"That's it exactly," said Quincy; "only I wish a receipt from you for

the document."

"Certainly," replied Curtis. As he raised the lid of his old-fashioned

desk the letter fell to the floor. The envelope had received rough

treatment in its progress from hand to hand, and it was not strange that

when it struck the floor one corner was split open by the fall.

As Quincy stooped to pick it up, he noticed that something that

resembled a small piece of white cloth dropped from the broken corner of

the envelope. When he picked it up to replace it, he saw that it was a

small piece of white cotton cloth, and his quick eye caught the name

"Linda Fernborough" stamped thereon with indelible ink. He said nothing,

but replacing the piece of cloth passed the package to Curtis, who

enclosed, sealed, and endorsed it, and gave a receipt therefor to

Quincy.

"I will put this in my big steel vault," said he, as he went into

another room.

Quincy knew that Curtis would accept no fee for such a slight service,

so placing a five dollar greenback under a paperweight, he quietly left

the office and was out of sight long before Curtis, with the bill in his

hand, ran down stairs, bareheaded, and looked up and down the street in

search of him.

Five minutes later Quincy reached his aunt's house. A "Buttons," dressed

in blue livery, opened the door, and Quincy was ushered into the long

parlor, which ran the full depth of the house, some sixty feet, in which

he had passed many pleasant evenings. He sent up his card, and in a few

moments Buttons returned and delivered the speech which Mrs. Chessman

had taught him and which he had learned by heart: "Mrs. Chessman desires

that you will come up at once."

Quincy bounded upstairs, to the evident astonishment of Buttons, and

made his way to the front chamber, which he knew was his aunt's room.

She loved the sunlight, and it was a constant visitor in that room,

summer and winter. His aunt did not greet him with a "how do you do?"

and a hand-shake. Instead of such a formal reception, she gave him a

hearty hug and kissed him three times, once on the forehead, then on

the cheek, and finally on the lips, in which latter osculation Quincy

took part.

His aunt led him to an easy-chair, then threw herself upon a lounge

opposite to him. She eyed him attentively for a moment.

"Quincy," said she, "you are better looking than ever; you're almost as

good looking as Robert was, and he was the handsomest man I ever saw.

How many different country girls have you kissed since you saw me last?"

"I kept the count," said Quincy, "till I went to a surprise party a week

ago Monday, and then I lost it."

"Of all the kisses that you have had, whose do you prize the most?"

"Those from my beloved Aunt Ella," replied Quincy.

Aunt Ella smiled and said, "You know how to keep on the right side of an

old woman who has got money."

"I didn't think of that until you called my attention to it," said

Quincy gravely.

"And I didn't believe it when I said it," added Aunt Ella. A few moments

later she rang and ordered a light lunch. When this was over she went to

an old secretary with brass handles, opened a drawer, and took out a

cigar box.

"I have a few of Robert's cigars left," she said.

Quincy took one and resumed his seat in the easy-chair.

Aunt Ella opened another drawer in the secretary and took out a pouch of

tobacco, a package of rice paper and a box of wax tapers. She put these

articles on a small diamond-shaped table and placed the table between

Quincy and herself. She handed Quincy the match-box, then deftly rolling

a cigarette, she lighted it, leaned back upon the lounge and blew rings

of smoke into the air, which she watched until they broke.

"Do you think it's horribly unbecoming for me to smoke?" she asked,

looking at Quincy.

"Do you wish me to express my real thoughts?" replied Quincy, "or

flatter you because you have money?"

Aunt Ella reddened a little, then said, "A good shot, Quincy, but I

deserve it. Go on."

"Well, Aunt Ella," said he, "you are the only woman whom I ever saw

smoke who, in my opinion, knew how to do it gracefully."

"I think you are sincere," she rejoined, "and I beg pardon for wounding

your feelings as I did before. Give me your hand on it."

They shook hands as two men would have done after settling differences.

Then she said, "Now draw your chair up closer, Quincy, and tell me what

you've been doing, and what other people have been doing to you since

the day before Christmas, the last time I set eyes on you until to-day.

You know I am your mother confessor."

Quincy complied, and in his quiet, concise way gave her a full account

of his doings in Eastborough, omitting nothing, concealing nothing. If

anything, he gave fuller details of his acquaintance with Huldy, Lindy,

and Alice than he did of the other portions of his story. He could not

forbear to give at full length the account of his final settlement with

the Professor.

Aunt Ella laughed heartily at some parts of the recital, and looked

sorrowful and sympathetic when she listened to other portions. She

rolled and smoked half a dozen cigarettes during its continuance, and

when she saw that Quincy had finished his cigar she placed the remainder

of the box before him.

When he closed she said, "Quincy, you're a brick. I haven't enjoyed

myself so much for years. I do so love anything that isn't commonplace,

and your experience is both novel and interesting. What a dear old man

Deacon Mason is, and Ezekiel Pettengill is a fine young fellow, honest

and square. That Hiram and Mandy must be a team. Are they going to get

married?"

"I think so," said Quincy. "He stammers, you know, and I think he is

afraid he will break down when he tries to propose."

Aunt Ella laughed heartily; then she said, "What a constitutional liar

that Stiles must be, and as for the Professor, I would like to have a

set-to with him myself."

As she said this she doubled up her fists.

"Oh, he wouldn't meet you that way," said Quincy. "He only fights with a

woman's weapon, his tongue;" and he told her of his little boxing match

with Robert Wood.

Aunt Ella continued: "I can imagine what a pretty, sweet, little country

girl Huldy Mason is. My heart aches for Lindy, her martyrdom has been

out of all proportion to her contemplated wrongdoing, if wrongdoing it

really was. Had I been in her place I would have married Jones and left

my clothes behind; and then," said Aunt Ella, "how my heart goes out to

that dear, sweet girl that you call Alice! Do you love her, Quincy?"

"Devotedly," answered Quincy, "I never really loved a woman before."

"Then marry her," cried Aunt Ella decidedly.

"Everybody at home but Maude will object," said Quincy.

"Maude's the best one in the family, next to yourself," snapped Aunt

Ella.

"They will bring up Uncle Jim," continued Quincy.

"Nonsense!" replied Aunt Ella. "Uncle Jim was a fool; any man is a fool

who thinks he can win the battle of life by making a sot of himself.

Bring this girl to me, Quincy. She must be a genius, if she can write as

you say she can. Let me care for her and love her and make life pleasant

and beautiful for her until you get ready to do it yourself."

