those littlearts of pleasing and winning which are none the less genuine and charmingbecause they are not intellectual, Ruth, herself, had never suspecteduntil she went to Fallkill.  She had believed it her duty to subdue hergaiety of temperament, and let nothing divert her from what are calledserious pursuits: In her limited experience she brought everything to thejudgment of her own conscience, and settled the affairs of all the worldin her own serene judgment hall.  Perhaps her mother saw this, and sawalso that there was nothing in the Friends' society to prevent her fromgrowing more and more opinionated.When Ruth returned to Philadelphia, it must be confessed--though it wouldnot have been by her--that a medical career did seem a little lessnecessary for her than formerly; and coming back in a glow of triumph, asit were, and in the consciousness of the freedom and life in a livelysociety and in new and sympathetic friendship, she anticipated pleasurein an attempt to break up the stiffness and levelness of the society athome, and infusing into it something of the motion and sparkle which wereso agreeable at Fallkill.  She expected visits from her new friends, shewould have company, the new books and the periodicals about which all theworld was talking, and, in short, she would have life.For a little while she lived in this atmosphere which she had broughtwith her.  Her mother was delighted with this change in her, with theimprovement in her health and the interest she exhibited in home affairs.Her father enjoyed the society of his favorite daughter as he did fewthings besides; he liked her mirthful and teasing ways, and not less akeen battle over something she had read.  He had been a great reader allhis life, and a remarkable memory had stored his mind with encyclopaedicinformation.  It was one of Ruth's delights to cram herself with some outof the way subject and endeavor to catch her father; but she almostalways failed.  Mr. Bolton liked company, a house full of it, and themirth of young people, and he would have willingly entered into anyrevolutionary plans Ruth might have suggested in relation to Friends'society.But custom and the fixed order are stronger than the most enthusiasticand rebellious young lady, as Ruth very soon found.  In spite of all herbrave efforts, her frequent correspondence, and her determined animation,her books and her music, she found herself settling into the clutches ofthe old monotony, and as she realized the hopelessness of her endeavors,the medical scheme took new hold of her, and seemed to her the onlymethod of escape."Mother, thee does not know how different it is in Fallkill, how muchmore interesting the people are one meets, how much more life there is.""But thee will find the world, child, pretty much all the same, when theeknows it better.  I thought once as thee does now, and had as littlethought of being a Friend as thee has.  Perhaps when thee has seen more,thee will better appreciate a quiet life.""Thee married young.  I shall not marry young, and perhaps not at all,"said Ruth, with a look of vast experience."Perhaps thee doesn't know thee own mind ; I have known persons of thyage who did not.  Did thee see anybody whom thee would like to live withalways in Fallkill?""Not always," replied Ruth with a little laugh.  "Mother, I think Iwouldn't say 'always' to any one until I have a profession and am asindependent as he is.  Then my love would be a free act, and not in anyway a necessity."Margaret Bolton smiled at this new-fangled philosophy.  "Thee will findthat love, Ruth, is a thing thee won't reason about, when it comes, normake any bargains about.  Thee wrote that Philip Sterling was atFallkill.""Yes, and Henry Brierly, a friend of his; a very amusing young fellow andnot so serious-minded as Philip, but a bit of a fop maybe.""And thee preferred the fop to the serious-minded?""I didn't prefer anybody; but Henry Brierly was good company, whichPhilip wasn't always.""Did thee know thee father had been in correspondence with Philip?"Ruth looked up surprised and with a plain question in her eyes."Oh, it's not about thee.""What then?" and if there was any shade of disappointment in her tone,probably Ruth herself did not know it."It's about some land up in the country.  That man Bigler has got fatherinto another speculation.""That odious man!  Why will father have anything to do with him?  Is itthat railroad?""Yes.  Father advanced money and took land as security, and whatever hasgone with the money and the bonds, he has on his hands a large tract ofwild land.""And what has Philip to do with that?""It has good timber, if it could ever be got out, and father says thatthere must be coal in it; it's in a coal region.  He wants Philip tosurvey it, and examine it for indications of coal.""It's another of father's fortunes, I suppose," said Ruth.  "He has putaway so many fortunes for us that I'm afraid we never shall find them."Ruth was interested in it nevertheless, and perhaps mainly because Philipwas to be connected with the enterprise.  Mr. Bigler came to dinner withher father next day, and talked a great deal about Mr. Bolton'smagnificent tract of land, extolled the sagacity that led him to securesuch a property, and led the talk along to another railroad which wouldopen a northern communication to this very land."Pennybacker says it's full of coal, he's no doubt of it, and a railroadto strike the Erie would make it a fortune.""Suppose you take the land and work the thing up, Mr. Bigler; you mayhave the tract for three dollars an acre.""You'd throw it away, then," replied Mr. Bigler, "and I'm not the man totake advantage of a friend.  But if you'll put a mortgage on it for thenorthern road, I wouldn't mind taking an interest, if Pennybacker iswilling; but Pennybacker, you know, don't go much on land, he sticks tothe legislature."  And Mr. Bigler laughed.When Mr. Bigler had gone, Ruth asked her father about Philip's connectionwith the land scheme."There's nothing definite," said Mr. Bolton.  "Philip is showing aptitudefor his profession.  I hear the best reports of him in New York, thoughthose sharpers don't 'intend to do anything but use him.  I've writtenand offered him employment in surveying and examining the land.  We wantto know what it is.  And if there is anything in it that his enterprisecan dig out, he shall have an interest.  I should be glad to give theyoung fellow a lift."All his life Eli Bolton had been giving young fellows a lift, andshouldering the loses when things turned out unfortunately.  His ledger,take-it-altogether, would not show a balance on the right side; butperhaps the losses on his books will turn out to be credits in a worldwhere accounts are kept on a different basis.  The left hand of theledger will appear the right, looked at from the other side.Philip, wrote to Ruth rather a comical account of the bursting up of thecity of Napoleon and the navigation improvement scheme, of Harry's flightand the Colonel's discomfiture.  Harry left in such a hurry that hehadn't even time to bid Miss Laura Hawkins good-bye, but he had no doubtthat Harry would console himself with the next pretty face he saw--a remark which was thrown in for Ruth's benefit.  Col. Sellers had in allprobability, by this time, some other equally brilliant speculation inhis brain.As to the railroad, Philip had made up his mind that it was merely kepton foot for speculative purposes in Wall street, and he was about to quitit.  Would Ruth be glad to hear, he wondered, that he was coming East?  ,For he was coming, in spite of a letter from Harry in New York, advisinghim to hold on until he had made some arrangements in regard tocontracts, he to be a little careful about Sellers, who was somewhatvisionary, Harry said.The summer went on without much excitement for Ruth.  She kept up acorrespondence with Alice, who promised a visit in the fall, she read,she earnestly tried to interest herself in home affairs and such peopleas came to the house; but she found herself falling more and more intoreveries, and growing weary of things as they were.  She felt thateverybody might become in time like two relatives from a Shakerestablishment in Ohio, who visited the Boltons about this time, a fatherand son, clad exactly alike, and alike in manners.  The son; however,who was not of age, was more unworldly and sanctimonious than his father;he always addressed his parent as "Brother Plum," and bore himself,altogether in such a superior manner that Ruth longed to put bent pins inhis chair.  Both father and son wore the long, single breasted collarlesscoats of their society, without buttons, before or behind, but with a rowof hooks and eyes on either side in front.  It was Ruth's suggestion thatthe coats would be improved by a single hook and eye sewed on in thesmall of the back where the buttons usually are.Amusing as this Shaker caricature of the Friends was, it oppressed Ruthbeyond measure; and increased her feeling of being stifled.It was a most unreasonable feeling.  No home could be pleasanter thanRuth's.  The house, a little out of the city; was one of those elegantcountry residences which so much charm visitors to the suburbs ofPhiladelphia.  A modern dwelling and luxurious in everything that wealthcould suggest for comfort, it stood in the midst of exquisitely keptlawns, with groups of trees, parterres of flowers massed in colors, withgreenhouse, grapery and garden ; and on one side, the garden sloped awayin undulations to a shallow brook that ran over a pebbly bottom and sangunder forest trees.  The country about teas the perfection of cultivatedlandscape, dotted with cottages, and stately mansions of Revolutionarydate, and sweet as an English country-side, whether seen in the softbloom of May or in the mellow ripeness of late October.It needed only the peace of the mind within, to make it a paradise.One riding by on the Old Germantown road, and seeing a young girlswinging in the hammock on the piazza and, intent upon some volume of oldpoetry or the latest novel, would no doubt have envied a life so idyllic.He could not have imagined that the young girl was reading a volume ofreports of clinics and longing to be elsewhere.Ruth could not have been more discontented if all the wealth about herhad been as unsubstantial as a dream.  Perhaps she so thought it."I feel," she once said to her father, "as if I were living in a house ofcards.""And thee would like to turn it into a hospital?""No.  But tell me father," continued Ruth, not to be put off, "is theestill going on with that Bigler and those other men who come here andentice thee?"Mr. Bolton smiled, as men do when they talk with women about "business""Such men have their uses, Ruth.  They keep the world active, and I owe agreat many of my best operations to such men.  Who knows, Ruth, but thisnew land purchase, which I confess I yielded a little too much to Biglerin, may not turn out a fortune for thee and the rest of the children?""Ah, father, thee sees every thing in a rose-colored light.  I do believethee wouldn't have so readily allowed me to begin the study of medicine,if it hadn't had the novelty of an experiment to thee.""And is thee satisfied with it?""If thee means, if I have had enough of it, no.  I just begin to see whatI can do in it, and what a noble profession it is for a woman.  Wouldthee have me sit here like a bird on a bough and wait for somebody tocome and put me in a cage?"Mr. Bolton was not sorry to divert the talk from his own affairs, and hedid not think it worth while to tell his family of a performance thatvery day which was entirely characteristic of him.Ruth might well say that she felt as if she were living in a house ofcards, although the Bolton household had no idea of the number of perilsthat hovered over them, any more than thousands of families in Americahave of the business risks and contingences upon which their prosperityand luxury hang.A sudden call upon Mr. Bolton for a large sum of money, which must beforthcoming at once, had found him in the midst of a dozen ventures, fromno one of which a dollar could be realized.  It was in vain that heapplied to his business acquaintances and friends; it was a period ofsudden panic and no money.  "A hundred thousand!  Mr. Bolton," saidPlumly.  "Good God, if you should ask me for ten, I shouldn't know whereto get it."And yet that day Mr. Small (Pennybacker, Bigler and Small) came to Mr.Bolton with a piteous story of ruin in a coal operation, if he could notraise ten thousand dollars.  Only ten, and he was sure of a fortune.Without it he was a beggar.  Mr. Bolton had already Small's notes for alarge amount in his safe, labeled "doubtful;" he had helped him again andagain, and always with the same result.  But Mr. Small spoke with afaltering voice of his family, his daughter in school, his wife ignorantof his calamity, and drew such a picture of their agony, that Mr. Boltonput by his own more pressing necessity, and devoted the day to scrapingtogether, here and there, ten thousand dollars for this brazen beggar,who had never kept a promise to him nor paid a debt.Beautiful credit!  The foundation of modern society.  Who shall say thatthis is not the golden age of mutual trust, of unlimited reliance uponhuman promises?  That is a peculiar condition of society which enables awhole nation to instantly recognize point and meaning in the familiarnewspaper anecdote, which puts into the mouth of a distinguishedspeculator in lands and mines this remark:--"I wasn't worth a cent twoyears ago, and now I owe two millions of dollars."CHAPTER XXVII.It was a hard blow to poor Sellers to see the work on his darlingenterprise stop, and the noise and bustle and confusion that had beensuch refreshment to his soul, sicken and die out.  It was hard to comedown to humdrum ordinary life again after being a General Superintendentand the most conspicuous man in the community.  It was sad to see hisname disappear from the newspapers; sadder still to see it resurrected atintervals, shorn of its aforetime gaudy gear of compliments and clothedon with rhetorical tar and feathers.But his friends suffered more on his account than he did.  He was a corkthat could not be kept under the water many moments at a time.He had to bolster up his wife's spirits every now and then.  On one ofthese occasions he said:"It's all right, my dear, all right; it will all come right in a littlewhile.  There's $200,000 coming, and that will set things booming again:Harry seems to be having some difficulty, but that's to be expected--youcan't move these big operations to the tune of Fisher's Hornpipe, youknow.  But Harry will get it started along presently, and then you'llsee!  I expect the news every day now.""But Beriah, you've been expecting it every day, all along, haven't you?""Well, yes; yes--I don't know but I have.  But anyway, the longer it'sdelayed, the nearer it grows to the time when it will start--same asevery day you live brings you nearer to--nearer--""The grave?""Well, no--not that exactly; but you can't understand these things, Pollydear--women haven't much head for business, you know.  You make yourselfperfectly comfortable, old lady, and you'll see how we'll trot this rightalong.  Why bless you, let the appropriation lag, if it wants to--that'sno great matter--there's a bigger thing than that.""Bigger than $200,000, Beriah?""Bigger, child?--why, what's $200,000?  Pocket money!  Mere pocket money!Look at the railroad!  Did you forget the railroad?  It ain't many monthstill spring; it will be coming right along, and the railroad swimmingright along behind it.  Where'll it be by the middle of summer?  Juststop and fancy a moment--just think a little--don't anything suggestitself?  Bless your heart, you dear women live right in the present allthe time--but a man, why a man lives----"In the future, Beriah?  But don't we live in the future most too much,Beriah?  We do somehow seem to manage to live on next year's crop of cornand potatoes as a general thing while this year is still dragging along,but sometimes it's not a robust diet,--Beriah.  But don't look that way,dear--don't mind what I say.  I don't mean to fret, I don't mean toworry; and I don't, once a month, do I, dear?  But when I get a littlelow and feel bad, I get a bit troubled and worrisome, but it don't meananything in the world.  It passes right away.  I know you're doing allyou can, and I don't want to seem repining and ungrateful--for I'm not,Beriah--you know I'm not, don't you?""Lord bless you, child, I know you are the very best little woman thatever lived--that ever lived on the whole face of the Earth!  And I knowthat I would be a dog not to work for you and think for you and schemefor you with all my might.  And I'll bring things all right yet, honey--cheer up and don't you fear.  The railroad----""Oh, I had forgotten the railroad, dear, but when a body gets blue, abody forgets everything.  Yes, the railroad--tell me about the railroad.""Aha, my girl, don't you see?  Things ain't so dark, are they?  Now Ididn't forget the railroad.  Now just think for a moment--just figure upa little on the future dead moral certainties.  For instance, call thiswaiter St. Louis."And we'll lay this fork (representing the railroad) from St. Louis tothis potato, which is Slouchburg:"Then with this carving knife we'll continue the railroad from Slouchburgto Doodleville, shown by the black pepper:"Then we run along the--yes--the comb--to the tumbler that's Brimstone:"Thence by the pipe to Belshazzar, which is the salt-cellar:"Thence to, to--that quill--Catfish--hand me the pincushion, MarieAntoinette:"Thence right along these shears to this horse, Babylon:"Then by the spoon to Bloody Run--thank you, the ink:"Thence to Hail Columbia--snuffers, Polly, please move that cup andsaucer close up, that's Hail Columbia:"Then--let me open my knife--to Hark-from-the-Tomb, where we'll put thecandle-stick--only a little distance from Hail Columbia to Hark-from-the-Tomb--down-grade all the way."And there we strike Columbus River--pass me two or throe skeins ofthread to stand for the river; the sugar bowl will do for Hawkeye, andthe rat trap for Stone's Landing-Napoleon, I mean--and you can see howmuch better Napoleon is located than Hawkeye.  Now here you are with yourrailroad complete, and showing its continuation to Hallelujah and thenceto Corruptionville."Now then-them you are!  It's a beautiful road, beautiful.  Jeff Thompsoncan out-engineer any civil engineer that ever sighted through an aneroid,or a theodolite, or whatever they call it--he calls it sometimes one andsometimes the other just whichever levels off his sentence neatest, Ireckon.  But ain't it a ripping toad, though?  I tell you, it'll make astir when it gets along.  Just see what a country it goes through.There's your onions at Slouchburg--noblest onion country that gracesGod's footstool; and there's your turnip country all around Doodleville--bless my life, what fortunes are going to be made there when they getthat contrivance perfected for extracting olive oil out of turnips--ifthere's any in them; and I reckon there is, because Congress has made anappropriation of money to test the thing, and they wouldn't have donethat just on conjecture, of course.  And now we come to the Brimstoneregion--cattle raised there till you can't rest--and corn, and all thatsort of thing.  Then you've got a little stretch along through Belshazzarthat don't produce anything now--at least nothing but rocks--butirrigation will fetch it.  Then from Catfish to Babylon it's a littleswampy, but there's dead loads of peat down under there somewhere.  Nextis the Bloody Run and Hail Columbia country--tobacco enough can be raisedthere to support two such railroads.  Next is the sassparilla region.I reckon there's enough of that truck along in there on the line of thepocket-knife, from Hail Columbia to Hark-from-the Tomb to fat up all theconsumptives in all the hospitals from Halifax to the Holy Land.  It justgrows like weeds!  I've got a little belt of sassparilla land in therejust tucked away unobstrusively waiting for my little UniversalExpectorant to get into shape in my head.  And I'll fix that, you know.One of these days I'll have all the nations of the earth expecto--""But Beriah, dear--""Don't interrupt me; Polly--I don't want you to lose the run of the map--well, take your toy-horse, James Fitz-James, if you must have it--and runalong with you.  Here, now --the soap will do for Babylon.  Let me see--where was I?  Oh yes--now we run down to Stone's Lan--Napoleon--now werun down to Napoleon.  Beautiful road.  Look at that, now.  Perfectlystraight line-straight as the way to the grave.  And see where it leavesHawkeye-clear out in the cold, my dear, clear out in the cold.  Thattown's as bound to die as--well if I owned it I'd get its obituary ready,now, and notify the mourners.  Polly, mark my words--in three years fromthis, Hawkeye'll be a howling wilderness.  You'll see.  And just look atthat river--noblest stream that meanders over the thirsty earth!--calmest, gentlest artery that refreshes her weary bosom!  Railroad goesall over it and all through it--wades right along on stilts.  Seventeenbridges in three miles and a half-forty-nine bridges from Hark-from-the-Tomb to Stone's Landing altogether--forty nine bridges, and culvertsenough to culvert creation itself!  Hadn't skeins of thread enough torepresent them all--but you get an idea--perfect trestle-work of bridgesfor seventy two miles: Jeff Thompson and I fixed all that, you know; he'sto get the contracts and I'm to put them through on the divide.  