"I will, some day, Aunt Ella. You are the best friend I have in the

world, and when I have the right to bring Alice to you, I will lose no

time in doing so. Thank you for your kind words about her. I shall never

forget them, and she shall hear them some day. But I must go now."

They both arose, "Promise that you will come and see me every time you

are in Boston, Quincy; if you don't, I shall come down to Eastborough to

see you."

She gave him another kiss at parting.

As he left the house he deliberated for a moment as to where he should

go next. It was half-past four. He decided to go to Leopold's lodgings

in Chestnut Street. He found him at home, but for a wonder he was not

working.

"This is an off day with me," he explained; "this is our haying season,

and I've been working nights, days, and Sundays for a fortnight."

"I came to express Miss Pettengill's obligations and thanks for your

kind and very successful efforts in her behalf."

"Oh! that's all right," said Leopold. "By the way, have you told her she

ought to write a book?"

"Not yet," said Quincy; "but I'm going to soon. She has just lost a dear

friend; but I won't forget it."

"Don't!" repeated Leopold. "She is a diamond that ought to be dug up,

cut, and set in eighteen carat gold. Excuse my apparently brutal

language, but you get my meaning."

"Certainly," said Quincy; "and you are not working to-day."

"No," replied Leopold; "loafing and enjoying it, too. I've a good mind

to turn vagrant and loaf on, loaf ever."

"Come down to Parker's and have dinner with me."

"Can't do it," replied Leopold; "my stomach is loafing, too. 'Twouldn't

be fair to make it work and do nothing myself. Just as much obliged.

Some other day. Don't forget the book," he cried, as Quincy left the

room.

Quincy took his dinner at Parker's, caught the five minutes past six

express, and reached Eastborough Centre at half-past seven. Abbott Smith

drove him home to the Pettengill house.

The next day was Friday. Everybody at Mason's Corner, with quite a

number from Eastborough and Montrose, came to Mrs. Putnam's funeral. The

little Square in front of the church, as well as the shed, was filled

with teams. While waiting for the arrival of the body, quite a number of

the male residents of Mason's Corner were gathered upon the steps of the

church.

Strout spied Abner Stiles and approached him. "Bob Wood has jest told

me," said the Professor, "that he has decided not to leave his present

place, so I've concluded on second thoughts to give yer that job at the

grocery store."

Abner's eyes twinkled.

"I've had my second thoughts, too," said he, "I've hired out to Deacon

Mason for life, and if I jine the church he says I can work for him in

the next world. So I kinder guess I shall have to decline yer kind

invitation to lift boxes and roll barrels."

When the services were over every person in the church passed up the

centre aisle to take a last view. Her husband had been buried in the

Montrose cemetery, and she had told Mr. Tilton that she was to be laid

by his side. The Eastborough cemetery was in West Eastborough, and for

that reason many of the late residents of Mason's Corner slept their

last sleep at Montrose.

As they stood by the coffin, Alice said, "How does she look?"

"Very pleasant," replied Quincy; "there is a sweet smile upon her face."

"I am so glad," said Alice. She pressed his arm a little tighter, and

looking up to him, she said, "Perhaps she has met her boy, and that

smile is but the earthly reflection of the heavenly one that rests upon

her face in her home above."

"I hope so," replied Quincy; and they walked slowly out of church and

took their places on the rear seat of the Pettengill carryall, Ezekiel

and Uncle Ike sitting in front.

Mandy Skinner and Mrs. Crowley had not gone to the funeral The latter

was busy skimming cream from a dozen large milk pans, while Mandy sat

before the kitchen stove, with Swiss by her side. She was thinking of

Hiram, and wondering if he really intended to ask her to marry him.

"I don't think he's been foolin' me, but now he's goin' into business I

should think it was about time for him to speak up or quit."

Swiss suddenly arose, sniffed and went to the kitchen door. The door was

opened softly and some one entered the room. Mandy did not turn her

head. Perhaps she guessed who it was. Then some one placed a chair close

to Mandy and took a seat beside her.

"Say, M-m-m-m-m-a-andy," said Hiram, "will you please read this to me?

It's an important document, and I want to be sure I've got it jest

right." As he said this he passed Mandy a folded paper.

She opened it and the following words met her eye: "This is to certify

that I, Hiram Maxwell, of Mason's Corner, in the town of Eastborough,

county of Normouth, and Commonwealth of Massachusetts, hereby declare my

intention to ask Miss Amanda Skinner of the village, town, county, and

state aforesaid, to become my lawful wedded wife."

"Oh, you big silly!" cried Mandy, dropping the paper, for she didn't

think it necessary to read any further.

"Is it all right?" cried Hiram, "it cost a quarter to git it drawn up.

Then I swore to it before old Squire Rundlett over to Montrose, and it

ought ter hold water. You'd better keep it, Mandy, then I can't fling it

up at yer that I never axed yer to marry me."

"Who told you that?" asked the girl indignantly.

"Ma Hawkins. Well, she didn't exactly say it to me, but she spoke it out

so loud to Betsy Green that I heered it clear out in the wood-shed and

I'll tell yer what, Mandy, it kinder made me mad."

"Well, it's all right now," said Mandy soothingly.

"Is it?" asked Hiram, his face beaming with delight.

The next instant there was a succession of peculiar sounds heard in the

room. As Swiss came back from the kitchen door but one chair was needed

for the happy couple, and an onlooker would have thought that chair was

occupied by one person with a very large head, having light curly hair

on one side and straight dark hair on the other, no face being visible.

It was upon this picture that Mrs. Crowley looked as she opened the door

leading into the kitchen and started to come into the room with a large

pan full of cream.

Astonished, she stepped backward, forgetting the two steps that she had

just ascended. Flat upon her back she fell, the pan of cream drenching

her from head to foot.

"It's drownded I am! It's drownded I am!" she cried at the top of her

voice.

"What's the matter? How did it happen?" said Mandy, as she rushed into

the room, followed by Swiss.

"Shure it's thinkin' I was," moaned Mrs. Crowley, "when the milk fell on

me."

"Thinkin' of what?" cried Mandy sharply. "You couldn't have been

thinkin' of your business."

"Shure I was thinkin' of the day when Pat Crowley and I both sat in the

same chair, forty years ago," said Mrs. Crowley, rising to her feet and

wiping the cream from her eyes, and nose, and ears.

During this time Swiss was busily engaged having a rich feast upon the

cream left in the pan. Hiram appeared at the kitchen door to learn the

cause of Mandy's absence.

Raising her hands high in the air, Mrs. Crowley said, "Bless you, my

darlints; may yer live long and may all the saints pour blessin's on yer

hids."

And with this invocation the poor old woman hobbled off to her room in

the ell and was not seen again until the next morning.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE WEDDIN'S.

The next day was Saturday. While the Pettengill family was at breakfast,

Squire Rundlett arrived. He had driven over from Montrose with the

partnership papers for Strout, Hiram, and Quincy to sign and also the

will of the late Mrs. Hepsibeth Putnam.

As he came into the kitchen he espied Mandy, and a broad smile spread

over his face as he said, "Good morning, Miss Skinner, was that paper

all right?" Mandy flushed scarlet but said nothing. "Honestly, Miss

Skinner," said the Squire, "I think it was a very sensible act on

Hiram's part. If men were obliged to put their proposals in writing

there wouldn't be any more breach of promise cases."

"I think he was a big goose," finally ejaculated Mandy, laughing in

spite of herself.

"At any rate," continued the Squire, "he knew how to pick out a smart,

pretty little woman for a wife;" and he raised his hat politely and

passed into the dining-room.

Here he was asked to have some breakfast. He accepted a cup of coffee,

and, while drinking it, informed Quincy and Alice of the twofold purpose

of his visit.

Quincy led Alice into the parlor, the Squire accompanying them. Quincy

then retired, saying he would join the Squire in a short time and ride

up to the store with him.

When they were alone, the Squire informed Alice that by the terms of

Mrs. Putnam's last will she had been left sole heiress of all the real

and personal property of the deceased. The dwelling house and farm were

worth fully ten thousand dollars, while the bonds, stocks, and other

securities, of which he had had charge for many years, were worth at

least forty thousand more. For several years Mrs. Putnam's income had

been about twenty-five hundred dollars a year.

"It was very kind of her to leave it to me," said Alice; "I have never

done anything to deserve it and I would not take it were it not that I

understand there are no near relatives, and that Miss Lindy Putnam was

amply provided for by her brother."

There was a knock upon the door, and Quincy looked in.

"Come in, Mr. Sawyer," said the Squire. "I have an important bit of news

for you that concerns this young lady."

Quincy did as requested and stood expectantly.

The Squire went on: "Mrs. Putnam's old will, made some six years ago,

gave all the property to Miss Pettengill, but provided that its

provisions should be kept secret for ninety days. In that will I was

named as sole executor."

"Why did she change it?" asked Alice earnestly.

"I don't know," replied the Squire. "About three weeks ago she sent for

me and cut out the ninety-day restriction and named our young friend

here as co-executor with myself."

Alice remained silent, while a look of astonishment crept into Quincy's

face.

"I do not quite comprehend her reason for making this change," remarked

Quincy.

"Mrs. Putnam was a very far-seeing lady," said the Squire, with a laugh,

looking first at Alice and then at Quincy.

A slight flush mounted to Alice's cheeks, and Quincy said coolly, "I do

not perceive the application of your remark."

"Easy enough," said the Squire, seeing that he had put his foot in it,

and that it was necessary to explain his false step in some way; "easy

enough. I have had sole charge of her property for six years, and she

wished some cool-headed business man to go over my accounts and see if I

had been honest in my dealings with her."

"That way of stating the case is satisfactory," said Quincy, a little

more genially.

"I don't think I am in danger of being robbed with two such trusty

guardians," said Alice.

Then all three laughed, and the little rift was closed. But the Squire's

words had not been unheeded and two hearts were busily thinking and

wondering if he had really meant what he said.

The Squire then turned to Quincy. "If you will name a day we will go

over to the county town, present the will for probate, and at any time

thereafter my books will be ready for inspection."

Quincy named the following Wednesday, and then both men congratulated

Miss Pettengill on her good fortune, bade her good morning, and then

started to go to the store.

As they passed through the kitchen Mandy was not in sight. She evidently

did not intend to have a second interview with the Squire.

When they reached the store they found Strout and Hiram and Mr. Hill and

his son already there. The business with Mr. Hill was soon concluded,

and he delivered the keys of the property to Squire Rundlett; then the

co-partnership papers were duly signed and witnessed, and then the

Squire passed the keys to Mr. Obadiah Strout, the senior partner of the

new firm of Strout & Maxwell, who formally took possession of the

property in his own name and that of his partners.

Since Abner's curt declination of a position in the store, Strout had

been looking around for some one to take his place, and had finally

settled upon William Ricker, or, as he was generally called, Billy

Ricker, a popular young resident of Montrose, as it was thought he could

control a great deal of trade in that town.

For a similar reason, Quincy and Hiram had united in choosing young

Abbott Smith, who was known by everybody in Eastborough Centre and West

Eastborough. Abbott had grown tired of driving the hotel carriage and

wished to engage in some permanent business.

The choice was naturally not particularly palatable to Strout, but he

had consented to let bygones be bygones and could offer no valid

objection. These two young men were to report for duty that Saturday

evening, and the close of that day's business terminated Benoni and

Samuel Hill's connection with the grocery store.

Sunday morning all of the Pettengill family went to church and listened

to a sermon by Mr. Howe, the minister, from the text, "Blessed are the

peacemakers, for they shall inherit the kingdom of Heaven."

As they were driving home, Uncle Ike remarked in his dry, sarcastic way,

"I s'pose Mr. Howe was thinkin' of Mrs. Putnam when he was praisin' the

peacemakers; it's a fashion in the country, I understand, the Sunday

after a funeral to preach in a general way about the departed one."

"Mrs. Putnam has been very kind to me," protested Alice, "and you should

forgive her for my sake."

"I'll forgive her," said Uncle Ike, "when the wrong she has done has

been righted." He shut his teeth together sharply, faced the horses

again, and lapsed into silence.

In the afternoon Quincy joined Alice in the parlor, and they sang some

sacred music together.

Quincy picked up a book from the table and said, "Why, Miss Pettengill,

by this turned down corner I imagine there are some thirty pages of this

very interesting story, 'The Love of a Lifetime,' that I have not read

to you. Would you like to have me finish it this afternoon?"

"I have been afraid to hear the last chapter," said Alice. "I fear

Herbert and Clarice will both die, and I so hate a book with a sad

ending. Why don't authors keep their lovers alive--"

"Marry them off and let them live happily ever afterward," Quincy

concluded.