Justoceans of money in those bridges.  It's the only part of the railroad I'minterested in,--down along the line--and it's all I want, too.  It'senough, I should judge. Now here we are at Napoleon.  Good enough countryplenty good enough--all it wants is population.  That's all right--thatwill come.  And it's no bad country now for calmness and solitude, I cantell you--though there's no money in that, of course.  No money, but aman wants rest, a man wants peace--a man don't want to rip and teararound all the time.  And here we go, now, just as straight as a stringfor Hallelujah--it's a beautiful angle--handsome up grade all the way--and then away you go to Corruptionville, the gaudiest country for earlycarrots and cauliflowers that ever--good missionary field, too.  Thereain't such another missionary field outside the jungles of CentralAfrica.  And patriotic?--why they named it after Congress itself.  Oh,I warn you, my dear, there's a good time coming, and it'll be right alongbefore you know what you're about, too.  That railroad's fetching it.You see what it is as far as I've got, and if I had enough bottles andsoap and boot-jacks and such things to carry it along to where it joinsonto the Union Pacific, fourteen hundred miles from here, I shouldexhibit to you in that little internal improvement a spectacle ofinconceivable sublimity.  So, don't you see?  We've got the rail road tofall back on; and in the meantime, what are we worrying about that$200,000 appropriation for?  That's all right.  I'd be willing to betanything that the very next letter that comes from Harry will--"The eldest boy entered just in the nick of time and brought a letter,warm from the post-office."Things do look bright, after all, Beriah.  I'm sorry I was blue, but itdid seem as if everything had been going against us for whole ages.  Openthe letter--open it quick, and let's know all about it before we stir outof our places.  I am all in a fidget to know what it says."The letter was opened, without any unnecessary delay.CHAPTER XXVIII.Whatever may have been the language of Harry's letter to the Colonel,the information it conveyed wars condensed or expanded, one or the other,from the following episode of his visit to New York:He called, with official importance in his mien, at No.-- Wall street,where a great gilt sign betokened the presence of the head-quarters ofthe a Columbus River Slack-Water Navigation Company."  He entered andgave a dressy porter his card, and was requested to wait a moment in asort of ante-room.  The porter returned in a minute; and asked whom hewould like to see?"The president of the company, of course.""He is busy with some gentlemen, sir; says he will be done with themdirectly."That a copper-plate card with "Engineer-in-Chief" on it should bereceived with such tranquility as this, annoyed Mr. Brierly not a little.But he had to submit.  Indeed his annoyance had time to augment a gooddeal; for he was allowed to cool his heels a frill half hour in the ante-room before those gentlemen emerged and he was ushered into the presence.He found a stately dignitary occupying a very official chair behind along green morocco-covered table, in a room with sumptuously carpeted andfurnished, and well garnished with pictures."Good morning, sir; take a seat--take a seat.""Thank you sir," said Harry, throwing as much chill into his manner ashis ruffled dignity prompted."We perceive by your reports and the reports of the Chief Superintendent,that you have been making gratifying progress with the work.--We are allvery much pleased.""Indeed?  We did not discover it from your letters--which we have notreceived; nor by the treatment our drafts have met with--which were nothonored; nor by the reception of any part of the appropriation, no partof it having come to hand.""Why, my dear Mr. Brierly, there must be some mistake, I am sure we wroteyou and also Mr. Sellers, recently--when my clerk comes he will showcopies--letters informing you of the ten per cent. assessment.""Oh, certainly, we got those letters.  But what we wanted was money tocarry on the work--money to pay the men.""Certainly, certainly--true enough--but we credited you both for a largepart of your assessments--I am sure that was in our letters.""Of course that was in--I remember that.""Ah, very well then.  Now we begin to understand each other.""Well, I don't see that we do.  There's two months' wages due the men,and----""How?  Haven't you paid the men?""Paid them!  How are we going to pay them when you don't honor ourdrafts?""Why, my dear sir, I cannot see how you can find any fault with us.  I amsure we have acted in a perfectly straight forward business way.--Now letus look at the thing a moment.  You subscribed for 100 shares of thecapital stock, at $1,000 a share, I believe?""Yes, sir, I did.""And Mr. Sellers took a like amount?""Yes, sir.""Very well.  No concern can get along without money.  We levied a ten percent. assessment.  It was the original understanding that you and Mr.Sellers were to have the positions you now hold, with salaries of $600 amonth each, while in active service.  You were duly elected to theseplaces, and you accepted them.  Am I right?""Certainly.""Very well.  You were given your instructions and put to work.  By yourreports it appears that you have expended the sum of $9,610 upon the saidwork.  Two months salary to you two officers amounts altogether to$2,400--about one-eighth of your ten per cent. assessment, you see; whichleaves you in debt to the company for the other seven-eighths of theassessment--viz, something over $8,000 apiece.  Now instead of requiringyou to forward this aggregate of $16,000 or $17,000 to New York, thecompany voted unanimously to let you pay it over to the contractors,laborers from time to time, and give you credit on the books for it.And they did it without a murmur, too, for they were pleased with theprogress you had made, and were glad to pay you that little compliment--and a very neat one it was, too, I am sure.  The work you did fell shortof $10,000, a trifle.  Let me see--$9,640 from $20,000 salary $2;400added--ah yes, the balance due the company from yourself and Mr. Sellersis $7,960, which I will take the responsibility of allowing to stand forthe present, unless you prefer to draw a check now, and thus----""Confound it, do you mean to say that instead of the company owing us$2,400, we owe the company $7,960?""Well, yes.""And that we owe the men and the contractors nearly ten thousand dollarsbesides?""Owe them!  Oh bless my soul, you can't mean that you have not paid thesepeople?""But I do mean it!"The president rose and walked the floor like a man in bodily pain.  Hisbrows contracted, he put his hand up and clasped his forehead, and keptsaying, "Oh, it is, too bad, too bad, too bad!  Oh, it is bound to befound out--nothing can prevent it--nothing!"Then he threw himself into his chair and said:"My dear Mr. Brierson, this is dreadful--perfectly dreadful.  It will befound out.  It is bound to tarnish the good name of the company; ourcredit will be seriously, most seriously impaired.  How could you be sothoughtless--the men ought to have been paid though it beggared us all!""They ought, ought they?  Then why the devil--my name is not Bryerson, bythe way--why the mischief didn't the compa--why what in the nation everbecame of the appropriation?  Where is that appropriation?--if astockholder may make so bold as to ask."The appropriation?--that paltry $200,000, do you mean?""Of course--but I didn't know that $200,000 was so very paltry.  Though Igrant, of course, that it is not a large sum, strictly speaking.  Butwhere is it?""My dear sir, you surprise me.  You surely cannot have had a largeacquaintance with this sort of thing.  Otherwise you would not haveexpected much of a result from a mere INITIAL appropriation like that.It was never intended for anything but a mere nest egg for the future andreal appropriations to cluster around.""Indeed?  Well, was it a myth, or was it a reality?  Whatever become ofit?""Why the--matter is simple enough.  A Congressional appropriation costsmoney.  Just reflect, for instance--a majority of the House Committee,say $10,000 apiece--$40,000; a majority of the Senate Committee, the sameeach--say $40,000; a little extra to one or two chairman of one or twosuch committees, say $10,000 each--$20,000; and there's $100,000 of themoney gone, to begin with.  Then, seven male lobbyists, at $3,000 each--$21,000; one female lobbyist, $10,000; a high moral Congressman orSenator here and there--the high moral ones cost more, because they.give tone to a measure--say ten of these at $3,000 each, is $30,000; thena lot of small-fry country members who won't vote for anything whateverwithout pay--say twenty at $500 apiece, is $10,000; a lot of dinners tomembers--say $10,000 altogether; lot of jimcracks for Congressmen's wivesand children--those go a long way--you can't sped too much money in thatline--well, those things cost in a lump, say $10,000--along theresomewhere; and then comes your printed documents--your maps, your tintedengravings, your pamphlets, your illuminated show cards, youradvertisements in a hundred and fifty papers at ever so much a line--because you've got to keep the papers all light or you are gone up, youknow.  Oh, my dear sir, printing bills are destruction itself.  Ours sofar amount to--let me see--10; 52; 22; 13;--and then there's 11; 14; 33--well, never mind the details, the total in clean numbers foots up$118,254.42 thus far!""What!""Oh, yes indeed.  Printing's no bagatelle, I can tell you.  And thenthere's your contributions, as a company, to Chicago fires and Bostonfires, and orphan asylums and all that sort of thing--head the list, yousee, with the company's full name and a thousand dollars set opposite--great card, sir--one of the finest advertisements in the world--thepreachers mention it in the pulpit when it's a religious charity--one ofthe happiest advertisements in the world is your benevolent donation.Ours have amounted to sixteen thousand dollars and some cents up to thistime.""Good heavens!""Oh, yes.  Perhaps the biggest thing we've done in the advertising linewas to get an officer of the U. S. government, of perfectly Himmalayanofficial altitude, to write up our little internal improvement for areligious paper of enormous circulation--I tell you that makes our bondsgo handsomely among the pious poor.  Your religious paper is by far thebest vehicle for a thing of this kind, because they'll 'lead' yourarticle and put it right in the midst of the reading matter; and if it'sgot a few Scripture quotations in it, and some temperance platitudes anda bit of gush here and there about Sunday Schools, and a sentimentalsnuffle now and then about 'God's precious ones, the honest hard-handedpoor,' it works the nation like a charm, my dear sir, and never a mansuspects that it is an advertisement; but your secular paper sticks youright into the advertising columns and of course you don't take a trick.Give me a religious paper to advertise in, every time; and if you'll justlook at their advertising pages, you'll observe that other people think agood deal as I do--especially people who have got little financialschemes to make everybody rich with.  Of course I mean your great bigmetropolitan religious papers that know how to serve God and make moneyat the same time--that's your sort, sir, that's your sort--a religiouspaper that isn't run to make money is no use to us, sir, as anadvertising medium--no use to anybody--in our line of business.  I guessour next best dodge was sending a pleasure trip of newspaper reportersout to Napoleon.  Never paid them a cent; just filled them up withchampagne and the fat of the land, put pen, ink and paper before themwhile they were red-hot, and bless your soul when you come to read theirletters you'd have supposed they'd been to heaven.  And if a sentimentalsqueamishness held one or two of them back from taking a less rosy viewof Napoleon, our hospitalities tied his tongue, at least, and he saidnothing at all and so did us no harm.  Let me see--have I stated all theexpenses I've been at?  No, I was near forgetting one or two items.There's your official salaries--you can't get good men for nothing.Salaries cost pretty lively.  And then there's your big high-soundingmillionaire names stuck into your advertisements as stockholders--anothercard, that--and they are stockholders, too, but you have to give them thestock and non-assessable at that--so they're an expensive lot.  Very,very expensive thing, take it all around, is a big internal improvementconcern--but you see that yourself, Mr. Bryerman--you see that, yourself,sir.""But look here.  I think you are a little mistaken about it's ever havingcost anything for Congressional votes.  I happen to know something aboutthat.  I've let you say your say--now let me say mine.  I don't wish toseem to throw any suspicion on anybody's statements, because we are allliable to be mistaken.  But how would it strike you if I were to say thatI was in Washington all the time this bill was pending? and what if Iadded that I put the measure through myself?  Yes, sir, I did that littlething.  And moreover, I never paid a dollar for any man's vote and neverpromised one.  There are some ways of doing a thing that are as good asothers which other people don't happen to think about, or don't have theknack of succeeding in, if they do happen to think of them.  My dear sir,I am obliged to knock some of your expenses in the head--for never a centwas paid a Congressman or Senator on the part of this Navigation Company.The president smiled blandly, even sweetly, all through this harangue,and then said:"Is that so?""Every word of it.""Well it does seem to alter the complexion of things a little.  You areacquainted with the members down there, of course, else you could nothave worked to such advantage?""I know them all, sir.  I know their wives, their children, their babies--I even made it a point to be on good terms with their lackeys.  I knowevery Congressman well--even familiarly.""Very good.  Do you know any of their signatures?  Do you know theirhandwriting?""Why I know their handwriting as well as I know my own--have hadcorrespondence enough with them, I should think.  And their signatures--why I can tell their initials, even."The president went to a private safe, unlocked it and got out someletters and certain slips of paper.  Then he said:Now here, for instance; do you believe that that is a genuine letter?Do you know this signature here?--and this one?  Do you know who thoseinitials represent--and are they forgeries?"Harry was stupefied.  There were things there that made his brain swim.Presently, at the bottom of one of the letters he saw a signature thatrestored his equilibrium; it even brought the sunshine of a smile to hisface.The president said:"That one amuses you.  You never suspected him?""Of course I ought to have suspected him, but I don't believe it everreally occurred to me.  Well, well, well--how did you ever have the nerveto approach him, of all others?""Why my friend, we never think of accomplishing anything without hishelp.  He is our mainstay.  But how do those letters strike you?""They strike me dumb!  What a stone-blind idiot I have been!""Well, take it all around, I suppose you had a pleasant time inWashington," said the president, gathering up the letters; "of course youmust have had.  Very few men could go there and get a money bill throughwithout buying a single""Come, now, Mr. President, that's plenty of that!  I take back everythingI said on that head.  I'm a wiser man to-day than I was yesterday, I cantell you.""I think you are.  In fact I am satisfied you are.  But now I showed youthese things in confidence, you understand.  Mention facts as much as youwant to, but don't mention names to anybody.  I can depend on you forthat, can't I?""Oh, of course.  I understand the necessity of that.  I will not betraythe names.  But to go back a bit, it begins to look as if you never sawany of that appropriation at all?""We saw nearly ten thousand dollars of it--and that was all.  Several ofus took turns at log-rolling in Washington, and if we had chargedanything for that service, none of that $10,000 would ever have reachedNew York.""If you hadn't levied the assessment you would have been in a close placeI judge?""Close?  Have you figured up the total of the disbursements I told youof?""No, I didn't think of that."Well, lets see:Spent in Washington, say, ........... $191,000Printing, advertising, etc., say .... $118,000Charity, say, .......................  $16,000               Total, ............... $325,000"The money to do that with, comes from--Appropriation, ...................... $200,000Ten per cent. assessment on capital of     $1,000,000 ..................... $100,000               Total, ............... $300,000"Which leaves us in debt some $25,000 at this moment.  Salaries of homeofficers are still going on; also printing and advertising.  Next monthwill show a state of things!""And then-burst up, I suppose?""By no means.  Levy another assessment""Oh, I see.  That's dismal.""By no means.""Why isn't it?  What's the road out?""Another appropriation, don't you see?""Bother the appropriations.  They cost more than they come to.""Not the next one.  We'll call for half a million--get it and go for amillion the very next month."  "Yes, but the cost of it!"The president smiled, and patted his secret letters affectionately.  Hesaid:"All these people are in the next Congress.  We shan't have to pay them acent.  And what is more, they will work like beavers for us--perhaps itmight be to their advantage."Harry reflected profoundly a while.  Then he said:"We send many missionaries to lift up the benighted races of other lands.How much cheaper and better it would be if those people could only comehere and drink of our civilization at its fountain head.""I perfectly agree with yon, Mr. Beverly.  Must you go?  Well, goodmorning.  Look in, when you are passing; and whenever I can give you anyinformation about our affairs and pro'spects, I shall be glad to do it."Harry's letter was not a long one, but it contained at least thecalamitous figures that came out in the above conversation.  The Colonelfound himself in a rather uncomfortable place--no $1,200 salaryforthcoming; and himself held responsible for half of the $9,640 due theworkmen, to say nothing of being in debt to the company to the extent ofnearly $4,000.  Polly's heart was nearly broken; the "blues" returned infearful force, and she had to go out of the room to hide the tears thatnothing could keep back now.There was mourning in another quarter, too, for Louise had a letter.Washington had refused, at the last moment, to take $40,000 for theTennessee Land, and had demanded $150,000!  So the trade fell through,and now Washington was wailing because he had been so foolish.  But hewrote that his man might probably return to the city soon, and then hemeant to sell to him, sure, even if he had to take $10,000.  Louise had agood cry-several of them, indeed--and the family charitably forebore tomake any comments that would increase her grief.Spring blossomed, summer came, dragged its hot weeks by, and theColonel's spirits rose, day by day, for the railroad was making goodprogress.  But by and by something happened.  Hawkeye had always declinedto subscribe anything toward the railway, imagining that her largebusiness would be a sufficient compulsory influence; but now Hawkeye wasfrightened; and before Col. Sellers knew what he was about, Hawkeye, in apanic, had rushed to the front and subscribed such a sum that Napoleon'sattractions suddenly sank into insignificance and the railroad concludedto follow a comparatively straight coarse instead of going miles out ofits way to build up a metropolis in the muddy desert of Stone's Landing.The thunderbolt fell.  After all the Colonel's deep planning; after allhis brain work and tongue work in drawing public attention to his petproject and enlisting interest in it; after all his faithful hard toilwith his hands, and running hither and thither on his busy feet; afterall his high hopes and splendid prophecies, the fates had turned theirbacks on him at last, and all in a moment his air-castles crumbled toruins abort him.  Hawkeye rose from her fright triumphant and rejoicing,and down went Stone's Landing!  One by one its meagre parcel ofinhabitants packed up and moved away, as the summer waned and fallapproached.  Town lots were no longer salable, traffic ceased, a deadlylethargy fell upon the place once more, the "Weekly Telegraph" faded intoan early grave, the wary tadpole returned from exile, the bullfrogresumed his ancient song, the tranquil turtle sunned his back upon bankand log and drowsed his grateful life away as in the old sweet days ofyore.CHAPTER XXIX.Philip Sterling was on his way to Ilium, in the state of Pennsylvania.Ilium was the railway station nearest to the tract of wild land whichMr. Bolton had commissioned him to examine.On the last day of the journey as the railway train Philip was on wasleaving a large city, a lady timidly entered the drawing-room car, andhesitatingly took a chair that was at the moment unoccupied.  Philip sawfrom the window that a gentleman had put her upon the car just as it wasstarting.  In a few moments the conductor entered, and without waiting anexplanation, said roughly to the lady,"Now you can't sit there.  That seat's taken.  Go into the other car.""I did not intend to take the seat," said the lady rising, "I only satdown a moment till the conductor should come and give me a seat.""There aint any.  Car's full.  You'll have to leave.""But, sir," said the lady, appealingly, "I thought--""Can't help what you thought--you must go into the other car.""The train is going very fast, let me stand here till we stop.""The lady can have my seat," cried Philip, springing up.The conductor turned towards Philip, and coolly and deliberately surveyedhim from head to foot, with contempt in every line of his face, turnedhis back upon him without a word, and said to the lady,"Come, I've got no time to talk.  You must go now."The lady, entirely disconcerted by such rudeness, and frightened, movedtowards the door, opened it and stepped out.  The train was swingingalong at a rapid rate, jarring from side to side; the step was a long onebetween the cars and there was no protecting grating.  The lady attemptedit, but lost her balance, in the wind and the motion of the car, andfell!  She would inevitably have gone down under the wheels, if Philip,who had swiftly followed her, had not caught her arm and drawn her up.He then assisted her across, found her a seat, received her bewilderedthanks, and returned to his car.The conductor was still there, taking his tickets, and growling somethingabout imposition.  Philip marched up to him, and burst out with,"You are a brute, an infernal brute, to treat a woman that way.""Perhaps you'd like to make a fuss about it," sneered the conductor.Philip's reply was a blow, given so suddenly and planted so squarely inthe conductor's face, that it sent him reeling over a fat passenger, whowas looking up in mild wonder that any one should dare to dispute with aconductor, and against the side of the car.He recovered himself, reached the bell rope, "Damn you, I'll learn you,"stepped to the door and called a couple of brakemen, and then, as thespeed slackened; roared out,"Get off this train.""I shall not get off.  I have as much right here as you.""We'll see," said the conductor, advancing with the brakemen.  Thepassengers protested, and some of them said to each other, "That's toobad," as they always do in such cases, but none of them offered to take ahand with Philip.  The men seized him, wrenched him from his seat,dragged him along the aisle, tearing his clothes, thrust him from thecar, and, then flung his carpet-bag, overcoat and umbrella after him.And the train went on.The conductor, red in the face and puffing from his exertion, swaggeredthrough the car, muttering "Puppy, I'll learn him."  The passengers, whenhe had gone, were loud in their indignation, and talked about signing aprotest, but they did nothing more than talk.The next morning the Hooverville Patriot and Clarion had this "item":--                          SLIGHTUALLY OVERBOARD.     "We learn that as the down noon express was leaving H---- yesterday     a lady! (God save the mark) attempted to force herself into the     already full palatial car.  Conductor Slum, who is too old a bird to     be caught with chaff, courteously informed her that the car was     full, and when she insisted on remaining, he persuaded her to go     into the car where she belonged.  Thereupon a young sprig, from the     East, blustered like a Shanghai rooster, and began to sass the     conductor with his chin music.  That gentleman delivered the young     aspirant for a muss one of his elegant little left-handers, which so     astonished him that he began to feel for his shooter.  Whereupon Mr.     Slum gently raised the youth, carried him forth, and set him down     just outside the car to cool off.  Whether the young blood has yet     made his way out of Bascom's swamp, we have not learned.  Conductor     Slum is one of the most gentlemanly and efficient officers on the     road; but he ain't trifled with, not much.  We learn that the     company have put a new engine on the seven o'clock train, and newly     upholstered the drawing-room car throughout.  It spares no effort     for the comfort of the traveling public."Philip never had been before in Bascom's swamp, and there was nothinginviting in it to detain him.  After the train got out of the way hecrawled out of the briars and the mud, and got upon the track.  He wassomewhat bruised, but he was too angry to mind that.  He plodded alongover the ties in a very hot condition of mind and body.  In the scuffle,his railway check had disappeared, and he grimly wondered, as he noticedthe loss, if the company would permit him to walk over their track ifthey should know he hadn't a ticket.Philip had to walk some five miles before he reached a little station,where he could wait for a train, and he had ample time for reflection.At first he was full of vengeance on the company.  He would sue it.  Hewould make it pay roundly.  But then it occurred to him that he did notknow the name of a witness he could summon, and that a personal fightagainst a railway corporation was about the most hopeless in the world.He then thought he would seek out that conductor, lie in wait for him atsome station, and thrash him, or get thrashed himself.But as he got cooler, that did not seem to him a project worthy of agentleman exactly.  Was it possible for a gentleman to get even with sucha fellow as that conductor on the letter's own plane?  And when he cameto this point, he began to ask himself, if he had not acted very muchlike a fool.  He didn't regret striking the fellow--he hoped he had lefta mark on him.  But, after all, was that the best way?  Here was he,Philip Sterling, calling himself a gentleman, in a brawl with a vulgarconductor, about a woman he had never seen before.  Why should he haveput himself in such a ridiculous position?  Wasn't it enough to haveoffered the lady his seat, to have rescued her from an accident, perhapsfrom death?  Suppose he had simply said to the conductor, "Sir, yourconduct is brutal, I shall report you."  The passengers, who saw theaffair, might have joined in a report against the conductor, and he mightreally have accomplished something.  And, now!  Philip looked at leistorn clothes, and thought with disgust of his haste in getting into afight with such an autocrat.At the little station where Philip waited for the next train, he met aman--who turned out to be a justice of the peace in that neighborhood,and told him his adventure.  He was a kindly sort of man, and seemed verymuch interested."Dum 'em," said he, when he had heard the story."Do you think any thing can be done, sir?""Wal, I guess tain't no use.  I hain't a mite of doubt of every word yousay.  But suin's no use.  The railroad company owns all these peoplealong here, and the judges on the bench too.  Spiled your clothes!  Wal,'least said's soonest mended.'  You haint no chance with the company."When next morning, he read the humorous account in the Patriot andClarion, he saw still more clearly what chance he would have had beforethe public in a fight with the railroad company.Still Philip's conscience told him that it was his plain duty to carrythe matter into the courts, even with the certainty of defeat.He confessed that neither he nor any citizen had a right to consult hisown feelings or conscience in a case where a law of the land had beenviolated before his own eyes.  He confessed that every citizen's firstduty in such case is to put aside his own business and devote his timeand his best efforts to seeing that the infraction is promptly punished;and he knew that no country can be well governed unless its citizens asa body keep religiously before their minds that they are the guardiansof the law, and that the law officers are only the machinery for itsexecution, nothing more.  As a finality he was obliged to confess that hewas a bad citizen, and also that the general laxity of the time, and theabsence of a sense of duty toward any part of the community but theindividual himself were ingrained in him, am he was no better than therest of the people.The result of this little adventure was that Philip did not reach Iliumtill daylight the next morning, when he descended sleepy and sore, from away train, and looked about him.  Ilium was in a narrow mountain gorge,through which a rapid stream ran.  It consisted of the plank platform onwhich he stood, a wooden house, half painted, with a dirty piazza(unroofed) in front, and a sign board hung on a slanting pole--bearingthe legend, "Hotel. P. Dusenheimer," a sawmill further down the stream,a blacksmith-shop, and a store, and three or four unpainted dwellings ofthe slab variety.As Philip approached the hotel he saw what appeared to be a wild beastcrouching on the piazza.  It did not stir, however, and he soon foundthat it was only a stuffed skin.  This cheerful invitation to the tavernwas the remains of a huge panther which had been killed in the region afew weeks before.  Philip examined his ugly visage and strong crookedfore-arm, as he was waiting admittance, having pounded upon the door."Yait a bit.  I'll shoost--put on my trowsers," shouted a voice from thewindow, and the door was soon opened by the yawning landlord."Morgen!  Didn't hear d' drain oncet.  Dem boys geeps me up zo spate.Gom right in."Philip was shown into a dirty bar-room.  It was a small room, with astove in the middle, set in a long shallow box of sand, for the benefitof the "spitters," a bar across one end--a mere counter with a slidingglass-case behind it containing a few bottles having ambitious labels,and a wash-sink in one corner.  On the walls were the bright yellow andblack handbills of a traveling circus, with pictures of acrobats in humanpyramids, horses flying in long leaps through the air, and sylph-likewomen in a paradisaic costume, balancing themselves upon the tips oftheir toes on the bare backs of frantic and plunging steeds, and kissingtheir hands to the spectators meanwhile.As Philip did not desire a room at that hour, he was invited to washhimself at the nasty sink, a feat somewhat easier than drying his face,for the towel that hung in a roller over the sink was evidently as much afixture as the sink itself, and belonged, like the suspended brush andcomb, to the traveling public.  Philip managed to complete his toilet bythe use of his pocket-handkerchief, and declining the hospitality of thelandlord, implied in the remark, "You won'd dake notin'?" he went intothe open air to wait for breakfast.The country he saw was wild but not picturesque.  The mountain before himmight be eight hundred feet high, and was only a portion of a longunbroken range, savagely wooded, which followed the stream.  Behind thehotel, and across the brawling brook, was another level-topped, woodedrange exactly like it.  Ilium itself, seen at a glance, was old enough tobe dilapidated, and if it had gained anything by being made a wood andwater station of the new railroad, it was only a new sort of grime andrawness.  P. Dusenheimer, standing in the door of his uninvitinggroggery, when the trains stopped for water; never received from thetraveling public any patronage except facetious remarks upon his personalappearance.  Perhaps a thousand times he had heard the remark, "Iliumfuit," followed in most instances by a hail to himself as "AEneas," withthe inquiry "Where is old Anchises?  "At first he had replied, "Dereain't no such man;" but irritated by its senseless repetition, he hadlatterly dropped into the formula of, "You be dam."Philip was recalled from the contemplation of Ilium by the rolling andgrowling of the gong within the hotel, the din and clamor increasing tillthe house was apparently unable to contain it; when it burst out of thefront door and informed the world that breakfast was on the table.The dining room was long, low and narrow, and a narrow table extended itswhole length.  Upon this was spread a cloth which from appearance mighthave been as long in use as the towel in the barroom.  Upon the table wasthe usual service, the heavy, much nicked stone ware, the row of platedand rusty castors, the sugar bowls with the zinc tea-spoons sticking upin them, the piles of yellow biscuits, the discouraged-looking plates ofbutter.  The landlord waited, and Philip was pleased to observe thechange in his manner.  In the barroom he was the conciliatory landlord.Standing behind his guests at table, he had an air of peremptorypatronage, and the voice in which he shot out the inquiry, as he seizedPhilip's plate, "Beefsteak or liver?" quite took away Philip's power ofchoice.  He begged for a glass of milk, after trying that green huedcompound called coffee, and made his breakfast out of that and some hardcrackers which seemed to have been imported into Ilium before theintroduction of the iron horse, and to have withstood a ten years siegeof regular boarders, Greeks and others.The land that Philip had come to look at was at least five miles distantfrom Ilium station.  A corner of it touched the railroad, but the restwas pretty much an unbroken wilderness, eight or ten thousand acres ofrough country, most of it such a mountain range as he saw at Ilium.His first step was to hire three woodsmen to accompany him.  By theirhelp he built a log hut, and established a camp on the land, and thenbegan his explorations, mapping down his survey as he went along, notingthe timber, and the lay of the land, and making superficial observationsas to the prospect of coal.The landlord at Ilium endeavored to persuade Philip to hire the servicesof a witch-hazel professor of that region, who could walk over the landwith his wand and tell him infallibly whether it contained coal, andexactly where the strata ran.  But Philip preferred to trust to his ownstudy of the country, and his knowledge of the geological formation.He spent a month in traveling over the land and making calculations;and made up his mind that a fine vein of coal ran through the mountainabout a mile from the railroad, and that the place to run in a tunnel washalf way towards its summit.Acting with his usual promptness, Philip, with the consent of Mr. Bolton,broke ground there at once, and, before snow came, had some rudebuildings up, and was ready for active operations in the spring.  It wastrue that there were no outcroppings of coal at the place, and the peopleat Ilium said he "mought as well dig for plug terbaccer there;" butPhilip had great faith in the uniformity of nature's operations in agespast, and he had no doubt that he should strike at this spot the richvein that had made the fortune of the Golden Briar Company.CHAPTER XXX.Once more Louise had good news from her Washington--Senator Dilworthy wasgoing to sell the Tennessee Land to the government!  Louise told Laura inconfidence.  She had told her parents, too, and also several bosomfriends; but all of these people had simply looked sad when they heardthe news, except Laura.  Laura's face suddenly brightened under it--onlyfor an instant, it is true, but poor Louise was grateful for even thatfleeting ray of encouragement.  When next Laura was alone, she fell intoa train of thought something like this:If the Senator has really taken hold of this matter, I may look for thatinvitation to his house at, any moment.  I am perishing to go!  I do longto know whether I am only simply a large-sized pigmy among these pigmieshere, who tumble over so easily when one strikes them, or whether I amreally--."  Her thoughts drifted into other channels, for a season."Then she continued:--"He said I could be useful in the great cause ofphilanthropy, and help in the blessed work of uplifting the poor and theignorant, if he found it feasible to take hold of our Land.  Well, thatis neither here nor there; what I want, is to go to Washington and findout what I am.  I want money, too; and if one may judge by what shehears, there are chances there for a--."  For a fascinating woman, shewas going to say, perhaps, but she did not.Along in the fall the invitation came, sure enough.  It came officiallythrough brother Washington, the private Secretary, who appended apostscript that was brimming with delight over the prospect of seeing theDuchess again.  He said it would be happiness enough to look upon herface once more--it would be almost too much happiness when to it wasadded the fact that she would bring messages with her that were freshfrom Louise's lips.In Washington's letter were several important enclosures.  For instance,there was the Senator's check for $2,000--"to buy suitable clothing inNew York with!"  It was a loan to be refunded when the Land was sold.Two thousand--this was fine indeed.  Louise's father was called rich, butLaura doubted if Louise had ever had $400 worth of new clothing at onetime in her life.  With the check came two through tickets--good on therailroad from Hawkeye to Washington via New York--and they were "dead-head" tickets, too, which had beep given to Senator Dilworthy by therailway companies.  Senators and representatives were paid thousands ofdollars by the government for traveling expenses, but they alwaystraveled "deadhead" both ways, and then did as any honorable, high-mindedmen would naturally do--declined to receive the mileage tendered them bythe government.  The Senator had plenty of railway passes, and could.easily spare two to Laura--one for herself and one for a male escort.Washington suggested that she get some old friend of the family to comewith her, and said the Senator would "deadhead" him home again as soon ashe had grown tired, of the sights of the capital.  Laura thought thething over.  At first she was pleased with the idea, but presently shebegan to feel differently about it.  Finally she said, "No, our staid,steady-going Hawkeye friends' notions and mine differ about some things--they respect me, now, and I respect them--better leave it so--I will goalone; I am not afraid to travel by myself."  And so communing withherself, she left the house for an afternoon walk.Almost at the door she met Col. Sellers.  She told him about herinvitation to Washington."Bless me!" said the Colonel.  "I have about made up my mind to go theremyself.  You see we've got to get another appropriation through, and theCompany want me to come east and put it through Congress.  Harry's there,and he'll do what he can, of course; and Harry's a good fellow and alwaysdoes the very best he knows how, but then he's young--rather young forsome parts of such work, you know--and besides he talks too much, talks agood deal too much; and sometimes he appears to be a little bitvisionary, too, I think the worst thing in the world for a business man.A man like that always exposes his cards, sooner or later.  This sort ofthing wants an old, quiet, steady hand--wants an old cool head, you know,that knows men, through and through, and is used to large operations.I'm expecting my salary, and also some dividends from the company, and ifthey get along in time, I'll go along with you Laura--take you under mywing--you mustn't travel alone.  Lord I wish I had the money right now.--But there'll be plenty soon--plenty."Laura reasoned with herself that if the kindly, simple-hearted Colonelwas going anyhow, what could she gain by traveling alone and throwingaway his company?  So she told him she accepted his offer gladly,gratefully.  She said it would be the greatest of favors if he would gowith her and protect her--not at his own expense as far as railway fareswere concerned, of course; she could not expect him to put himself to somuch trouble for her and pay his fare besides.  But he wouldn't hear ofher paying his fare--it would be only a pleasure to him to serve her.Laura insisted on furnishing the tickets; and finally, when argumentfailed, she said the tickets cost neither her nor any one else a cent--she had two of them--she needed but one--and if he would not take theother she would not go with him.  That settled the matter.  He took theticket.  Laura was glad that she had the check for new clothing, for shefelt very certain of being able to get the Colonel to borrow a little ofthe money to pay hotel bills with, here and there.She wrote Washington to look for her and Col. Sellers toward the end ofNovember; and at about the time set the two travelers arrived safe in thecapital of the nation, sure enough.CHAPTER XXXL               She the, gracious lady, yet no paines did spare               To doe him ease, or doe him remedy:               Many restoratives of vertues rare               And costly cordialles she did apply,               To mitigate his stubborne malady.                                        Spenser's Faerie Queens.Mr. Henry Brierly was exceedingly busy in New York, so he wrote Col.Sellers, but he would drop everything and go to Washington.The Colonel believed that Harry was the prince of lobbyists, a little toosanguine, may be, and given to speculation, but, then, he knew everybody;the Columbus River navigation scheme was, got through almost entirely byhis aid.  He was needed now to help through another scheme, a benevolentscheme in which Col. Sellers, through the Hawkinses, had a deep interest."I don't care, you know," he wrote to Harry, "so much about the niggroes.But if the government will buy this land, it will set up the Hawkinsfamily--make Laura an heiress--and I shouldn't wonder if Beriah Sellerswould set up his carriage again.  Dilworthy looks at it different,of course.  He's all for philanthropy, for benefiting the colored race.There's old Balsam, was in the Interior--used to be the Rev. Orson Balsamof Iowa--he's made the riffle on the Injun; great Injun pacificator andland dealer.  Balaam'a got the Injun to himself, and I suppose thatSenator Dilworthy feels that there is nothing left him but the coloredman.  