"I don't think I could ever write a book with a sorrowful conclusion,"

mused Alice.

Quincy saw the opportunity for which he had long waited.

"Why don't you write a book?" asked he earnestly. "My friend Leopold

says you ought to; he further said that you were a genius, and if I

remember him correctly, compared you to a diamond--"

"In the rough," added Alice quickly.

"That's it," said Quincy; "but Leopold added that rough diamonds should

be dug up, cut, and set in a manner worthy of their value."

"I am afraid Mr. Ernst greatly overrates my abilities and my worth,"

said she, a little constrainedly. "But how unkind and ungrateful I am to

you and Mr. Ernst, who have been so kind and have done so much for me. I

will promise this much," she continued graciously. "I will think it

over, and if my heart does not fail me, I will try."

"I hope your conclusion will be favorable," remarked Quincy. "In a short

time you will be financially independent and freed from any necessity of

returning to your former vocation. I never knew of an author so

completely successful at the start, and I think you have every

encouragement to make literature your 'love of a lifetime.'"

"I will try to think so too," replied Alice softly.

Then he took up the book and finished reading it. When he had closed,

neither he nor she were thinking of that future world in which Herbert

and Clarice had sealed those vows which they had kept so steadfastly and

truly during life, but of the present world, bright with promise for

each of them, in which there was but one shade of sorrow--that filmy web

that shut out the beauties of nature from the sight of that most

beautiful of God's creations, a lovely woman.

Monday morning Quincy made another trip to Boston. He had obtained the

measurements for a large sign, upon which, on a blue ground, the words

"Strout & Maxwell" were to appear in large gold letters. He paid another

visit to the carriage factory, and ordered two leather covered wagon

tops, to be used in stormy weather, and picked out two sets of harness

resplendent with brass buckles and bosses and having "S. & M." in brass

letters on the blinders.

He reached Aunt Ella's in time for lunch. He told her of the approaching

wedding of Ezekiel and Huldy; then, leaning over, he whispered something

in her ear, which made her face beam with delight.

"What a joke it will be," cried she, "and how the country folks will

enjoy it. Can't I come down to the wedding, Quincy, and bring my landau,

my double span of cream-colored horses, and my driver and footman in the

Chessman livery? I'll take you and your lady love to the church."

"Why, certainly," said Quincy. "I'll ask Miss Mason to send you an

invitation."

"Let me do something to help," begged the impetuous but good-hearted

Aunt Ella. "Bring the girls up some morning early. We will go shopping,

then we'll lunch here. We will have to go without our wine and cigars

that day, you know, and then we'll go to the modiste's and the

milliner's in the afternoon. We'll make a day of it, young man."

Quincy leaned back in his easy-chair and blew a ring of blue smoke from

one of Uncle Robert's cigars.

"Excuse me, Aunt Ella," said he, "but do you ever intend to get married

again?"

"Quincy Adams Sawyer!" cried Aunt Ella, with an astonished look on her

face, "are you joking?"

"Certainly not," replied Quincy. "My question was intended to be a

serious and respectful inquiry. You are only forty, fine looking, well

educated, well connected and wealthy. Why should you not?"

"I will answer you seriously then, Quincy. I could not marry again. Ten

years' life with Robert Chessman was a greater pleasure than a lifetime

with an ordinary man. I was twenty-five when I married him; we lived

together ten years; he has been dead for five. How often I have wished

that Robert had lived to enjoy his fortune with me.

"But he was satisfied," she continued. "'Better be a success at the

end,' he used to say, 'than be a success in middle life and fall from

your greatness. Look at Wolsey, look at Richelieu, look at Napoleon

Bonaparte.' He would often remark: 'Earth has no sadder picture than a

broken idol.' He used to consider Abraham Lincoln the most successful

man that ever lived, for he died before making a mistake, and when he

was strongest in the hearts of the people.

"Your question reminds me," continued Aunt Ella, "of something I had in

mind to say to you at some future day, but I may as well say it now. How

much money have you, Quincy, and what is your income?"

"Father gave me fifty thousand dollars outright when I was twenty-one;

it pays on an average six per cent. Besides this he allows me two

thousand a year for supposed professional services rendered in his law

office."

"That makes five thousand a year," said Aunt Ella quickly. "Well, I'll

allow you five thousand more a year, and the day you are married I'll

give you as much outright as your father did. That's unconditional. Now,

conditionally, if you bring your wife here and live with me you shall

have rooms and board free, and I'll leave you every dollar I possess

when I'm through with it. Don't argue with me now," she continued, as

Quincy essayed to speak. "Think it over, tell her about it. You will do

as you please, of course, but I shall not change my mind on this point."

"Didn't your husband leave any relatives that might turn up and prevent

any such disposition of your property?"

"When we married, Robert said he was alone in the world," replied Aunt

Ella; "he had no sisters, and only one brother, named Charles. Charles

was an artist; he went to Paris to study about thirty-five years ago.

From there he went to London. Some thirty years ago Robert got a letter

from him in which he said he was going to return to America. Robert

waited, but he did not come; then he wrote again to his English address,

but the letter was returned with the words 'Gone to America' endorsed

thereon."

"Was he married?" inquired Quincy.

"Robert never knew," said Aunt Ella, "but he imagined not, as Charlie,

as he called him, never spoke in his letters of being in love, much less

of being married."

Quincy caught the three o'clock train to Eastborough Centre, and Ellis

Smith, another son of 'Bias Smith, who had taken the hotel carriage in

place of his brother Abbott, drove him home.

A few days thereafter invitations to the wedding of Ezekiel Pettengill

and Hulda Ann Mason were sent broadcast through Eastborough Centre, West

Eastborough, Mason's Corner, and Montrose. Then it was decided by the

gossips that Ezekiel was going to have Mr. Sawyer and Hiram Maxwell and

Sam Hill to stand up with him, while Huldy Ann was going to have Alice

Pettengill, Mandy Skinner, and Tilly James as bridesmaids.

The whole town turned out when the two gaudy wagons, with their handsome

horses and fine harness reached Eastborough Centre, and a number of

Centre folks followed the unique procession over to Mason's Corner. One

of the wagons contained the new sign, which was soon put in place, and

was a source of undisguised admiration for a long time.