I do rechon he is the best friend the colored man has got inWashington."Though Harry was in a hurry to reach Washington, he stopped inPhiladelphia; and prolonged his visit day after day, greatly to thedetriment of his business both in New York and Washington.  The societyat the Bolton's might have been a valid excuse for neglecting businessmuch more important than his.  Philip was there; he was a partner withMr. Bolton now in the new coal venture, concerning which there was muchto be arranged in preparation for the Spring work, and Philip lingeredweek after week in the hospitable house.  Alice was making a wintervisit.  Ruth only went to town twice a week to attend lectures, and thehousehold was quite to Mr. Bolton's taste, for he liked the cheer ofcompany and something going on evenings.  Harry was cordially asked tobring his traveling-bag there, and he did not need urging to do so.Not even the thought of seeing Laura at the capital made him restless inthe society of the two young ladies; two birds in hand are worth one inthe bush certainly.Philip was at home--he sometimes wished he were not so much so.  He feltthat too much or not enough was taken for granted.  Ruth had met him,when he first came, with a cordial frankness, and her manner continuedentirely unrestrained.  She neither sought his company nor avoided it,and this perfectly level treatment irritated him more than any othercould have done.  It was impossible to advance much in love-making withone who offered no obstacles, had no concealments and no embarrassments,and whom any approach to sentimentality would be quite likely to set intoa fit of laughter."Why, Phil," she would say, "what puts you in the dumps to day?  You areas solemn as the upper bench in Meeting.  I shall have to call Alice toraise your spirits; my presence seems to depress you."It's not your presence, but your absence when you are present," beganPhilip, dolefully, with the idea that he was saying a rather deep thing."But you won't understand me.""No, I confess I cannot.  If you really are so low, as to think I amabsent when I am present, it's a frightful case of aberration; I shallask father to bring out Dr. Jackson.  Does Alice appear to be presentwhen she is absent?""Alice has some human feeling, anyway.  She cares for something besidesmusty books and dry bones.  I think, Ruth, when I die," said Philip,intending to be very grim and sarcastic, "I'll leave you my skeleton.You might like that.""It might be more cheerful than you are at times," Ruth replied with alaugh.  "But you mustn't do it without consulting Alice.  She might not.like it.""I don't know why you should bring Alice up on every occasion.  Do youthink I am in love with her?""Bless you, no.  It never entered my head.  Are you?  The thought ofPhilip Sterling in love is too comical.  I thought you were only in lovewith the Ilium coal mine, which you and father talk about half the time."This is a specimen of Philip's wooing.  Confound the girl, he would sayto himself, why does she never tease Harry and that young Shepley whocomes here?How differently Alice treated him.  She at least never mocked him, and itwas a relief to talk with one who had some sympathy with him.  And he didtalk to her, by the hour, about Ruth.  The blundering fellow poured allhis doubts and anxieties into her ear, as if she had been the impassiveoccupant of one of those little wooden confessionals in the Cathedral onLogan Square.  Has, a confessor, if she is young and pretty, any feeling?Does it mend the matter by calling her your sister?Philip called Alice his good sister, and talked to her about love andmarriage, meaning Ruth, as if sisters could by no possibility have anypersonal concern in such things.  Did Ruth ever speak of him?  Did shethink Ruth cared for him?  Did Ruth care for anybody at Fallkill?  Didshe care for anything except her profession?  And so on.Alice was loyal to Ruth, and if she knew anything she did not betray herfriend.  She did not, at any rate, give Philip too much encouragement.What woman, under the circumstances, would?"I can tell you one thing, Philip," she said, "if ever Ruth Bolton loves,it will be with her whole soul, in a depth of passion that will sweepeverything before it and surprise even herself."A remark that did not much console Philip, who imagined that only somegrand heroism could unlock the sweetness of such a heart; and Philipfeared that he wasn't a hero.  He did not know out of what materials awoman can construct a hero, when she is in the creative mood.Harry skipped into this society with his usual lightness and gaiety.His good nature was inexhaustible, and though he liked to relate his ownexploits, he had a little tact in adapting himself to the tastes of hishearers.  He was not long in finding out that Alice liked to hear aboutPhilip, and Harry launched out into the career of his friend in the West,with a prodigality of invention that would have astonished the chiefactor.  He was the most generous fellow in the world, and picturesqueconversation was the one thing in which he never was bankrupt.  With Mr.Bolton be was the serious man of business, enjoying the confidence ofmany of the monied men in New York, whom Mr. Bolton knew, and engagedwith them in railway schemes and government contracts.  Philip, who hadso long known Harry, never could make up his mind that Harry did nothimself believe that he was a chief actor in all these large operationsof which he talked so much.Harry did not neglect to endeavor to make himself agreeable to Mrs.Bolton, by paying great attention to the children, and by professing thewarmest interest in the Friends' faith.  It always seemed to him the mostpeaceful religion; he thought it must be much easier to live by aninternal light than by a lot of outward rules; he had a dear Quaker auntin Providence of whom Mrs. Bolton constantly reminded him.  He insistedupon going with Mrs. Bolton and the children to the Friends Meeting onFirst Day, when Ruth and Alice and Philip, "world's people," went to achurch in town, and he sat through the hour of silence with his hat on,in most exemplary patience.  In short, this amazing actor succeeded sowell with Mrs. Bolton, that she said to Philip one day,"Thy friend, Henry Brierly, appears to be a very worldly minded youngman.  Does he believe in anything?""Oh, yes," said Philip laughing, "he believes in more things than anyother person I ever saw."To Ruth, Harry seemed to be very congenial.  He was never moody for onething, but lent himself with alacrity to whatever her fancy was.  He wasgay or grave as the need might be.  No one apparently could enter morefully into her plans for an independent career."My father," said Harry, "was bred a physician, and practiced a littlebefore he went into Wall street.  I always had a leaning to the study.There was a skeleton hanging in the closet of my father's study when Iwas a boy, that I used to dress up in old clothes.  Oh, I got quitefamiliar with the human frame.""You must have," said Philip.  "Was that where you learned to play thebones?  He is a master of those musical instruments, Ruth; he plays wellenough to go on the stage.""Philip hates science of any kind, and steady application," retortedHarry.  He didn't fancy Philip's banter, and when the latter had goneout, and Ruth asked,"Why don't you take up medicine, Mr. Brierly?"Harry said, "I have it in mind.  I believe I would begin attendinglectures this winter if it weren't for being wanted in Washington.  Butmedicine is particularly women's province.""Why so?" asked Ruth, rather amused."Well, the treatment of disease is a good deal a matter of sympathy.A woman's intuition is better than a man's.  Nobody knows anything,really, you know, and a woman can guess a good deal nearer than a man.""You are very complimentary to my sex.""But," said Harry frankly; "I should want to choose my doctor; an uglywoman would ruin me, the disease would be sure to strike in and kill meat sight of her.  I think a pretty physician, with engaging manners,would coax a fellow to live through almost anything.""I am afraid you are a scoffer, Mr. Brierly.""On the contrary, I am quite sincere.  Wasn't it old what's his name?that said only the beautiful is useful?"Whether Ruth was anything more than diverted with Harry's company; Philipcould not determine.  He scorned at any rate to advance his own interestby any disparaging communications about Harry, both because he could nothelp liking the fellow himself, and because he may have known that hecould not more surely create a sympathy for him in Ruth's mind.  ThatRuth was in no danger of any serious impression he felt pretty sure,felt certain of it when he reflected upon her severe occupation with herprofession.  Hang it, he would say to himself, she is nothing but pureintellect anyway.  And he only felt uncertain of it when she was in oneof her moods of raillery, with mocking mischief in her eyes.  At suchtimes she seemed to prefer Harry's society to his.  When Philip wasmiserable about this, he always took refuge with Alice, who was nevermoody, and who generally laughed him out of his sentimental nonsense.He felt at his ease with Alice, and was never in want of something totalk about; and he could not account for the fact that he was so oftendull with Ruth, with whom, of all persons in the world, he wanted toappear at his best.Harry was entirely satisfied with his own situation.  A bird of passageis always at its ease, having no house to build, and no responsibility.He talked freely with Philip about Ruth, an almighty fine girl, he said,but what the deuce she wanted to study medicine for, he couldn't see.There was a concert one night at the Musical Fund Hall and the four hadarranged to go in and return by the Germantown cars.  It was Philip'splan, who had engaged the seats, and promised himself an evening withRuth, walking with her, sitting by her in the hall, and enjoying thefeeling of protecting that a man always has of a woman in a public place.He was fond of music, too, in a sympathetic way; at least, he knew thatRuth's delight in it would be enough for him.Perhaps he meant to take advantage of the occasion to say some veryserious things.  His love for Ruth was no secret to Mrs. Bolton, and hefelt almost sure that he should have no opposition in the family.  Mrs.Bolton had been cautious in what she said, but Philip inferred everythingfrom her reply to his own questions, one day, "Has thee ever spoken thymind to Ruth?"Why shouldn't he speak his mind, and end his doubts?  Ruth had been moretricksy than usual that day, and in a flow of spirits quite inconsistent,it would seem, in a young lady devoted to grave studies.Had Ruth a premonition of Philip's intention, in his manner?  It may be,for when the girls came down stairs, ready to walk to the cars; and metPhilip and Harry in the hall, Ruth said, laughing,"The two tallest must walk together" and before Philip knew how ithappened Ruth had taken Harry's arm, and his evening was spoiled.  He hadtoo much politeness and good sense and kindness to show in his mannerthat he was hit.  So he said to Harry,"That's your disadvantage in being short."  And he gave Alice no reasonto feel during the evening that she would not have been his first choicefor the excursion.  But he was none the less chagrined, and not a littleangry at the turn the affair took.The Hall was crowded with the fashion of the town.  The concert was oneof those fragmentary drearinesses that people endure because they arefashionable; tours de force on the piano, and fragments from operas,which have no meaning without the setting, with weary pauses of waitingbetween; there is the comic basso who is so amusing and on such familiarterms with the audience, and always sings the Barber; the attitudinizingtenor, with his languishing "Oh, Summer Night ;" the soprano with her"Batti Batti," who warbles and trills and runs and fetches her breath,and ends with a noble scream that brings down a tempest of applause inthe midst of which she backs off the stage smiling and bowing.  It wasthis sort of concert, and Philip was thinking that it was the most stupidone he ever sat through, when just as the soprano was in the midst ofthat touching ballad, "Comin' thro' the Rye" (the soprano always sings"Comin' thro' the Rye" on an encore--the Black Swan used to make itirresistible, Philip remembered, with her arch, "If a body kiss a body"there was a cry of Fire!The hall is long and narrow, and there is only one place of egress.Instantly the audience was on its feet, and a rush began for the door.Men shouted, women screamed, and panic seized the swaying mass.A second's thought would have convinced every one that getting out wasimpossible, and that the only effect of a rush would be to crash peopleto death.  But a second's thought was not given.  A few cried:"Sit down, sit down," but the mass was turned towards the door.  Womenwere down and trampled on in the aisles, and stout men, utterly lost toself-control, were mounting the benches, as if to run a race over themass to the entrance.Philip who had forced the girls to keep their seats saw, in a flash, thenew danger, and sprang to avert it.  In a second more those infuriatedmen would be over the benches and crushing Ruth and Alice under theirboots.  He leaped upon the bench in front of them and struck out beforehim with all his might, felling one man who was rushing on him, andchecking for an instant the movement, or rather parting it, and causingit to flow on either side of him.  But it was only for an instant; thepressure behind was too great, and, the next Philip was  dashed backwardsover the seat.And yet that instant of arrest had probably saved the girls, for asPhilip fell, the orchestra struck up "Yankee Doodle" in the liveliestmanner.  The familiar tune caught the ear of the mass, which paused inwonder, and gave the conductor's voice a chance to be heard--"It's afalse alarm!"The tumult was over in a minute, and the next, laughter was heard, andnot a few said, "I knew it wasn't anything."  "What fools people are atsuch a time."The concert was over, however.  A good many people were hurt, some ofthem seriously, and among them Philip Sterling was found bent across theseat, insensible, with his left arm hanging limp and a bleeding wound onhis head.When he was carried into the air he revived, and said it was nothing.A surgeon was called, and it was thought best to drive at once to theBolton's, the surgeon supporting Philip, who did not speak the whole way.His arm was set and his head dressed, and the surgeon said he would comeround all right in his mind by morning; he was very weak.  Alice who wasnot much frightened while the panic lasted in the hall, was very muchunnerved by seeing Philip so pale and bloody.  Ruth assisted the surgeonwith the utmost coolness and with skillful hands helped to dress Philip'swounds.  And there was a certain intentness and fierce energy in what shedid that might have revealed something to Philip if he had been in hissenses.But he was not, or he would not have murmured "Let Alice do it, she isnot too tall."It was Ruth's first case.CHAPTER, XXXII.Washington's delight in his beautiful sister was measureless.  He saidthat she had always been the queenliest creature in the land, but thatshe was only commonplace before, compared to what she was now, soextraordinary was the improvement wrought by rich fashionable attire."But your criticisms are too full of brotherly partiality to be dependedon, Washington.  Other people will judge differently.""Indeed they won't.  You'll see.  There will never be a woman inWashington that can compare with you.  You'll be famous within afortnight, Laura.  Everybody will want to know you.  You wait--you'llsee."Laura wished in her heart that the prophecy might come true; andprivately she even believed it might--for she had brought all the womenwhom she had seen since she left home under sharp inspection, and theresult had not been unsatisfactory to her.During a week or two Washington drove about the city every day with herand familiarized her with all of its salient features.  She was beginningto feel very much at home with the town itself, and she was also fastacquiring ease with the distinguished people she met at the Dilworthytable, and losing what little of country timidity she had brought withher from Hawkeye.  She noticed with secret pleasure the little start ofadmiration that always manifested itself in the faces of the guests whenshe entered the drawing-room arrayed in evening costume: she tookcomforting note of the fact that these guests directed a very liberalshare of their conversation toward her; she observed with surprise, thatfamous statesmen and soldiers did not talk like gods, as a general thing,but said rather commonplace things for the most part; and she was filledwith gratification to discover that she, on the contrary, was making agood many shrewd speeches and now and then a really brilliant one, andfurthermore, that they were beginning to be repeated in social circlesabout the town.Congress began its sittings, and every day or two Washington escorted herto the galleries set apart for lady members of the households of Senatorsand Representatives.  Here was a larger field and a wider competition,but still she saw that many eyes were uplifted toward her face, and thatfirst one person and then another called a neighbor's attention to her;she was not too dull to perceive that the speeches of some of the youngerstatesmen were delivered about as much and perhaps more at her than tothe presiding officer; and she was not sorry to see that the dapper youngSenator from Iowa came at once and stood in the open space before thepresident's desk to exhibit his feet as soon as she entered the gallery,whereas she had early learned from common report that his usual customwas to prop them on his desk and enjoy them himself with a selfishdisregard of other people's longings.Invitations began to flow in upon her and soon she was fairly "insociety."  "The season" was now in full bloom, and the first selectreception was at hand that is to say, a reception confined to invitedguests.  Senator Dilworthy had become well convinced; by this time, thathis judgment of the country-bred Missouri girl had not deceived him--itwas plain that she was going to be a peerless missionary in the field oflabor he designed her for, and therefore it would be perfectly safe andlikewise judicious to send her forth well panoplied for her work.--So hehad added new and still richer costumes to her wardrobe, and assistedtheir attractions with costly jewelry-loans on the future land sale.This first select reception took place at a cabinet minister's--or rathera cabinet secretary's mansion.  When Laura and the Senator arrived, abouthalf past nine or ten in the evening, the place was already pretty wellcrowded, and the white-gloved negro servant at the door was stillreceiving streams of guests.--The drawing-rooms were brilliant withgaslight, and as hot as ovens.  The host and hostess stood just withinthe door of entrance; Laura was presented, and then she passed on intothe maelstrom of be-jeweled and richly attired low-necked ladies andwhite-kid-gloved and steel pen-coated gentlemen and wherever she movedshe was followed by a buzz of admiration that was grateful to all hersenses--so grateful, indeed, that her white face was tinged and itsbeauty heightened by a perceptible suffusion of color.  She caught suchremarks as, "Who is she?"  "Superb woman!"  "That is the new beauty fromthe west," etc., etc.Whenever she halted, she was presently surrounded by Ministers, Generals,Congressmen, and all manner of aristocratic, people.  Introductionsfollowed, and then the usual original question, "How do you likeWashington, Miss Hawkins?" supplemented by that other usual originalquestion, "Is this your first visit?"These two exciting topics being exhausted, conversation generally driftedinto calmer channels, only to be interrupted at frequent intervals by newintroductions and new inquiries as to how Laura liked the capital andwhether it was her first visit or not.  And thus for an hour or more theDuchess moved through the crush in a rapture of happiness, for her doubtswere dead and gone, now she knew she could conquer here.  A familiar faceappeared in the midst of the multitude and Harry Brierly fought hisdifficult way to her side, his eyes shouting their gratification, so tospeak:"Oh, this is a happiness!  Tell me, my dear Miss Hawkins--""Sh!  I know what you are going to ask.  I do like Washington--I like itever so much!""No, but I was going to ask--""Yes, I am coming to it, coming to it as fast as I can.  It is my firstvisit.  I think you should know that yourself."And straightway a wave of the crowd swept her beyond his reach."Now what can the girl mean?  Of course she likes Washington--I'm notsuch a dummy as to have to ask her that.  And as to its being her firstvisit, why bang it, she knows that I knew it was.  Does she think I haveturned idiot?  Curious girl, anyway.  But how they do swarm about her!She is the reigning belle of Washington after this night.  She'll knowfive hundred of the heaviest guns in the town before this night'snonsense is over.  And this isn't even the beginning.  Just as I used tosay--she'll be a card in the matter of--yes sir!  She shall turn themen's heads and I'll turn the women's!  What a team that will be inpolitics here.  I wouldn't take a quarter of a million for what I can doin this present session--no indeed I wouldn't.  