On the tenth of April, Strout & Maxwell's two heavy teams went over to

Eastborough Centre and returned about noon heavily loaded, followed by

three other teams from the Centre equally well filled. Then Mr. Obadiah

Strout could contain himself no longer. He let the cat out of the bag,

and the news spread like wildfire over the village, and was soon carried

to Eastborough Centre and to Montrose. The Mason's Corner church was to

have a new organ, a present from Mr. Sawyer, and Professor Obadiah

Strout had been engaged to officiate for one year.

The nineteenth of April was fixed for Huldy's wedding day. The hour was

ten in the morning. As early as eight o'clock teams began to arrive from

north, east, south, and west. Enough invitations had been issued to fill

the church, and by half-past nine every seat was taken.

The little church was profusely decorated with vines, ferns and potted

plants, while a wealth of cut flowers adorned the altar, the front of

the new organ, which rose towering to the very top of the church, and

the pews reserved for the bridal party.

Outside the edifice hundreds of sightseers, not honored with

invitations, lined both sides of the spacious Square in front of the

church, and occupied positions of vantage on the steps.

It lacked but ten minutes of ten. The sexton rung a merry peal from the

sweet-toned bell, which was the pride of the inhabitants of Mason's

Corner. Within the church the ushers, having attended to the seating of

the audience, stood just within the door awaiting the arrival of the

bride and groom. They were in dress suits, with white gloves, and each

had a white rose in his butonhole. Robert Wood and Cobb's twins had been

assigned to the right of the centre aisle, while Abbott Smith, Benjamin

Bates, and Emmanuel Howe had charge of the left side of the edifice. If

any noticed the absence of Samuel Hill and Hiram Maxwell, it did not

provoke general remark, although Mrs. Hawkins asked Jonas if he'd seen

Mandy anywhere, and Tilly James's school chum, Eliza Allen, managed to

occupy two seats, so as to have one for Tilly when she came.

At exactly five minutes of ten, Professor Strout emerged from the rear

of the platform and proceeded towards the new organ. He, like the

ushers, was in a dress suit, with a white rose in the lapel of his coat.

He was greeted with applause and bowed his acknowledgements. He took his

seat at the organ and played a soft prelude, during which the Rev. Caleb

Howe entered and advanced to the altar.

Then loud cheers were heard from the assembled crowd outside. The organ

stopped and the sexton again filled the air with merry peals. The sight

outside was one which those inside could not see, and therefore could

not appreciate. What was that coming up the road? Mason's Corner had

never seen an equipage like that before. An open carriage, drawn by four

cream-colored horses, with white manes and tails and silver-tipped

harness. A coachman in livery sat upon the box, while a footman, in

similar livery, rode behind. Following behind this were other carriages,

containing the other members of the bridal party.

Within the church every eye was turned upon the door through which the

party was to come. Professor Strout's sharp eye saw the first couple as

they reached the entrance, and the strains of Mendelssohn's Wedding

March, that have preceded so many happy bridals, sounded through the

church. The party included Ezekiel and Huldy, Deacon Mason and wife, Mr.

Sawyer and Miss Alice Pettengill, and a handsome, richly dressed lady

unknown to any of the villagers, who was escorted by Mr. Isaac

Pettengill.

Ezekiel and Huldy advanced and took their positions before the minister,

while the remainder of the party took seats in one of the bridal pews.

When the ceremony was over the audience naturally expected that the

wedded couple would leave the church by the right-hand aisle, on both

sides of which, from end to end, white silk ribbons had been drawn to

keep the passage clear.

But no! Shouts and cheers were again heard from outside the church,

again the church bell rang out, and once more the melody of the Wedding

March fell upon the ears of the Professor's auditors, while to their

astonishment Ezekiel and his wife seated themselves quietly in the front

bridal pew. Again every eye was turned, every neck was craned, and

Samuel Hill and Tilly James walked down the centre aisle and took their

places before the clergyman. Again the solemn words were spoken, and

this time the spectators felt sure that the double couple would leave

the church by the silken pathway.

But no; again were cheers and shouts from the outside borne to the

excited spectators within. Once more the sexton sent out pleasing tones

from the church bell; once more the Professor evoked those melodious

strains from the sweet-toned organ; and as Samuel Hill and his wife took

their seats in the front pew beside Mr. and Mrs. Ezekiel Pettengill, the

excitement of the audience could no longer be controlled. It overcame

all restraint, and as Hiram Maxwell and Mandy Skinner entered, the

people arose to their feet and cheered loudly, as they would have done

at a political meeting or a circus.

Again, and for the last time, the Rev. Mr. Howe went through the

time-honored ceremony, and at its close Mr. and Mrs. Ezekiel Pettengill,

Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Hill, and Mr. and Mrs. Hiram Maxwell left the church

by way of the right-hand aisle, preceded by the ushers, who strewed the

aisle with white roses as they advanced, and were followed by the

occupants of the second bridal pew.

As Quincy rode over to Eastborough Centre with his Aunt Ella, after

partaking of the wedding breakfast, which was served in Deacon Mason's

dining-room, she remarked to him that the events of the day had been

most enjoyable, and that she didn't know, after all, but that she should

change her mind about getting married again.

When asked by Quincy if she had seen any one whom she thought would

suit her for a second husband, she replied that "Mr. Isaac Pettengill

was a very well-preserved old gentleman, and the most original man in

thought and speech that she had met since Robert died."

Quincy did not inform her that Uncle Ike had a wife and two grown-up

daughters living, thinking it best to reserve that information for a

future occasion.

That night Strout & Maxwell's grocery store was the centre of

attraction. Strout was in his glory, and was, of course, in his own

opinion, the most successful feature of that eventful day. It was a very

common thing to get married, but it was a most uncommon thing to play on

a new church organ, and play as well as he had done, "for the first

time, too," as he remarked a score of times.

Stepping upon a barrel, the Professor called out in a loud voice,

"Order, please," and in a short time the assembled crowd became quiet.

"Friends and Feller Citizens: I have this day received my commission as

postmaster at Mason's Corner, Mass. Mail matter will be sorted with

celerity and delivered only to the proper parties, while the firm of

Strout & Maxwell will always keep on hand a full assortment of the best

family groceries at reasonable prices. Soliciting your continued

patronage, I remain, yours respectively.

OBADIAH STROUT, Postmaster.

As the Professor stepped down from the barrel, Abner Stiles caught him

by the arm and said in a low voice, "Isn't Deacon Mason one of your

bondsmen?"

"Yes," said Strout, somewhat pompously, "but what of it?"

"Why, yer see," said Abner, "I'm workin' for the Deacon now, and I'm

just as devoted to his interests as I used to be to yourn onct, and with

a much better hope of reward, both on this earth and in Heaven, and if

he's got money put up on yer, of course yer won't object if I drop in

onct in a while and kinder keep an eye on yer." And with this parting

shot he dashed out a side door and was lost to sight.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

BLENNERHASSETT.

When comparatively great events follow each other in quick succession,

those of minor importance are liable to escape mention. It was for this

reason, probably, that the second visit of Dr. Tillotson was not spoken

of at the time of its occurrence. He examined Alice's eyes and declared

that progress towards recovery was being made, slowly but surely. He

left a bottle of new medicine, and advised Alice, as an aid to recovery,

to take a long walk, or a ride, each pleasant day. This advice he

repeated to Uncle Ike, who was waiting for him outside the front door,

and to Quincy, who brought him from the station and took him back.

On the day fixed upon, Quincy drove over to Montrose, and accompanied by

Squire Rundlett, went to the county town and presented Mrs. Putnam's

will for probate. In due time the will was admitted, the executors'

bonds were filed and approved, and Quincy, at the age of twenty-three,

found himself one of the financial guardians of the young heiress, Mary

Alice Pettengill, she being his junior by less than two years.

About ten days after Quincy's interview with his Aunt Ella, in which she

had signified her intention of making him an allowance, he received a

letter from a Boston banking firm, informing him that by direction of

Mrs. Ella Chessman, the sum of five thousand dollars had been placed to

his credit, and that a similar sum would be so placed on the first

business day of January in each succeeding year. A blank card was

enclosed for a copy of his signature, and the statement made that his

drafts would be duly honored.

When Quincy and his aunt reached Eastborough Centre, after the trio of

weddings, they found that they had a full hour to wait before the

arrival of the next ingoing train.

This gave plenty of time for the reloading of the horses and carriage on

the special car in which they had been brought from Boston and which had

been side-tracked.

Quincy wished to accompany his aunt to Boston and escort her to her

home, but she demurred. He insisted, but his aunt replied, "Don't go,

please don't, Quincy; they will take me for your mother, and I really am

not quite old enough for that."

This argument was unanswerable, and Quincy bade her a laughing good-by

as the train sped on towards Boston, the special car in charge of the

coachman and footman bringing up the rear.

Thus Aunt Ella's visit to Mason's Corner became an event of the past,

but the memory of it remained green for a long time in the minds of

those who had witnessed her arrival and departure.

Ellis Smith drove Quincy home to the Pettengill house. It was to be home

no longer, for Hiram and Mandy were to have the room that Quincy had

occupied so long. His trunk and other belongings he had packed up the

night before, and at Quincy's request, Cobb's twins had taken them out

to Jacob's Parlor, where he found them. He knew that Mr. and Mrs.

Hawkins were to spend the afternoon with their daughter and son-in-law.

Quincy also knew that Uncle Ike and Alice were at Deacon Mason's, where

Ezekiel and Huldy were to remain for the coming week.

For the first time since he had been at Mason's Corner, Quincy felt

lonesome and deserted. He reflected on his way to Mrs. Hawkins's

boarding house that these weddings were all very nice, to be sure, but

they had deprived him of the society of many good friends, who were now

united by stronger ties than those of simple, everyday friendship.

He did not care to go to the grocery store, for he felt that the

Professor was entitled to all the credit that he was likely to get for

his day's performance, and he did not wish to detract from it. So he

went directly to his room, and for the first time felt out of sorts with

Eastborough and its people.

He was not hungry for food, so he did not answer the call to supper, but

sat in the dark and thought. He realized that he was hungry, yes,

desperately hungry, for love--the love of one woman, Alice Pettengill.

Why should he wait longer? Even if his father and mother objected his

Aunt Ella was on his side, and her action had made him independent. He

had felt himself so before, but now there was no doubt of it.

This determined young man then made up his mind he would declare his

love at the first auspicious moment. Then he would go to his parents and

learn their verdict on his proposed action. Thinking thus he went to

bed, and in his dreams, ushers, and bridesmaids, and cut flowers, and

potted plants, and miles of silken ribbon, and cream-colored horses, and

carriages, and clergymen, and organists, and big pipe organs were

revolving about him and Alice, as the planets revolve about the sun.

Once more Quincy's breakfast was on the stove being kept warm, and once

more Mrs. Hawkins was waiting impatiently for him to come down.

Betsy Green and she were washing the breakfast dishes. How happy Eve

must have been in Eden, where there was no china, no knives and forks,

and no pots and kettles, and what an endless burden of commonplace

drudgery she entailed upon her fair sisters when she fell from her high

estate. Man's labor is uniformly productive, but woman's, alas! is still

almost as uniformly simply preservative.

"Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Hawkins to Betsy Green, "is no doubt a very nice

young man, but I shouldn't want him for a steady boarder, 'less he got

up on time and eat his meals reg'lar."

"I s'pose he's all tired out," remarked Betsy. "He had a pretty hard day

of it yesterday, you know, Mis' Hawkins."

"Wall, I s'pose I ought to be kinder easy on him on that account. I must

say he managed things fust rate."

"How did the brides look?" asked Betsy.

Poor girl, she was one of the few who were not able to view the grand

sight.

"I can think of no word to express my feelin's," replied Mrs. Hawkins

after a pause, "but splendiferous! Huldy's dress was a white satin that

would a stood alone. She had a overskirt of netted white silk cord,

heavy enough to use for a hammock. You know she's neither light nor

dark, kind of a between, but she looked mighty poorty all the same."

"Was Tilly James dressed in white, too?" inquired Betsy.

"No," answered Mrs. Hawkins. "She wore a very light pink silk, with a

lace overskirt, and it just matched her black eyes and black hair fine,

I can tell yer."

"Mandy must have looked pretty, with her light curly hair and blue eyes,

and those rosy cheeks."

"Well," said Mrs. Hawkins reflectively, "I'm her mother, and a course

I'm prejoodished, but I honestly think she was the best lookin' one of

the three. Of course Hiram is no beauty, and I'm all out of patience

when he tries to talk to me. But I know he'll make Mandy a good husband,

and that's a tarnal sight better'n good looks."

"What color was Mandy's dress?" persisted Betsy.

"Lord a massy," cried Mrs. Hawkins, "I e'en a'most forgot to tell yer.