Now, here--I don'taltogether like this.  That insignificant secretary of legation is--why,she's smiling on him as if he--and now on the Admiral!  Now she'silluminating that, stuffy Congressman from Massachusetts--vulgarungrammatcal shovel-maker--greasy knave of spades.  I don't like thissort of thing.  She doesn't appear to be much distressed about me--shehasn't looked this way once.  All right, my bird of Paradise, if it suitsyou, go on.  But I think I know your sex.  I'll go to smiling around alittle, too, and see what effect that will have on you"And he did "smile around a little," and got as near to her as he could towatch the effect, but the scheme was a failure--he could not get herattention.  She seemed wholly unconscious of him, and so he could notflirt with any spirit; he could only talk disjointedly; he could not keephis eyes on the charmers he talked to; he grew irritable, jealous, andvery, unhappy.  He gave up his enterprise, leaned his shoulder against afluted pilaster and pouted while he kept watch upon Laura's everymovement.  His other shoulder stole the bloom from many a lovely cheekthat brushed him in the surging crush, but he noted it not.  He was toobusy cursing himself inwardly for being an egotistical imbecile.  An hourago he had thought to take this country lass under his protection andshow her "life" and enjoy her wonder and delight--and here she was,immersed in the marvel up to her eyes, and just a trifle more at home init than he was himself.  And now his angry comments ran on again:"Now she's sweetening old Brother Balaam; and he--well he is inviting herto the Congressional prayer-meeting, no doubt--better let old Dilworthyalone to see that she doesn't overlook that.  And now its Splurge, of NewYork; and now its Batters of New Hampshire--and now the Vice President!Well I may as well adjourn.  I've got enough."But he hadn't.  He got as far as the door--and then struggled back totake one more look, hating himself all the while for his weakness.Toward midnight, when supper was announced, the crowd thronged to thesupper room where a long table was decked out with what seemed a rarerepast, but which consisted of things better calculated to feast the eyethan the appetite.  The ladies were soon seated in files along the wall,and in groups here and there, and the colored waiters filled the platesand glasses and the, male guests moved hither and thither conveying themto the privileged sex.Harry took an ice and stood up by the table with other gentlemen, andlistened to the buzz of conversation while he ate.From these remarks he learned a good deal about Laura that was news tohim.  For instance, that she was of a distinguished western family; thatshe was highly educated; that she was very rich and a great landedheiress; that she was not a professor of religion, and yet was aChristian in the truest and best sense of the word, for her whole heartwas devoted to the accomplishment of a great and noble enterprise--noneother than the sacrificing of her landed estates to the uplifting of thedown-trodden negro and the turning of his erring feet into the way oflight and righteousness.  Harry observed that as soon as one listener hadabsorbed the story, he turned about and delivered it to his next neighborand the latter individual straightway passed it on.  And thus he saw ittravel the round of the gentlemen and overflow rearward among the ladies.He could not trace it backward to its fountain head, and so he could nottell who it was that started it.One thing annoyed Harry a great deal; and that was the reflection that hemight have been in Washington days and days ago and thrown hisfascinations about Laura with permanent effect while she was new andstrange to the capital, instead of dawdling in Philadelphia to nopurpose.  He feared he had "missed a trick," as he expressed it.He only found one little opportunity of speaking again with Laura beforethe evening's festivities ended, and then, for the first time in years,his airy self-complacency failed him, his tongue's easy confidenceforsook it in a great measure, and he was conscious of an unheroictimidity.  He was glad to get away and find a place where he coulddespise himself in private and try to grow his clipped plumes again.When Laura reached home she was tired but exultant, and Senator Dilworthywas pleased and satisfied.  He called Laura "my daughter," next morning,and gave her some "pin money," as he termed it, and she sent a hundredand fifty dollars of it to her mother and loaned a trifle to Col.Sellers.  Then the Senator had a long private conference with Laura, andunfolded certain plans of his for the good of the country, and religion,and the poor, and temperance, and showed her how she could assist him indeveloping these worthy and noble enterprises.CHAPTER XXXIII.Laura soon discovered that there were three distinct aristocracies inWashington.  One of these, (nick-named the Antiques,) consisted ofcultivated, high-bred old families who looked back with pride upon anancestry that had been always great in the nation's councils and its warsfrom the birth of the republic downward.  Into this select circle it wasdifficult to gain admission.  No. 2 was the aristocracy of the middleground--of which, more anon.  No. 3 lay beyond; of it we will say a wordhere.  We will call it the Aristocracy of the Parvenus--as, indeed, thegeneral public did.  Official position, no matter how obtained, entitleda man to a place in it, and carried his family with him, no matter whencethey sprang.  Great wealth gave a man a still higher and nobler place init than did official position.  If this wealth had been acquired byconspicuous ingenuity, with just a pleasant little spice of illegalityabout it, all the better.  This aristocracy was "fast," and not averse toostentation.The aristocracy of the Antiques ignored the aristocracy of the Parvenus;the Parvenus laughed at the Antiques, (and secretly envied them.)There were certain important "society" customs which one in Laura'sposition needed to understand.  For instance, when a lady of anyprominence comes to one of our cities and takes up her residence, all theladies of her grade favor her in turn with an initial call, giving theircards to the servant at the door by way of introduction.  They comesingly, sometimes; sometimes in couples; and always in elaborate fulldress.  They talk two minutes and a quarter and then go.  If the ladyreceiving the call desires a further acquaintance, she must return thevisit within two weeks; to neglect it beyond that time means "let thematter drop."  But if she does return the visit within two weeks, it thenbecomes the other party's privilege to continue the acquaintance or dropit.  She signifies her willingness to continue it by calling again anytime within twelve-months; after that, if the parties go on calling uponeach other once a year, in our large cities, that is sufficient, and theacquaintanceship holds good.  The thing goes along smoothly, now.The annual visits are made and returned with peaceful regularity andbland satisfaction, although it is not necessary that the two ladiesshall actually see each other oftener than once every few years.  Theircards preserve the intimacy and keep the acquaintanceship intact.For instance, Mrs. A.  pays her annual visit, sits in her carriage andsends in her card with the lower right hand corner turned down, whichsignifies that she has "called in person;" Mrs. B: sends down word thatshe is "engaged" or "wishes to be excused"--or if she is a Parvenu andlow-bred, she perhaps sends word that she is "not at home."  Very good;Mrs. A.  drives, on happy and content.  If Mrs. A.'s daughter marries,or a child is born to the family, Mrs. B. calls, sends in her card withthe upper left hand corner turned down, and then goes along about heraffairs--for that inverted corner means "Congratulations."  If Mrs. B.'shusband falls downstairs and breaks his neck, Mrs. A. calls, leaves hercard with the upper right hand corner turned down, and then takes herdeparture; this corner means "Condolence."  It is very necessary to getthe corners right, else one may unintentionally condole with a friend ona wedding or congratulate her upon a funeral.  If either lady is about toleave the city, she goes to the other's house and leaves her card with"P. P. C." engraved under the name--which signifies, "Pay Parting Call."But enough of etiquette.  Laura was early instructed in the mysteries ofsociety life by a competent mentor, and thus was preserved fromtroublesome mistakes.The first fashionable call she received from a member of the ancientnobility, otherwise the Antiques, was of a pattern with all she receivedfrom that limb of the aristocracy afterward.  This call was paid by Mrs.Major-General Fulke-Fulkerson and daughter.  They drove up at one in theafternoon in a rather antiquated vehicle with a faded coat of arms on thepanels, an aged white-wooled negro coachman on the box and a youngerdarkey beside him--the footman.  Both of these servants were dressed indull brown livery that had seen considerable service.The ladies entered the drawing-room in full character; that is to say,with Elizabethan stateliness on the part of the dowager, and an easygrace and dignity on the part of the young lady that had a namelesssomething about it that suggested conscious superiority.  The dresses ofboth ladies were exceedingly rich, as to material, but as notably modestas to color and ornament.  All parties having seated themselves, thedowager delivered herself of a remark that was not unusual in its form,and yet it came from her lips with the impressiveness of Scripture:"The weather has been unpropitious of late, Miss Hawkins.""It has indeed," said Laura.  "The climate seems to be variable.""It is its nature of old, here," said the daughter--stating it apparentlyas a fact, only, and by her manner waving aside all personalresponsibility on account of it.  "Is it not so, mamma?""Quite so, my child.  Do you like winter, Miss Hawkins?"  She said "like"as if she had, an idea that its dictionary meaning was "approve of.""Not as well as summer--though I think all seasons have their charms.""It is a very just remark.  The general held similar views.  Heconsidered snow in winter proper; sultriness in summer legitimate; frostsin the autumn the same, and rains in spring not objectionable.  He wasnot an exacting man.  And I call to mind now that he always admiredthunder.  You remember, child, your father always admired thunder?""He adored it."No doubt it reminded him of battle," said Laura."Yes, I think perhaps it did.  He had a great respect for Nature.He often said there was something striking about the ocean.  You rememberhis saying that, daughter?""Yes, often, Mother.  I remember it very well.""And hurricanes...  He took a great interest in hurricanes.  And animals.Dogs, especially--hunting dogs.  Also comets.  I think we all have ourpredilections.  I think it is this that gives variety to our tastes."Laura coincided with this view."Do you find it hard and lonely to be so far from your home and friends,Miss Hawkins?""I do find it depressing sometimes, but then there is so much about mehere that is novel and interesting that my days are made up more ofsunshine than shadow.""Washington is not a dull city in the season," said the young lady."We have some very good society indeed, and one need not be at a loss formeans to pass the time pleasantly.  Are you fond of watering-places, MissHawkins?""I have really had no experience of them, but I have always felt a strongdesire to see something of fashionable watering-place life.""We of Washington are unfortunately situated in that respect," said thedowager.  "It is a tedious distance to Newport.  But there is no help forit."Laura said to herself, "Long Branch and Cape May are nearer than Newport;doubtless these places are low; I'll feel my way a little and see."  Thenshe said aloud:"Why I thought that Long Branch--"There was no need to "feel" any further--there was that in both facesbefore her which made that truth apparent.  The dowager said:"Nobody goes there, Miss Hawkins--at least only persons of no position insociety.  And the President."  She added that with tranquility."Newport is damp, and cold, and windy and excessively disagreeable," saidthe daughter, "but it is very select.  One cannot be fastidious aboutminor matters when one has no choice."The visit had spun out nearly three minutes, now.  Both ladies rose withgrave dignity, conferred upon Laura a formal invitation to call, aid thenretired from the conference.  Laura remained in the drawing-room and leftthem to pilot themselves out of the house--an inhospitable thing,it seemed to her, but then she was following her instructions.  Shestood, steeped in reverie, a while, and then she said:"I think I could always enjoy icebergs--as scenery but not as company."Still, she knew these two people by reputation, and was aware that theywere not ice-bergs when they were in their own waters and amid theirlegitimate surroundings, but on the contrary were people to be respectedfor their stainless characters and esteemed for their social virtues andtheir benevolent impulses.  She thought it a pity that they had to besuch changed and dreary creatures on occasions of state.The first call Laura received from the other extremity of the Washingtonaristocracy followed close upon the heels of the one we have just beendescribing.  The callers this time were the Hon. Mrs. Oliver Higgins,the Hon. Mrs. Patrique Oreille (pronounced O-relay,) Miss Bridget(pronounced Breezhay) Oreille, Mrs. Peter Gashly, Miss Gashly, and MissEmmeline Gashly.The three carriages arrived at the same moment from different directions.They were new and wonderfully shiny, and the brasses on the harness werehighly polished and bore complicated monograms.  There were showy coatsof arms, too, with Latin mottoes.  The coachmen and footmen were clad inbright new livery, of striking colors, and they had black rosettes withshaving-brushes projecting above them, on the sides of their stove-pipehats.When the visitors swept into the drawing-room they filled the place witha suffocating sweetness procured at the perfumer's.  Their costumes, asto architecture, were the latest fashion intensified; they were rainbow-hued; they were hung with jewels--chiefly diamonds.  It would have beenplain to any eye that it had cost something to upholster these women.The Hon. Mrs. Oliver Higgins was the wife of a delegate from a distantterritory--a gentleman who had kept the principal "saloon," and sold thebest whiskey in the principal village in his wilderness, and so, ofcourse, was recognized as the first man of his commonwealth and itsfittest representative.He was a man of paramount influence at home, for he was public spirited,he was chief of the fire department, he had an admirable command ofprofane language, and had killed several "parties."  His shirt frontswere always immaculate; his boots daintily polished, and no man couldlift a foot and fire a dead shot at a stray speck of dirt on it with awhite handkerchief with a finer grace than he; his watch chain weighed apound; the gold in his finger ring was worth forty five dollars; he worea diamond cluster-pin and he parted his hair behind.  He had always been,regarded as the most elegant gentleman in his territory, and it wasconceded by all that no man thereabouts was anywhere near his equal inthe telling of an obscene story except the venerable white-hairedgovernor himself.  The Hon. Higgins had not come to serve his country inWashington for nothing.  The appropriation which he had engineeredthrough Congress for the maintenance, of the Indians in his Territorywould have made all those savages rich if it had ever got to them.The Hon. Mrs. Higgins was a picturesque woman, and a fluent talker, andshe held a tolerably high station among the Parvenus.  Her English wasfair enough, as a general thing--though, being of New York origin, shehad the fashion peculiar to many natives of that city of pronouncing sawand law as if they were spelt sawr and lawr.Petroleum was the agent that had suddenly transformed the Gashlys frommodest hard-working country village folk into "loud" aristocrats andornaments of the city.The Hon. Patrique Oreille was a wealthy Frenchman from Cork.  Not that hewas wealthy when he first came from Cork, but just the reverse.  When hefirst landed in New York with his wife, he had only halted at CastleGarden for a few minutes to receive and exhibit papers showing that hehad resided in this country two years--and then he voted the democraticticket and went up town to hunt a house.  He found one and then went towork as assistant to an architect and builder, carrying a hod all day andstudying politics evenings.  Industry and economy soon enabled him tostart a low rum shop in a foul locality, and this gave him politicalinfluence.  In our country it is always our first care to see that ourpeople have the opportunity of voting for their choice of men torepresent and govern them--we do not permit our great officials toappoint the little officials.  We prefer to have so tremendous a power asthat in our own hands.  We hold it safest to elect our judges andeverybody else.  In our cities, the ward meetings elect delegates to thenominating conventions and instruct them whom to nominate.  The publicansand their retainers rule the ward meetings (for every body else hates theworry of politics and stays at home); the delegates from the wardmeetings organize as a nominating convention and make up a list ofcandidates--one convention offering a democratic and another a republicanlist of incorruptibles; and then the great meek public come forward atthe proper time and make unhampered choice and bless Heaven that theylive in a free land where no form of despotism can ever intrude.Patrick O'Riley (as his name then stood) created friends and influencevery, fast, for he was always on hand at the police courts to give strawbail for his customers or establish an alibi for them in case they hadbeen beating anybody to death on his premises.  Consequently he presentlybecame a political leader, and was elected to a petty office under thecity government.  Out of a meager salary he soon saved money enough toopen quite a stylish liquor saloon higher up town, with a faro bankattached and plenty of capital to conduct it with.  This gave him fameand great respectability.  The position of alderman was forced upon him,and it was just the same as presenting him a gold mine.  He had finehorses and carriages, now, and closed up his whiskey mill.By and by he became a large contractor for city work, and was a bosomfriend of the great and good Wm. M. Weed himself, who had stolen$20,600,000 from the city and was a man so envied, so honored,--soadored, indeed, that when the sheriff went to his office to arrest him asa felon, that sheriff blushed and apologized, and one of the illustratedpapers made a picture of the scene and spoke of the matter in such a wayas to show that the editor regretted that the offense of an arrest hadbeen offered to so exalted a personage as Mr. Weed.Mr. O'Riley furnished shingle nails to, the new Court House at threethousand dollars a keg, and eighteen gross of 60-cent thermometers atfifteen hundred dollars a dozen; the controller and the board of auditpassed the bills, and a mayor, who was simply ignorant but not criminal,signed them.  When they were paid, Mr. O'Riley's admirers gave him asolitaire diamond pin of the size of a filbert, in imitation of theliberality of Mr. Weed's friends, and then Mr. O'Riley retired fromactive service and amused himself with buying real estate at enormousfigures and holding it in other people's names.  By and by the newspaperscame out with exposures and called Weed and O'Riley "thieves,"--whereuponthe people rose as one man (voting repeatedly) and elected the twogentlemen to their proper theatre of action, the New York legislature.The newspapers clamored, and the courts proceeded to try the newlegislators for their small irregularities.  Our admirable jury systemenabled the persecuted ex-officials to secure a jury of nine gentlemenfrom a neighboring asylum and three graduates from Sing-Sing, andpresently they walked forth with characters vindicated.  The legislaturewas called upon to spew them forth--a thing which the legislaturedeclined to do.  It was like asking children to repudiate their ownfather.  It was a legislature of the modern pattern.Being now wealthy and distinguished, Mr. O'Riley, still bearing thelegislative "Hon." attached to his name (for titles never die in America,although we do take a republican pride in poking fun at such trifles),sailed for Europe with his family.  They traveled all about, turningtheir noses up at every thing, and not finding it a difficult thing todo, either, because nature had originally given those features a cast inthat direction; and finally they established themselves in Paris, thatParadise of Americans of their sort.--They staid there two years andlearned to speak English with a foreign accent--not that it hadn't alwayshad a foreign accent (which was indeed the case) but now the nature of itwas changed.  Finally they returned home and became ultra fashionables.They landed here as the Hon.  Patrique Oreille and family, and so areknown unto this day.Laura provided seats for her visitors and they immediately launched forthinto a breezy, sparkling conversation with that easy confidence which isto be found only among persons accustomed to high life."I've been intending to call sooner, Miss Hawkins," said the Hon. Mrs.Oreille, but the weather's been so horrid.  How do you like Washington?"Laura liked it very well indeed.Mrs. Gashly--"Is it your first visit?"Yea, it was her first.All--"Indeed?"Mrs. Oreille--"I'm afraid you'll despise the weather, Miss Hawkins.It's perfectly awful.  It always is.  I tell Mr. Oreille I can't andI won't put up with any such a climate.  If we were obliged to do it,I wouldn't mind it; but we are not obliged to, and so I don't see the useof it.  Sometimes its real pitiful the way the childern pine for Parry--don't look so sad, Bridget, 'ma chere'--poor child, she can't hear Parrymentioned without getting the blues."Mrs. Gashly--"Well I should think so, Mrs. Oreille.  A body lives inParis, but a body, only stays here.  I dote on Paris; I'd druther scrimpalong on ten thousand dollars a year there, than suffer and worry here ona real decent income."Miss Gashly--"Well then, I wish you'd take us back, mother; I'm sure Ihate this stoopid country enough, even if it is our dear native land."Miss Emmeline Gashly--"What and leave poor Johnny Peterson behind?" [Anairy genial laugh applauded this sally].Miss Gashly--"Sister, I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself!"Miss Emmeline--"Oh, you needn't ruffle your feathers so: I was onlyjoking.  He don't mean anything by coming to, the house every evening--only comes to see mother.  Of course that's all!" [General laughter].Miss G. prettily confused--"Emmeline, how can you!"Mrs. G.--"Let your sister alone, Emmeline.  I never saw such a tease!"Mrs. Oreille--"What lovely corals you have, Miss Hawkins!  Just look atthem, Bridget, dear.  I've a great passion for corals--it's a pitythey're getting a little common.  I have some elegant ones--not aselegant as yours, though--but of course I don't wear them now."Laura--"I suppose they are rather common, but still I have a greataffection for these, because they were given to me by a dear old friendof our family named Murphy.  He was a very charming man, but veryeccentric.  We always supposed he was an Irishman, but after be got richhe went abroad for a year or two, and when he came back you would havebeen amused to see how interested he was in a potato.  He asked what itwas!  Now you know that when Providence shapes a mouth especially for theaccommodation of a potato you can detect that fact at a glance when thatmouth is in repose--foreign travel can never remove that sign.  But hewas a very delightful gentleman, and his little foible did not hurt himat all.  We all have our shams--I suppose there is a sham somewhere aboutevery individual, if we could manage to ferret it out.  I would so liketo go to France.  I suppose our society here compares very favorably withFrench society does it not, Mrs. Oreille?"Mrs. O.--"Not by any means, Miss Hawkins!  French society is much moreelegant--much more so."Laura--"I am sorry to hear that.  I suppose ours has deteriorated oflate."Mrs. O.--"Very much indeed.  There are people in society here that havereally no more money to live on than what some of us pay for servanthire.  Still I won't say but what some of them are very good people--andrespectable, too."Laura--"The old families seem to be holding themselves aloof, from what Ihear.  I suppose you seldom meet in society now, the people you used tobe familiar with twelve or fifteen years ago?"Mrs. O.--"Oh, no-hardly ever."Mr. O'Riley kept his first rum-mill and protected his customers from thelaw in those days, and this turn of the conversation was ratheruncomfortable to madame than otherwise.Hon. Mrs. Higgins--"Is Francois' health good now, Mrs. Oreille?"Mrs. O.--(Thankful for the intervention--"Not very.  A body couldn'texpect it.  He was always delicate--especially his lungs--and this odiousclimate tells on him strong, now, after Parry, which is so mild."Mrs. H:--"I should think so.  Husband says Percy'll die if he don't havea change; and so I'm going to swap round a little and see what can bedone.  I saw a lady from Florida last week, and she recommended Key West.I told her Percy couldn't abide winds, as he was threatened with apulmonary affection, and then she said try St. Augustine.  It's an awfuldistance--ten or twelve hundred mile, they say but then in a case of thiskind--a body can't stand back for trouble, you know."Mrs. O.--"No, of course that's off.  If Francois don't get better soonwe've got to look out for some other place, or else Europe.  We'vethought some of the Hot Springs, but I don't know.  It's a greatresponsibility and a body wants to go cautious.  Is Hildebrand aboutagain, Mrs. Gashly?"Mrs. G.--"Yes, but that's about all.  It was indigestion, you know, andit looks as if it was chronic.  And you know I do dread dyspepsia.  We'veall been worried a good deal about him.  The doctor recommended bakedapple and spoiled meat, and I think it done him good.  It's about theonly thing that will stay on his stomach now-a-days.  We have Dr. Shovelnow.  Who's your doctor, Mrs. Higgins?"Mrs. H.--"Well, we had Dr. Spooner a good while, but he runs so much toemetics, which I think are weakening, that we changed off and took Dr.Leathers.  We like him very much.  He has a fine European reputation,too.  The first thing he suggested for Percy was to have him taken out inthe back yard for an airing, every afternoon, with nothing at all on."Mrs. O. and Mrs. G.--"What!"Mrs. H.--"As true as I'm sitting here.  And it actually helped him fortwo or three days; it did indeed.  But after that the doctor said itseemed to be too severe and so he has fell back on hot foot-baths atnight and cold showers in the morning.  But I don't think there, can beany good sound help for him in such a climate as this.  I believe we aregoing to lose him if we don't make a change."Mrs. O.  "I suppose you heard of the fright we had two weeks ago lastSaturday?  No?  Why that is strange--but come to remember, you've allbeen away to Richmond.  Francois tumbled from the sky light--in thesecond-story hall clean down to the first floor--"Everybody--"Mercy!"Mrs.  O.--Yes indeed--and broke two of his ribs--"Everybody--"What!"Mrs. O.  "Just as true as you live.  First we thought he must be injuredinternally.  It was fifteen minutes past 8 in the evening.  Of course wewere all distracted in a moment--everybody was flying everywhere, andnobody doing anything worth anything.  By and by I flung out next doorand dragged in Dr. Sprague; President of the Medical University no timeto go for our own doctor of course--and the minute he saw Francois hesaid, 'Send for your own physician, madam;' said it as cross as a bear,too, and turned right on his heel, and cleared out without doing athing!"Everybody--"The mean, contemptible brute!"Mrs. O--"Well you may say it.  I was nearly out of my wits by this time.But we hurried off the servants after our own doctor and telegraphedmother--she was in New York and rushed down on the first train; and whenthe doctor got there, lo and behold you he found Francois had broke oneof his legs, too!"Everybody--"Goodness!"Mrs. O.--"Yes.  So he set his leg and bandaged it up, and fixed his ribsand gave him a dose of something to quiet down his excitement and put himto sleep--poor thing he was trembling and frightened to death and it waspitiful to see him.  We had him in my bed--Mr. Oreille slept in the guestroom and I laid down beside Francois--but not to sleep bless you no.Bridget and I set up all night, and the doctor staid till two in themorning, bless his old heart.--When mother got there she was so used upwith anxiety, that she had to go to bed and have the doctor; but when shefound that Francois was not in immediate danger she rallied, and by nightshe was able to take a watch herself.  Well for three days and nights wethree never left that bedside only to take an hour's nap at a time.And then the doctor said Francois was out of danger and if ever there wasa thankful set, in this world, it was us."Laura's respect for these, women had augmented during this conversation,naturally enough; affection and devotion are qualities that are able toadorn and render beautiful a character that is otherwise unattractive,and even repulsive.Mrs. Gashly--"I do believe I would a died if I had been in your place,Mrs. Oreille.  The time Hildebrand was so low with the pneumonia Emmelineand me were all, alone with him most of the time and we never took aminute's sleep for as much as two days, and nights.  It was at Newportand we wouldn't trust hired nurses.  One afternoon he had a fit, andjumped up and run out on the portico of the hotel with nothing in theworld on and the wind a blowing liken ice and we after him scared todeath; and when the ladies and gentlemen saw that he had a fit, everylady scattered for her room and not a gentleman lifted his hand to help,the wretches!  Well after that his life hung by a thread for as much asten days, and the minute he was out of danger Emmeline and me just wentto bed sick and worn out.  I never want to pass through such a timeagain.  Poor dear Francois--which leg did he break, Mrs. Oreille!"Mrs. O.--"It was his right hand hind leg.  Jump down, Francois dear, andshow the ladies what a cruel limp you've got yet."Francois demurred, but being coaxed and delivered gently upon the floor,he performed very satisfactorily, with his "right hand hind leg" in theair.  All were affected--even Laura--but hers was an affection of thestomach.  The country-bred girl had not suspected that the little whiningten-ounce black and tan reptile, clad in a red embroidered pigmy blanketand reposing in Mrs. Oreille's lap all through the visit was theindividual whose sufferings had been stirring the dormant generosities ofher nature.  She said:"Poor little creature!  You might have lost him!"Mrs. O.--" O pray don't mention it, Miss Hawkins--it gives me such aturn!"Laura--"And Hildebrand and Percy--are they-are they like this one?"Mrs. G.--"No, Hilly has considerable Skye blood in him, I believe."Mrs. H.--"Percy's the same, only he is two months and ten days older andhas his ears cropped.  His father, Martin Farquhar Tupper, was sickly,and died young, but he was the sweetest disposition.--His mother hadheart disease but was very gentle and resigned, and a wonderful ratter."--[** As impossible and exasperating as this conversation may sound to aperson who is not an idiot, it is scarcely in any respect an exaggerationof one which one of us actually listened to in an American drawing room--otherwise we could not venture to put such a chapter into a book which,professes to deal with social possibilities.--THE AUTHORS.]So carried away had the visitors become by their interest attaching tothis discussion of family matters, that their stay had been prolonged toa very improper and unfashionable length; but they suddenly recollectedthemselves now and took their departure.Laura's scorn was boundless.  The more she thought of these people andtheir extraordinary talk, the more offensive they seemed to her; and yetshe confessed that if one must choose between the two extremearistocracies it might be best, on the whole, looking at things from astrictly business point of view, to herd with the Parvenus; she was inWashington solely to compass a certain matter and to do it at any cost,and these people might be useful to her, while it was plain that herpurposes and her schemes for pushing them would not find favor in theeyes of the Antiques.  If it came to choice--and it might come to that,sooner or later--she believed she could come to a decision without muchdifficulty or many pangs.But the best aristocracy of the three Washington castes, and really themost powerful, by far, was that of the Middle Ground: It was made up ofthe families of public men from nearly every state in the Union--men whoheld positions in both the executive and legislative branches of thegovernment, and whose characters had been for years blemishless, both athome and at the capital.  These gentlemen and their households wereunostentatious people; they were educated and refined; they troubledthemselves but little about the two other orders of nobility, but movedserenely in their wide orbit, confident in their own strength and wellaware of the potency of their influence.  They had no troublesomeappearances to keep up, no rivalries which they cared to distressthemselves about, no jealousies to fret over.  They could afford to mindtheir own affairs and leave other combinations to do the same or dootherwise, just as they chose.  They were people who were beyondreproach, and that was sufficient.Senator Dilworthy never came into collision with any of these factions.He labored for them all and with them all.  He said that all men werebrethren and all were entitled to the honest unselfish help andcountenance of a Christian laborer in the public vineyard.Laura concluded, after reflection, to let circumstances determine thecourse it might be best for her to pursue as regarded the severalaristocracies.Now it might occur to the reader that perhaps Laura had been somewhatrudely suggestive in her remarks to Mrs. Oreille when the subject ofcorals was under discussion, but it did not occur to Laura herself.She was not a person of exaggerated refinement; indeed, the society andthe influences that had formed her character had not been of a naturecalculated to make her so; she thought that "give and take was fairplay," and that to parry an offensive thrust with a sarcasm was a neatand legitimate thing to do.  She some times talked to people in a waywhich some ladies would consider, actually shocking; but Laura ratherprided herself upon some of her exploits of that character.  We are sorrywe cannot make her a faultless heroine; but we cannot, for the reasonthat she was human.She considered herself a superior conversationist.  Long ago, when thepossibility had first been brought before her mind that some day shemight move in Washington society, she had recognized the fact thatpracticed conversational powers would be a necessary weapon in thatfield; she had also recognized the fact that since her dealings theremust be mainly with men, and men whom she supposed to be exceptionallycultivated and able, she would need heavier shot in her magazine thanmere brilliant "society" nothings; whereupon she had at once entered upona tireless and elaborate course of reading, and had never since ceased todevote every unoccupied moment to this sort of preparation.  Having nowacquired a happy smattering of various information, she used it with goodeffect--she passed for a singularly well informed woman in Washington.The quality of her literary tastes had necessarily undergone constantimprovement under this regimen, and as necessarily, also; the duality ofher language had improved, though it cannot be denied that now and thenher former condition of life betrayed itself in just perceptibleinelegancies of expression and lapses of grammar.CHAPTER XXXIV.When Laura had been in Washington three months, she was still the sameperson, in one respect, that she was when she first arrived there--thatis to say, she still bore the name of Laura Hawkins.  Otherwise she wasperceptibly changed.--She had arrived in a state of grievous uncertainty as to what manner ofwoman she was, physically and intellectually, as compared with easternwomen; she was well satisfied, now, that her beauty was confessed, hermind a grade above the average, and her powers of fascination ratherextraordinary.  So she, was at ease upon those points.  When she arrived,she was possessed of habits of economy and not possessed of money; nowshe dressed elaborately, gave but little thought to the cost of things,and was very well fortified financially.  She kept her mother andWashington freely supplied with money, and did the same by Col. Sellers--who always insisted upon giving his note for loans--with interest; he wasrigid upon that; she must take interest; and one of the Colonel'sgreatest satisfactions was to go over his accounts and note what ahandsome sum this accruing interest amounted to, and what a comfortablethough modest support it would yield Laura in case reverses shouldovertake her.In truth he could not help feeling that he was an efficient shield forher against poverty; and so, if her expensive ways ever troubled him fora brief moment, he presently dismissed the thought and said to himself,"Let her go on--even if she loses everything she is still safe--thisinterest will always afford her a good easy income."Laura was on excellent terms with a great many members of Congress, andthere was an undercurrent of suspicion in some quarters that she was oneof that detested class known as "lobbyists;" but what belle could escapeslander in such a city?  Fairminded people declined to condemn her onmere suspicion, and so the injurious talk made no very damaging headway.She was very gay, now, and very celebrated, and she might well expect tobe assailed by many kinds of gossip.  She was growing used to celebrity,and could already sit calm and seemingly unconscious, under the fire offifty lorgnettes in a theatre, or even overhear the low voice "That'sshe!" as she passed along the street without betraying annoyance.The whole air was full of a vague vast scheme which was to eventuate infilling Laura's pockets with millions of money; some had one idea of thescheme, and some another, but nobody had any exact knowledge upon thesubject.  All that any one felt sure about, was that Laura's landedestates were princely in value and extent, and that the government wasanxious to get hold of them for public purposes, and that Laura waswilling to make the sale but not at all anxious about the matter and notat all in a hurry.  It was whispered that Senator Dilworthy was astumbling block in the way of an immediate sale, because he was resolvedthat the government should not have the lands except with theunderstanding that they should be devoted to the uplifting of the negrorace; Laura did not care what they were devoted to, it was said, (a worldof very different gossip to the contrary notwithstanding,) but there wereseveral other heirs and they would be guided entirely by the Senator'swishes; and finally, many people averred that while it would be easy tosell the lands to the government for the benefit of the negro, byresorting to the usual methods of influencing votes, Senator Dilworthywas unwilling to have so noble a charity sullied by any taint ofcorruption--he was resolved that not a vote should be bought.  Nobodycould get anything definite from Laura about these matters, and so gossiphad to feed itself chiefly upon guesses.  But the effect of it all was,that Laura was considered to be very wealthy and likely to be vastly moreso in a little while.  Consequently she was much courted and as muchenvied: Her wealth attracted many suitors.  Perhaps they came to worshipher riches, but they remained to worship her.  Some of the noblest men ofthe time succumbed to her fascinations.  She frowned upon no lover whenhe made his first advances, but by and by when she was hopelesslyenthralled, he learned from her own lips that she had formed a resolutionnever to marry.  Then he would go away hating and cursing the whole sex,and she would calmly add his scalp to her string, while she mused uponthe bitter day that Col. Selby trampled her love and her pride in thedust.  In time it came to be said that her way was paved with brokenhearts.Poor Washington gradually woke up to the fact that he too was anintellectual marvel as well as his gifted sister.  He could not conceivehow it had come about (it did not occur to him that the gossip about hisfamily's great wealth had any thing to do with it). He could not accountfor it by any process of reasoning, and was simply obliged to accept thefact and give up trying to solve the riddle.  He found himself draggedinto society and courted, wondered at and envied very much as if he wereone of those foreign barbers who flit over here now and then with a self-conferred title of nobility and marry some rich fool's absurd daughter.Sometimes at a dinner party or a reception he would find himself thecentre of interest, and feel unutterably uncomfortable in the discovery.Being obliged to say something, he would mine his brain and put in ablast and when the smoke and flying debris had cleared away the resultwould be what seemed to him but a poor little intellectual clod of dirtor two, and then he would be astonished to see everybody as lost inadmiration as if he had brought up a ton or two of virgin gold.  Everyremark he made delighted his hearers and compelled their applause; heoverheard people say he was exceedingly bright--they were chiefly mammasand marriageable young ladies.  He found that some of his good thingswere being repeated about the town.  Whenever he heard of an instance ofthis kind, he would keep that particular remark in mind and analyze it athome in private.  At first he could not see that the remark was anythingbetter than a parrot might originate; but by and by he began to feel thatperhaps he underrated his powers; and after that he used to analyze hisgood things with a deal of comfort, and find in them a brilliancy whichwould have been unapparent to him in earlier days--and then he would makea note, of that good thing and say it again the first time he foundhimself in a new company.  Presently he had saved up quite a repertoireof brilliancies; and after that he confined himself to repeating theseand ceased to originate any more, lest he might injure his reputation byan unlucky effort.He was constantly having young ladies thrust upon his notice atreceptions, or left upon his hands at parties, and in time he began tofeel that he was being deliberately persecuted in this way; and afterthat he could not enjoy society because of his constant dread of thesefemale ambushes and surprises.  