Her dress was a very light blue silk, with a lace overskirt, 'bout the

same as Tilly's. Mr. Sawyer gave her two hundred dollars to buy her

things with, 'cause she's been so nice to him since he boarded at

Pettengill's."

"Who was that stylish lookin' lady that came in a carriage with the four

beautiful horses? I saw her outer the attic winder."

"She was a Mrs. Chessman," replied Mrs. Hawkins. I heern tell she's a

widder'd aunt of Mr. Sawyer's, and she's as rich as Creazers."

"How rich is that?" inquired Betsey, with an astonished look.

"Creazers," replied Mrs. Hawkins, with an expression that savored of

erudition, "was a man who was so all fired rich that he had to hire

folks to spend his money for him."

At that moment a step was heard in the dining-room, and both Mrs.

Hawkins and Betsy flew to wait upon the new-comer who proved to be Mr.

Quincy Adams Sawyer. As he took his seat at the table the Connecticut

clock on the mantelpiece struck ten.

At eleven o'clock that same morning Mr. Sawyer knocked at the front door

of Mr. Ezekiel Pettengill's residence. How strange it seemed, how much

more homelike it would have been to have entered by the back door and to

have come through the kitchen and dining-room, as of old. But no! He was

not a regular boarder now, only an occasional visitor.

The door was opened by young Mrs. Maxwell, and her usually rosy cheeks

were ruddier than ever when she saw who the caller was.

"Is Miss Pettengill in?" Quincy politely inquired.

"She's in the parlor, sir; won't you walk in?" And she threw open the

door of the room in which Alice sat by the fire.

"Do I disturb your dreams, Miss Pettengill?" asked Quincy, as he reached

her side.

"I'm so glad you have come, Mr. Sawyer," said Alice, extending her hand.

"I never was so lonesome in my life as I have been this morning. The

house seems deserted. Uncle Ike ate too many good things yesterday, and

says he is enjoying an attack of indigestion to-day. I had Swiss in here

to keep me company, but he wouldn't stay and Mandy had to let him out."

"He came up to Mrs. Hawkins's," said Quincy, as he took his accustomed

seat opposite Alice. "He walked down with me, but when he saw me safe on

the front doorstep he disappeared around the corner."

"I didn't tell him to go after you," said Alice, laughing; "but I am

very glad that you have come. I have a very important matter to consult

you about. You know you are my business man now."

"I'm always at your service," replied Quincy. "I think I know what you

wish to see me about."

"And what do you think it is?" asked Alice, shaking her head negatively.

"Well," said Quincy, "I saw Squire Rundlett the day before the weddings

and he thought that you might possibly want some money. He had a

thousand dollars in cash belonging to you, and I brought you half of it.

If you will kindly sign this receipt," he continued, as he took a small

parcel from his pocket, "you will relieve me of further responsibility

for its safe keeping."

He moved the little writing table close to her chair, and dipping the

pen in the ink he handed it to her, and indicated with his finger the

place where she should sign. She wrote as well as ever, though she could

see nothing that she penned.

"There are eight fifty-dollar bills, eight tens and four fives," he

said, as he passed her the money.

"Which are the fifties?" she asked, as she handled the money nervously

with her fingers.

"Here they are," said Quincy, and he separated them from the rest of the

bills and placed them in her hands.

"Oh! thank you," said she. She counted out four of the bills and passed

them to Quincy. "That settles my money debt to you, does it not?" she

inquired; "but nothing can pay the debt of gratitude that I owe you for

your many acts of kindness to me, Mr. Sawyer."

"I am fully repaid by that very kind speech of yours," replied Quincy.

"But what was the important matter you wished to see me about? I don't

think it was the money."

"It was not," said Alice. "I have little use for money just at present.

I never had so much before at once in all my life. I shall have to learn

to be an heiress."

"It's a lesson that is very easily learned," replied Quincy.

"What I wish to speak about," continued Alice, musingly, "is Mrs.

Putnam's house. I could never live in it. I could never go into that

room again;" and she shuddered.

"You can sell it," interposed Quincy.

"No," said Alice earnestly, "I am going to give it away. Father just

made a living here, and Ezekiel can do no better, but with the Putnam

farm, properly stocked, he can in time become a rich man, for he is a

good farmer, and he loves his work. I wish," continued Alice, "to give

'Zekiel and Huldy the farm outright, then I would like to loan him

enough money to buy live stock and machinery and whatever else he may

need, so that he may begin his new life under the most favorable

auspices."

"I think your proposed action a most commendable one," remarked Quincy.

"I am sure you need anticipate no objections on the part of Squire

Rundlett or myself. Our duties are limited to seeing that all the

property that was willed to you is properly delivered. It gives us no

right to interfere with your wishes or to question your motives. I will

see Squire Rundlett at an early day and have the matter put into shape.

Does Ezekiel know of this?"

"Not a word," said Alice; "I do not wish to speak to him about it until

the matter is all settled and the papers are signed. He is high

spirited, and at the first mention I know he would refuse my offer,

especially if he thought 'twas only known to us two. But when he learns

that the deed is done, and that the Squire and yourself are knowing to

it, he will be more tractable."

"Speaking of the Putnam house, or more properly, I suppose, Pettengill

house number two--"

"This will always be number one," interposed Alice.

"--reminds me," said Quincy, that my efforts to discover Lindy's

whereabouts have so far proved unavailing. The advertisement that I put

in for a month has run out and I have received no word."

"Do you think she went to New York, as she promised?" inquired Alice.

"I do not," replied Quincy. "I think she always had an idea that Mrs.

Putnam had some letter or document in her possession relating to her

parents. I think the poor girl lost hope when she learned that it was

destroyed, and I imagine that she has intentionally hidden herself and

does not wish to be found. I might, after long search, discover her

bankers, but she has probably notified them to keep her address a

secret. I do not like to confess," he continued, "to so abject a

failure, but I really do not know what to do next."

"We must wait and hope," said Alice. Then looking up at Quincy with an

arch smile upon her face, she added, "I will extend your time, Sir

Knight. Your gallant efforts have so far been unsuccessful, but I shall

pray that you may some day return victorious."

Quincy replied in the same tone of banter: "Knowing that you, fair lady,

are ever thinking of me, and that my name is ever upon your fair lips in

prayer, will spur me to renewed effort, for surely no cavalier ever had

a more lovely mistress or a greater incentive to knightly action."