He was distressed to find that nearlyevery time he showed a young lady a polite attention he was straightwayreported to be engaged to her; and as some of these reports got into thenewspapers occasionally, he had to keep writing to Louise that they werelies and she must believe in him and not mind them or allow them togrieve her.Washington was as much in the dark as anybody with regard to the greatwealth that was hovering in the air and seemingly on the point oftumbling into the family pocket.  Laura would give him no satisfaction.All she would say, was:"Wait.  Be patient.  You will see.""But will it be soon, Laura?""It will not be very long, I think.""But what makes you think so?""I have reasons--and good ones.  Just wait, and be patient.""But is it going to be as much as people say it is?""What do they say it is?""Oh, ever so much.  Millions!""Yes, it will be a great sum.""But how great, Laura?  Will it be millions?""Yes, you may call it that.  Yes, it will be millions.  There, now--doesthat satisfy you?""Splendid !  I can wait.  I can wait patiently-ever so patiently.  Once Iwas near selling the land for twenty thousand dollars; once for thirtythousand dollars; once after that for seven thousand dollars; and oncefor forty thousand dollars--but something always told me not to do it.What a fool I would have been to sell it for such a beggarly trifle!  Itis the land that's to bring the money, isn't it Laura?  You can tell methat much, can't you?""Yes, I don't mind saying that much.  It is the land.But mind--don't ever hint that you got it from me.  Don't mention me inthe matter at all, Washington.""All right--I won't.  Millions!  Isn't it splendid!  I mean to lookaround for a building lot; a lot with fine ornamental shrubbery and allthat sort of thing.  I will do it to-day.  And I might as well see anarchitect, too, and get him to go to work at a plan for a house.  I don'tintend to spare and expense; I mean to have the noblest house that moneycan build."  Then after a pause--he did not notice Laura's smiles "Laura,would you lay the main hall in encaustic tiles, or just in fancy patternsof hard wood?"Laura laughed a good old-fashioned laugh that had more of her formernatural self about it than any sound that had issued from her mouth inmany weeks.  She said:"You don't change, Washington.  You still begin to squander a fortuneright and left the instant you hear of it in the distance; you never waittill the foremost dollar of it arrives within a hundred miles of you,"--and she kissed her brother good bye and left him weltering in his dreams,so to speak.He got up and walked the floor feverishly during two hours; and when hesat down he had married Louise, built a house, reared a family, marriedthem off, spent upwards of eight hundred thousand dollars on mereluxuries, and died worth twelve millions.CHAPTER XXXV.Laura went down stairs, knocked at/the study door, and entered, scarcelywaiting for the response.  Senator Dilworthy was alone--with an openBible in his hand, upside down.  Laura smiled, and said, forgetting heracquired correctness of speech,"It is only me.""Ah, come in, sit down," and the Senator closed the book and laid itdown.  "I wanted to see you.  Time to report progress from the committeeof the whole," and the Senator beamed with his own congressional wit."In the committee of the whole things are working very well.  We havemade ever so much progress in a week.  I believe that you and I togethercould run this government beautifully, uncle."The Senator beamed again.  He liked to be called "uncle" by thisbeautiful woman."Did you see Hopperson last night after the congressional prayermeeting?""Yes.  He came.  He's a kind of--""Eh? he is one of my friends, Laura.  He's a fine man, a very fine man.I don't know any man in congress I'd sooner go to for help in anyChristian work.  What did he say?""Oh, he beat around a little.  He said he should like to help the negro,his heart went out to the negro, and all that--plenty of them say thatbut he was a little afraid of the Tennessee Land bill; if SenatorDilworthy wasn't in it, he should suspect there was a fraud on thegovernment.""He said that, did he?""Yes.  And he said he felt he couldn't vote for it.  He was shy.""Not shy, child, cautious.  He's a very cautious man.  I have been withhim a great deal on conference committees.  He wants reasons, good ones.Didn't you show him he was in error about the bill?""I did.  I went over the whole thing.  I had to tell him some of the sidearrangements, some of the--""You didn't mention me?""Oh, no.  I told him you were daft about the negro and the philanthropypart of it, as you are.""Daft is a little strong, Laura.  But you know that I wouldn't touch thisbill if it were not for the public good, and for the good of the coloredrace; much as I am interested in the heirs of this property, and wouldlike to have them succeed."Laura looked a little incredulous, and the Senator proceeded."Don't misunderstand me, I don't deny that it is for the interest of allof us that this bill should go through, and it will.  I have noconcealments from you.  But I have one principle in my public life, whichI should like you to keep in mind; it has always been my guide.  I neverpush a private interest if it is not Justified and ennobled by somelarger public good.  I doubt Christian would be justified in working forhis own salvation if it was not to aid in the salvation of his fellowmen."The Senator spoke with feeling, and then added,"I hope you showed Hopperson that our motives were pure?""Yes, and he seemed to have a new light on the measure: I think will votefor it.""I hope so; his name will give tone and strength to it.  I knew you wouldonly have to show him that it was just and pure, in order to secure hiscordial support.""I think I convinced him.  Yes, I am perfectly sure he will vote rightnow.""That's good, that's good," said the Senator; smiling, and rubbing hishands.  "Is there anything more?""You'll find some changes in that I guess," handing the Senator a printedlist of names.  "Those checked off are all right.""Ah--'m--'m," running his eye down the list.  "That's encouraging.  Whatis the 'C' before some of the names, and the 'B. B.'?""Those are my private marks.  That 'C' stands for 'convinced,' withargument.  The 'B. B.' is a general sign for a relative.  You see itstands before three of the Hon. Committee.  I expect to see the chairmanof the committee to-day, Mr. Buckstone.""So, you must, he ought to be seen without any delay.  Buckstone is aworldly sort of a fellow, but he has charitable impulses.  If we securehim we shall have a favorable report by the committee, and it will be agreat thing to be able to state that fact quietly where it will do good.""Oh, I saw Senator Balloon""He will help us, I suppose?  Balloon is a whole-hearted fellow.  I can'thelp loving that man, for all his drollery and waggishness.  He puts onan air of levity sometimes, but there aint a man in the senate knows thescriptures as he does.  He did not make any objections?""Not exactly, he said--shall I tell you what he said?" asked Lauraglancing furtively at him."Certainly.""He said he had no doubt it was a good thing; if Senator Dilworthy was init, it would pay to look into it."The Senator laughed, but rather feebly, and said, "Balloon is always fullof his jokes.""I explained it to him.  He said it was all right, he only wanted a wordwith you,", continued Laura.  "He is a handsome old gentleman, and he isgallant for an old man.""My daughter," said the Senator, with a grave look, "I trust there wasnothing free in his manner?""Free?" repeated Laura, with indignation in her face.  "With me!""There, there, child.  I meant nothing, Balloon talks a little freelysometimes, with men.  But he is right at heart.  His term expires nextyear and I fear we shall lose him.""He seemed to be packing the day I was there.  His rooms were full of drygoods boxes, into which his servant was crowding all manner of oldclothes and stuff: I suppose he will paint 'Pub. Docs' on them and frankthem home.  That's good economy, isn't it?""Yes, yes, but child, all Congressmen do that.  It may not be strictlyhonest, indeed it is not unless he had some public documents mixed inwith the clothes.""It's a funny world.  Good-bye, uncle.  I'm going to see that chairman."And humming a cheery opera air, she departed to her room to dress forgoing out.  Before she did that, however, she took out her note book andwas soon deep in its contents; marking, dashing, erasing, figuring, andtalking to herself."Free!  I wonder what Dilworthy does think of me anyway?  One .  .  .two.  .  .eight .  .  .  seventeen .  .  .  twenty-one,.  .  'm'm .  .  .it takes a heap for a majority.  Wouldn't Dilworthy open his eyes if heknew some of the things Balloon did say to me.  There.  .  .  .Hopperson's influence ought to count twenty .  .  .  the sanctimoniousold curmudgeon.  Son-in-law.  .  .  . sinecure in the negro institution.  .  .  .That about gauges him .  .  . The three committeemen .  .  .  .sons-in-law.  Nothing like a son-in-law here in Washington or a brother-in-law .  .  . And everybody has 'em .  .  .Let's see: .  .  .  sixty-one.  .  .  .  with places .  .  .  twenty-five .  .  .  persuaded--it isgetting on; .  .  .  . we'll have two-thirds of Congress in time .  .  .Dilworthy must surely know I understand him.  Uncle Dilworthy .  .  .  .Uncle Balloon!--Tells very amusing stories .  .  .  when ladies are notpresent .  .  . I should think so .  .  .  .'m .  .  .  'm.  Eighty-five.There.  I must find that chairman.  Queer.  .  .  .  Buckstone acts .  .Seemed to be in love .  .  .  .  .  I was sure of it.  He promised tocome here.  .  . and he hasn't.  .  . Strange.  Very strange .  .  .  .I must chance to meet him to-day."Laura dressed and went out, thinking she was perhaps too early for Mr.Buckstone to come from the house, but as he lodged near the bookstore shewould drop in there and keep a look out for him.While Laura is on her errand to find Mr. Buckstone, it may not be out ofthe way to remark that she knew quite as much of Washington life asSenator Dilworthy gave her credit for, and more than she thought properto tell him.  She was acquainted by this time with a good many of theyoung fellows of Newspaper Row; and exchanged gossip with them to theirmutual advantage.They were always talking in the Row, everlastingly gossiping, banteringand sarcastically praising things, and going on in a style which was acurious commingling of earnest and persiflage.  Col. Sellers liked thistalk amazingly, though he was sometimes a little at sea in it--andperhaps that didn't lessen the relish of the conversation to thecorrespondents.It seems that they had got hold of the dry-goods box packing story aboutBalloon, one day, and were talking it over when the Colonel came in.The Colonel wanted to know all about it, and Hicks told him.  And thenHicks went on, with a serious air,"Colonel, if you register a letter, it means that it is of value, doesn'tit?  And if you pay fifteen cents for registering it, the government willhave to take extra care of it and even pay you back its full value if itis lost.  Isn't that so?""Yes.  I suppose it's so."."Well Senator Balloon put fifteen cents worth of stamps on each of thoseseven huge boxes of old clothes, and shipped that ton of second-handrubbish, old boots and pantaloons and what not through the mails asregistered matter!  It was an ingenious thing and it had a genuine touchof humor about it, too.  I think there is more real: talent among ourpublic men of to-day than there was among those of old times--a far morefertile fancy, a much happier ingenuity.  Now, (colonel, can you pictureJefferson, or Washington or John Adams franking their wardrobes throughthe mails and adding the facetious idea of making the governmentresponsible for the cargo for the sum of one dollar and five cents?Statesmen were dull creatures in those days.  I have a much greateradmiration for Senator Balloon.""Yes, Balloon is a man of parts, there is no denying it""I think so.  He is spoken of for the post of Minister to China, orAustria, and I hope will be appointed.  What we want abroad is goodexamples of the national character.John Jay and Benjamin Franklin were well enough in their day, but thenation has made progress since then.  Balloon is a man we know and candepend on to be true to himself.""Yes, and Balloon has had a good deal of public experience.  He is an oldfriend of mine.  He was governor of one of the territories a while, andwas very satisfactory.""Indeed he was.  He was ex-officio Indian agent, too.  Many a man wouldhave taken the Indian appropriation and devoted the money to feeding andclothing the helpless savages, whose land had been taken from them by thewhite man in the interests of civilization; but Balloon knew their needsbetter.  He built a government saw-mill on the reservation with themoney, and the lumber sold for enormous prices--a relative of his did allthe work free of charge--that is to say he charged nothing more than thelumber world bring."  "But the poor Injuns--not that I care much forInjuns--what did he do for them?""Gave them the outside slabs to fence in the reservation with.  GovernorBalloon was nothing less than a father to the poor Indians.  But Balloonis not alone, we have many truly noble statesmen in our country's servicelike Balloon.  The Senate is full of them.  Don't you think so Colonel?""Well, I dunno.  I honor my country's public servants as much as any onecan.  I meet them, Sir, every day, and the more I see of them the more Iesteem them and the more grateful I am that our institutions give us theopportunity of securing their services.  Few lands are so blest.""That is true, Colonel.  To be sure you can buy now and then a Senator ora Representative but they do not know it is wrong, and so they are notashamed of it.  They are gentle, and confiding and childlike, and in myopinion these are qualities that ennoble them far more than any amount ofsinful sagacity could.  I quite agree with you, Col. Sellers.""Well"--hesitated the, Colonel--"I am afraid some of them do buy theirseats--yes, I am afraid they do--but as Senator Dilworthy himself said tome, it is sinful,--it is very wrong--it is shameful; Heaven protect mefrom such a charge.  That is what Dilworthy said.  And yet when you cometo look at it you cannot deny that we would have to go without theservices of some of our ablest men, sir, if the country were opposed to--to--bribery.  It is a harsh term.  I do not like to use it."The Colonel interrupted himself at this point to meet an engagement withthe Austrian minister, and took his leave with his usual courtly bow.CHAPTER XXXVI.In due time Laura alighted at the book store, and began to look at thetitles of the handsome array of books on the counter.  A dapper clerk ofperhaps nineteen or twenty years, with hair accurately parted andsurprisingly slick, came bustling up and leaned over with a pretty smileand an affable--"Can I--was there any particular book you wished to see?""Have you Taine's England?""Beg pardon?""Taine's Notes on England."The young gentleman scratched the side of his nose with a cedar pencilwhich he took down from its bracket on the side of his head, andreflected a moment:"Ah--I see," [with a bright smile]--"Train, you mean--not Taine.  GeorgeFrancis Train.  No, ma'm we--""I mean Taine--if I may take the liberty."The clerk reflected again--then:"Taine .  .  .  .  Taine .  .  .  . Is it hymns?""No, it isn't hymns.  It is a volume that is making a deal of talk justnow, and is very widely known--except among parties who sell it."The clerk glanced at her face to see if a sarcasm might not lurksomewhere in that obscure speech, but the gentle simplicity of thebeautiful eyes that met his, banished that suspicion.  He went away andconferred with the proprietor.  Both appeared to be non-plussed.  Theythought and talked, and talked and thought by turns.  Then both cameforward and the proprietor said:"Is it an American book, ma'm?""No, it is an American reprint of an English translation.""Oh!  Yes--yes--I remember, now.  We are expecting it every day.  Itisn't out yet.""I think you must be mistaken, because you advertised it a week ago.""Why no--can that be so?""Yes, I am sure of it.  And besides, here is the book itself, on thecounter."She bought it and the proprietor retired from the field.  Then she askedthe clerk for the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table--and was pained to seethe admiration her beauty had inspired in him fade out of his face.He said with cold dignity, that cook books were somewhat out of theirline, but be would order it if she desired it.  She said, no, never mind.Then she fell to conning the titles again, finding a delight in theinspection of the Hawthornes, the Longfellows, the Tennysons, and otherfavorites of her idle hours.  Meantime the clerk's eyes were busy, and nodoubt his admiration was returning again--or may be he was only gaugingher probable literary tastes by some sagacious system of admeasurementonly known to his guild.  Now he began to "assist" her in making aselection; but his efforts met with no success--indeed they only annoyedher and unpleasantly interrupted her meditations.  Presently, while shewas holding a copy of "Venetian Life" in her hand and running over afamiliar passage here and there, the clerk said, briskly, snatching up apaper-covered volume and striking the counter a smart blow with it todislodge the dust:"Now here is a work that we've sold a lot of.  Everybody that's read itlikes it"--and he intruded it under her nose; it's a book that I canrecommend--'The Pirate's Doom, or the Last of the Buccaneers.'  I thinkit's one of the best things that's come out this season"Laura pushed it gently aside her hand and went on and went on filchingfrom "Venetian Life.""I believe I do not want it," she said.The clerk hunted around awhile, glancing at one title and then another,but apparently not finding what he wanted.However, he succeeded at last.  Said he:"Have you ever read this, ma'm?  I am sure you'll like it.  It's by theauthor of 'The Hooligans of Hackensack.' It is full of love troubles andmysteries and all sorts of such things.  The heroine strangles her ownmother.  Just glance at the title please,--'Gonderil the Vampire, or TheDance of Death.'  And here is 'The Jokist's Own Treasury, or, The PhunnyPhellow's Bosom Phriend.'  The funniest thing!--I've read it four times,ma'm, and I can laugh at the very sight of it yet.  And 'Gonderil,'--I assure you it is the most splendid book I ever read.  I know you willlike these books, ma'm, because I've read them myself and I know whatthey are.""Oh, I was perplexed--but I see how it is, now.  You must have thoughtI asked you to tell me what sort of books I wanted--for I am apt to saythings which I don't really mean, when I am absent minded.  I suppose Idid ask you, didn't I?""No ma'm,--but I--""Yes, I must have done it, else you would not have offered your services,for fear it might be rude.  But don't be troubled--it was all my fault.I ought not to have been so heedless--I ought not to have asked you.""But you didn't ask me, ma'm.  We always help customers all we can.You see our experience--living right among books all the time--that sortof thing makes us able to help a customer make a selection, you know.""Now does it, indeed?  It is part of your business, then?""Yes'm, we always help.""How good it is of you.  Some people would think it rather obtrusive,perhaps, but I don't--I think it is real kindness--even charity.  Somepeople jump to conclusions without any thought--you have noticed that?""O yes," said the clerk, a little perplexed as to whether to feelcomfortable or the reverse; "Oh yes, indeed, I've often noticed that,ma'm.""Yes, they jump to conclusions with an absurd heedlessness.  Now somepeople would think it odd that because you, with the budding tastes andthe innocent enthusiasms natural to your time of life, enjoyed theVampires and the volume of nursery jokes, you should imagine that anolder person would delight in them too--but I do not think it odd at all.I think it natural--perfectly natural in you.  And kind, too.  You looklike a person who not only finds a deep pleasure in any little thing inthe way of literature that strikes you forcibly, but is willing and gladto share that pleasure with others--and that, I think, is noble andadmirable--very noble and admirable.  I think we ought all--to share ourpleasures with others, and do what we can to make each other happy, donot you?""Oh, yes.  Oh, yes, indeed.  Yes, you are quite right, ma'm."But he was getting unmistakably uncomfortable, now, notwithstandingLaura's confiding sociability and almost affectionate tone."Yes, indeed.  Many people would think that what a bookseller--or perhapshis clerk--knows about literature as literature, in contradistinction toits character as merchandise, would hardly, be of much assistance to aperson--that is, to an adult, of course--in the selection of food for themind--except of course wrapping paper, or twine, or wafers, or somethinglike that--but I never feel that way.  I feel that whatever service youoffer me, you offer with a good heart, and I am as grateful for it as ifit were the greatest boon to me.  And it is useful to me--it is bound tobe so.  It cannot be otherwise.  If you show me a book which you haveread--not skimmed over or merely glanced at, but read--and you tell methat you enjoyed it and that you could read it three or four times, thenI know what book I want--""Thank you!--th--"--"to avoid.  Yes indeed.  I think that no information ever comes amissin this world.  Once or twice I have traveled in the cars--and there youknow, the peanut boy always measures you with his eye, and hands you outa book of murders if you are fond of theology; or Tupper or a dictionaryor T. S. Arthur if you are fond of poetry; or he hands you a volume ofdistressing jokes or a copy of the American Miscellany if youparticularly dislike that sort of literary fatty degeneration of theheart--just for the world like a pleasant spoken well-meaning gentlemanin any, bookstore.  But here I am running on as if business men hadnothing to do but listen to women talk.  You must pardon me, for I wasnot thinking.--And you must let me thank you again for helping me.I read a good deal, and shall be in nearly every day and I would be sorryto have you think me a customer who talks too much and buys too little.Might I ask you to give me the time?  Ah-two-twenty-two.  Thank youvery much.  I will set mine while I have the opportunity."But she could not get her watch open, apparently.  She tried, and triedagain.  Then the clerk, trembling at his own audacity, begged to beallowed to assist.  She allowed him.  He succeeded, and was radiant underthe sweet influences of her pleased face and her seductively wordedacknowledgements with gratification.  Then he gave her the exact timeagain, and anxiously watched her turn the hands slowly till they reachedthe precise spot without accident or loss of life, and then he looked ashappy as a man who had helped a fellow being through a momentousundertaking, and was grateful to know that he had not lived in vain.Laura thanked him once more.  The words were music to his ear; but whatwere they compared to the ravishing smile with which she flooded hiswhole system?  When she bowed her adieu and turned away, he was no longersuffering torture in the pillory where she had had him trussed up duringso many distressing moments, but he belonged to the list of her conquestsand was a flattered and happy thrall, with the dawn-light of lovebreaking over the eastern elevations of his heart.It was about the hour, now, for the chairman of the House Committee onBenevolent Appropriations to make his appearance, and Laura stepped tothe door to reconnoiter.  She glanced up the street, and sure enough--CHAPTER XXXVII.That Chairman was nowhere in sight.  Such disappointments seldom occur innovels, but are always happening in real life.She was obliged to make a new plan.  She sent him a note, and asked himto call in the evening--which he did.She received the Hon. Mr. Buckstone with a sunny smile, and said:"I don't know how I ever dared to send you a note, Mr. Buckstone, for youhave the reputation of not being very partial to our sex.""Why I am sure my, reputation does me wrong, then, Miss Hawkins.  I havebeen married once--is that nothing in my favor?""Oh, yes--that is, it may be and it may not be.  If you have known whatperfection is in woman, it is fair to argue that inferiority cannotinterest you now.""Even if that were the case it could not affect you, Miss Hawkins," saidthe chairman gallantly.  "Fame does not place you in the list of ladieswho rank below perfection."  This happy speech delighted Mr. Buckstone asmuch as it seemed to delight Laura.  But it did not confuse him as muchas it apparently did her."I wish in all sincerity that I could be worthy of such a felicitouscompliment as that.  But I am a woman, and so I am gratified for it justas it is, and would not have it altered.""But it is not merely a compliment--that is, an empty complement--it isthe truth.  All men will endorse that."Laura looked pleased, and said:"It is very kind of you to say it.  It is a distinction indeed, for acountry-bred girl like me to be so spoken of by people of brains andculture.  You are so kind that I know you will pardon my putting you tothe trouble to come this evening.""Indeed it was no trouble.  It was a pleasure.  I am alone in the worldsince I lost my wife, and I often long for the society of your sex, MissHawkins, notwithstanding what people may say to the contrary.""It is pleasant to hear you say that.  I am sure it must be so.  If Ifeel lonely at times, because of my exile from old friends, althoughsurrounded by new ones who are already very dear to me, how much morelonely must you feel, bereft as you are, and with no wholesome relieffrom the cares of state that weigh you down.  For your own sake, as wellas for the sake of others, you ought to go into society oftener.I seldom see you at a reception, and when I do you do not usually give mevery, much of your attention""I never imagined that you wished it or I would have been very glad tomake myself happy in that way.--But one seldom gets an opportunity to saymore than a sentence to you in a place like that.  You are always thecentre of a group--a fact which you may have noticed yourself.  But ifone might come here--""Indeed you would always find a hearty welcome, Mr. Buckstone.  I haveoften wished you would come and tell me more about Cairo and thePyramids, as you once promised me you would.""Why, do you remember that yet, Miss Hawkins?  I thought ladies' memorieswere more fickle than that.""Oh, they are not so fickle as gentlemen's promises.  And besides, if Ihad been inclined to forget, I--did you not give me something by way of aremembrancer?""Did I?""Think.""It does seem to me that I did; but I have forgotten what it was now.""Never, never call a lady's memory fickle again!  Do you recognize this?""A little spray of box!  I am beaten--I surrender.  But have you keptthat all this time?"Laura's confusion was very, pretty.  She tried to hide it, but the moreshe tried the more manifest it became and withal the more captivating tolook upon.  Presently she threw the spray of box from her with an annoyedair, and said:"I forgot myself.  I have been very foolish.  I beg that you will forgetthis absurd thing."Mr. Buckstone picked up the spray, and sitting down by Laura's side onthe sofa, said:"Please let me keep it, Miss Hawkins.  I set a very high value upon itnow.""Give it to me, Mr. Buckstone, and do not speak so.  I have beensufficiently punished for my thoughtlessness.  You cannot take pleasurein adding to my distress.  Please give it to me.""Indeed I do not wish to distress you.  But do not consider the matter sogravely; you have done yourself no wrong.  You probably forgot that youhad it; but if you had given it to me I would have kept it--and notforgotten it.""Do not talk so, Mr. Buckstone.  Give it to me, please, and forget thematter.""It would not be kind to refuse, since it troubles you so, and so Irestore it.  But if you would give me part of it and keep the rest--""So that you might have something to remind you of me when you wished tolaugh at my foolishness?""Oh, by no means, no!  Simply that I might remember that I had onceassisted to discomfort you, and be reminded to do so no more."Laura looked up, and scanned his face a moment.  She was about to breakthe twig, but she hesitated and said:"If I were sure that you-- "She threw the spray away, and continued:"This is silly!  We will change the subject.  No, do not insist--I musthave my way in this."Then Mr. Buckstone drew off his forces and proceeded to make a wilyadvance upon the fortress under cover of carefully--contrived artificesand stratagems of war.  But he contended with an alert and suspiciousenemy; and so at the end of two hours it was manifest to him that he hadmade but little progress.  Still, he had made some; he was sure of that.Laura sat alone and communed with herself;"He is fairly hooked, poor thing.  I can play him at my leisure and landhim when I choose.  He was all ready to be caught, days and days ago--I saw that, very well.  He will vote for our bill--no fear about that;and moreover he will work for it, too, before I am done with him.  If hehad a woman's eyes he would have noticed that the spray of box had grownthree inches since he first gave it to me, but a man never sees anythingand never suspects.  If I had shown him a whole bush he would havethought it was the same.  Well, it is a good night's work: the committeeis safe.  But this is a desperate game I am playing in these days--a wearing, sordid, heartless game.  If I lose, I lose everything--evenmyself.  And if I win the game, will it be worth its cost after all?I do not know.  Sometimes I doubt.  Sometimes I half wish I had notbegun.  But no matter; I have begun, and I will never turn back; neverwhile I live."Mr. Buckstone indulged in a reverie as he walked homeward:"She is shrewd and deep, and plays her cards with considerablediscretion--but she will lose, for all that.  There is no hurry; I shallcome out winner, all in good time.  She is the most beautiful woman inthe world; and she surpassed herself to-night.  I suppose I must vote forthat bill, in the end maybe; but that is not a matter of much consequencethe government can stand it.  She is bent on capturing me, that is plain;but she will find by and by that what she took for a sleeping garrisonwas an ambuscade."CHAPTER XXXVIII.          Now this surprising news caus'd her fall in 'a trance,          Life as she were dead, no limbs she could advance,          Then her dear brother came, her from the ground he took          And she spake up and said, O my poor heart is broke.                              The Barnardcastle Tragedy."Don't you think he is distinguished looking?""What! That gawky looking person, with Miss Hawkins?""There.  He's just speaking to Mrs. Schoonmaker.  Such high-brednegligence and unconsciousness.  Nothing studied.  See his fine eyes.""Very.  They are moving this way now.  Maybe he is coming here.  But helooks as helpless as a rag baby.  Who is he, Blanche?""Who is he?  And you've been here a week, Grace, and don't know?  He'sthe catch of the season.  That's Washington Hawkins--her brother.""No, is it?""Very old family, old Kentucky family I believe.  He's got enormouslanded property in Tennessee, I think.  The family lost everything,slaves and that sort of thing, you know, in the war.  But they have agreat deal of land, minerals, mines and all that.  Mr. Hawkins and hissister too are very much interested in the amelioration of the conditionof the colored race; they have some plan, with Senator Dilworthy, toconvert a large part of their property to something another for thefreedmen.""You don't say so?  I thought he was some guy from Pennsylvania.  But heis different from others.  Probably he has lived all his life on hisplantation."It was a day reception of Mrs. Representative Schoonmaker, a sweet woman,of simple and sincere manners.  Her house was one of the most popular inWashington.  There was less ostentation there than in some others, andpeople liked to go where the atmosphere reminded them of the peace andpurity of home.  Mrs. Schoonmaker was as natural and unaffected inWashington society as she was in her own New York house, and kept up thespirit of home-life there, with her husband and children.  And that wasthe reason, probably, why people of refinement liked to go there.Washington is a microcosm, and one can suit himself with any sort ofsociety within a radius of a mile.  To a large portion of the people whofrequent Washington or dwell where, the ultra fashion, the shoddy, thejobbery are as utterly distasteful as they would he in a refined NewEngland City.  Schoonmaker was not exactly a leader in the House, but hewas greatly respected for his fine talents and his honesty.  No one wouldhave thought of offering to carry National Improvement Directors Reliefstock for him.These day receptions were attended by more women than men, and thoseinterested in the problem might have studied the costumes of the ladiespresent, in view of this fact, to discover whether women dress more forthe eyes of women or for effect upon men.  It is a very importantproblem, and has been a good deal discussed, and its solution would formone fixed, philosophical basis, upon which to estimate woman's character.We are inclined to take a medium ground, and aver that woman dresses toplease herself, and in obedience to a law of her own nature."They are coming this way," said Blanche.  People who made way for themto pass, turned to look at them.  Washington began to feel that the eyesof the public were on him also, and his eyes rolled about, now towardsthe ceiling, now towards the floor, in an effort to look unconscious."Good morning, Miss Hawkins.  Delighted.  Mr. Hawkins.  My friend, MissMedlar."Mr. Hawkins, who was endeavoring to square himself for a bow, put hisfoot through the train of Mrs. Senator Poplin, who looked round with ascowl, which turned into a smile as she saw who it was.  In extricatinghimself, Mr. Hawkins, who had the care of his hat as well as theintroduction on his mind, shambled against Miss Blanche, who said pardon,with the prettiest accent, as if the awkwardness were her own.  And Mr.Hawkins righted himself."Don't you find it very warm to-day, Mr. Hawkins?" said Blanche, by wayof a remark.It's awful hot," said Washington."It's warm for the season," continued Blanche pleasantly.  "But I supposeyou are accustomed to it," she added, with a general idea that thethermometer always stands at 90 deg. in all parts of the late slavestates.  "Washington weather generally cannot be very congenial to you?""It's congenial," said Washington brightening up, "when it's notcongealed.""That's very good.  Did you hear, Grace, Mr. Hawkins says it's congenialwhen it's not congealed.""What is, dear?" said Grace, who was talking with Laura.The conversation was now finely under way.  Washington launched out anobservation of his own."Did you see those Japs, Miss Leavitt?""Oh, yes, aren't they queer.  But so high-bred, so picturesque.  Do youthink that color makes any difference, Mr. Hawkins?  I used to be soprejudiced against color.""Did you?  I never was.  I used to think my old mammy ,was handsome.""How interesting your life must have been!  I should like to hear aboutit."Washington was about settling himself into his narrative style,when Mrs. Gen. McFingal caught his eye."Have you been at the Capitol to-day, Mr. Hawkins?"Washington had not.  "Is anything uncommon going on?""They say it was very exciting.  The Alabama business you know.Gen.  Sutler, of Massachusetts, defied England, and they say he wantswar.""He wants to make himself conspicuous more like," said Laura."He always, you have noticed, talks with one eye on the gallery, whilethe other is on the speaker.""Well, my husband says, its nonsense to talk of war, and wicked.He knows what war is.  If we do have war, I hope it will be for thepatriots of Cuba.  Don't you think we want Cuba, Mr. Hawkins?""I think we want it bad," said Washington.  "And Santo Domingo.  SenatorDilworthy says, we are bound to extend our religion over the isles of thesea.  We've got to round out our territory, and--"Washington's further observations were broken off by Laura, who whiskedhim off to another part of the room, and reminded him that they must maketheir adieux."How stupid and tiresome these people are," she said.  "Let's go."They were turning to say good-by to the hostess, when Laura's attentionwas arrested by the sight of a gentleman  who was just speaking to Mrs.Schoonmaker.  For a second her heart stopped beating.  He was a handsomeman of forty and perhaps more, with grayish hair and whiskers, and hewalked with a cane, as if he were slightly lame.  He might be less thanforty, for his face was worn into hard lines, and he was pale.No.  It could not be, she said to herself.  It is only a resemblance.But as the gentleman turned and she saw his full face, Laura put out herhand and clutched Washington's arm to prevent herself from falling.Washington, who was not minding anything, as usual, looked 'round inwonder.  Laura's eyes were blazing fire and hatred; he had never seen herlook so before; and her face, was livid."Why, what is it, sis?  Your face is as white as paper.""It's he, it's he.  Come, come," and she dragged him away."It's who?" asked Washington, when they had gained the carriage."It's nobody, it's nothing.  Did I say he?  I was faint with the heat.Don't mention it.  Don't you speak of it," she added earnestly, graspinghis arm.When she had gained her room she went to the glass and saw a pallid andhaggard face."My God," she cried, "this will never do.  I should have killed him, if Icould.  The scoundrel still lives, and dares to come here.  I ought tokill him.  He has no right to live.  How I hate him.  And yet I lovedhim.  Oh heavens, how I did love that man.  And why didn't he kill me?He might better.  He did kill all that was good in me.  Oh, but he shallnot escape.  He shall not escape this time.  He may have forgotten.  Hewill find that a woman's hate doesn't forget.  The law?  What would thelaw do but protect him and make me an outcast?  How all Washington wouldgather up its virtuous skirts and avoid me, if it knew.  I wonder if hehates me as I do him?"So Laura raved, in tears and in rage by turns, tossed in a tumult ofpassion, which she gave way to with little effort to control.A servant came to summon her to dinner.  She had a headache.  The hourcame for the President's reception.  She had a raving headache, and theSenator must go without her.That night of agony was like another night she recalled.  How vividly itall came back to her.  And at that time she remembered she thought shemight be mistaken.  He might come back to her.  Perhaps he loved her,a little, after all.  Now, she knew he did not.  Now, she knew he was acold-blooded scoundrel, without pity.  Never a word in all these years.She had hoped he was dead.  Did his wife live, she wondered.  She caughtat that--and it gave a new current to her thoughts.  Perhaps, after all--she must see him.  She could not live without seeing him.  Would he smileas in the old days when she loved him so; or would he sneer as when shelast saw him?  If be looked so, she hated him.  If he should call her"Laura, darling," and look SO!  She must find him.  She must end herdoubts.Laura kept her room for two days, on one excuse and another--a nervousheadache, a cold--to the great anxiety of the Senator's household.Callers, who went away, said she had been too gay--they did not say"fast," though some of them may have thought it.  One so conspicuous andsuccessful in society as Laura could not be out of the way two days,without remarks being made, and not all of them complimentary.When she came down she appeared as usual, a little pale may be, butunchanged in manner.  If there were any deepened lines about the eyesthey had been concealed.  Her course of action was quite determined.At breakfast she asked if any one had heard any unusual noise during thenight?  Nobody had.  Washington never heard any noise of any kind afterhis eyes were shut.  Some people thought he never did when they were openeither.Senator Dilworthy said he had come in late.  He was detained in a littleconsultation after the Congressional prayer meeting.  Perhaps it was hisentrance.No, Laura said.  She heard that.  It was later.  She might have beennervous, but she fancied somebody was trying to get into the house.Mr. Brierly humorously suggested that it might be, as none of the memberswere occupied in night session.The Senator frowned, and said he did not like to hear that kind ofnewspaper slang.  There might be burglars about.Laura said that very likely it was only her nervousness.  But she thoughtshe world feel safer if Washington would let her take one of his pistols.Washington brought her one of his revolvers, and instructed her in theart of loading and firing it.During the morning Laura drove down to Mrs. Schoonmaker's to pay afriendly call."Your receptions are always delightful," she said to that lady, "thepleasant people all seem to come here.""It's pleasant to hear you say so, Miss Hawkins.  I believe my friendslike to come here.  Though society in Washington is mixed; we have alittle of everything.""I suppose, though, you don't see much of the old rebel element?" saidLaura with a smile.If this seemed to Mrs. Schoonmaker a singular remark for a lady to make,who was meeting "rebels" in society every day, she did not express it inany way, but only said,"You know we don't say 'rebel' anymore.  Before we came to Washington Ithought rebels would look unlike other people.  I find we are very muchalike, and that kindness and good nature wear away prejudice.  And thenyou know there are all sorts of common interests.  My husband sometimessays that he doesn't see but confederates are just as eager to get at thetreasury as Unionists.  You know that Mr. Schoonmaker is on theappropriations.""Does he know many Southerners?""Oh, yes.  There were several at my reception the other day.  Amongothers a confederate Colonel--a stranger--handsome man with gray hair,probably you didn't notice him, uses a cane in walking.  A very agreeableman.  I wondered why he called.  When my husband came home and lookedover the cards, he said he had a cotton claim.  A real southerner.Perhaps you might know him if I could think of his name.  Yes, here's hiscard--Louisiana."Laura took the card, looked at it intently till she was sure of theaddress, and then laid it down, with,"No, he is no friend of ours."That afternoon, Laura wrote and dispatched the following note.  It was ina round hand, unlike her flowing style, and it was directed to a number