Although he spoke in a chaffing tone, there was an undercurrent of

seriousness in his manner and pathos in his voice that made Alice start

and flush visibly.

Fearing that he had gone too far he quickly changed the subject by

asking abruptly, "Have you come to any decision about your book?"

"Yes," replied Alice, "and I am ashamed to say that your friend's

suggestion and your warm endorsement of it have so increased my egotism

and enlarged my appreciation of my own abilities that I am tempted to

try it, especially now, as you inform me I am independent and can do as

I please."

"Have you progressed so far as to fix upon a subject?" inquired Quincy.

"Yes, provisionally," replied Alice. "I have always been a great admirer

of history, and particularly that of my own country. For the period from

1776, no, from 1607, to the present time I have become conversant with

the thoughts and acts of our patriots and public men. One character has

always been a mystery to me, and I wish to learn all I can about him."

"And he?" questioned Quincy.

"Is Aaron Burr," said Alice. "How I wish I could learn the truth about

the loss of his daughter Theodosia; then the real reasons for his duel

with Alexander Hamilton are not fully understood at the present day.

Then again, I should enjoy writing about that fine old Irish gentleman

and lover of science, Harman Blennerhassett, and his lovely wife,

Margaret."

"Have you decided upon the title?" still further questioned Quincy.

"I have thought of two," she replied, "'Theodosia,' and

'Blennerhassett,' but I strongly incline to the latter."

"So do I," said Quincy, "but you will have to do much more reading, no

doubt, before you commence writing. Historical novels are usually

savagely attacked by the critics, presumably very often from political

motives, and you would have to be very strong in your authorities."

"That is what troubles me," said Alice; "if I only could read--"

"But others can read to you and make such notes as you desire," remarked

Quincy. "I should like nothing better than to help you in such a work,

but I have been away from home so long that I feel it imperative to

resume my business duties at an early day."

"I think you ought," said Alice. "I could not presume to trespass upon

your kindness and good nature to such an extent. The idea of writing

this book has grown very pleasing to me, but I can wait until--" She

stopped speaking and placed both of her hands over her eyes. "I can

wait," she repeated, "until my eyes are better."

"Will you allow me to make a suggestion, Miss Pettengill?"

Alice smiled and nodded. "You are my literary as well as my financial

adviser," said she.

"It will no doubt appear quite an undertaking to you," continued Quincy,

"but I shall be very glad to help you. My plan is to secure a lady who

reads well and can write a good hand to assist you. Besides this, she

must understand correcting proof sheets. I think Leopold could easily

find such a person for you. Then, again, you know what Dr. Tillotson

said about your taking exercise and fresh air. The second feature of my

plan, and the most important in my mind, is to find some quiet place in

the country, or at the beach, where you and your amanuensis can both

work and play. I can buy for you such books as you need, and you can

finish the work this summer."

Alice reflected. After a few moments' pause she said, "I like the plan

and I thank you very much for speaking of it; but I prefer the beach. I

love the plash and roar and boom of the water, and it will be a constant

inspiration to me. How soon can I go?" she asked, with a look upon her

face that a young child might have had in speaking to its father.

This was Alice Pettengill's great charm. She was honest and

disingenuous, and was always ready to think that what others deemed it

best for her to do was really so. Imitation may be the sincerest

flattery, but appreciation of the advice and counsel of others, combined

with gratitude for the friendly spirit that prompts it, makes and holds

more friends.

Quincy looked at his watch.

"I can get the afternoon train, I think," said he. "I will see Leopold,

and then run up and make Aunt Ella a call. She knows the New England

coast from Eastport to Newport. Did she speak to you at the wedding?"

"Some lady with a very pleasant voice asked me if I were Miss

Pettengill, while we were in the church," replied Alice. "I said yes,

and then she told me that her name was Chessman, adding the information

that she was your aunt, and that you could tell me all about her."

"I shall be happy to," said Quincy; "but I can assure you it would be

much more enjoyable for you to hear it from herself. I hope you will

have that pleasure some day." And again adopting a bantering tone, "I

trust, fair lady, I shall not return this time from a bootless errand."

Alice listened again, as she had often done, until she heard the sound

of departing wheels, and then she fell to wondering whether her future

paths in life would continue to be marked out by this Sir Knight, who

was ever at her beck and call, and whether it was her destiny to always

tread the paths that he laid out for her.

Quincy was fortunate in finding Leopold at home.

"I'm glad you've come, Quincy," said he; "I was going to write you

to-night."

"What's up?" inquired Quincy.

"Please pass me that package of papers on the corner of the table,"

answered Leopold, being loath to rise from his recumbent position on the

lounge.

Quincy did as requested and took a seat beside Leopold.

"These," said Leopold, "are the proofs of the first writings of a

to-be-famous American author. Glad she took a man's name, so I don't

have to say authoress. Here," he continued, "are the proofs of the

story, Was it Signed? Cooper wishes it read and returned immediately.

Editors wish everything done immediately. They loaf on their end and

expect the poor author to sit up all night and make up for their

shortcomings. I'm a sort of editor myself, and I know what I'm talking

about. This lot," he continued, "will appear in 'The Sunday Universe' a

week from next Sunday. I had a copy made for Jameson to work from. Bruce

Douglas owes me four-fifty for expenses, necessary but not authorized."

"I will see that you are reimbursed," said Quincy; "want it now?" and he

made a motion to take out his pocketbook.

"No," replied Leopold, "I'm flush to-day; keep it till some time when

I'm strapped. Last, and most important of all, here are the proofs of

the story that is to appear in our monthly. Now, my advice to you is,

Quincy, seek the fair author at once, correct these proofs and have them

back to me within three days, or they'll go over and she'll be charged

for keeping the type standing, besides having her pay hung up for

another week."

"She won't mind that," said Quincy, with a laugh. "She's an heiress now,

with real and personal property valued at fifty thousand dollars. But

what am I to do?" asked he seriously. "I could read the manuscript, but

we have no one at Eastborough who knows how to make those pothooks and

scratches that you call 'corrections.'"

"Well, you two young aspirants for literary fame are in a box, are'nt

you? I was thinking about that fifty thousand. Perhaps I'd better go

home with you and get acquainted with the author," said Leopold with a

laugh.

"Well," returned Quincy, "it would be very kind of you in our present

emergency, but, strange as it may seem, I came to see you this afternoon

about securing a literary assistant for Miss Pettengill. She has decided

to write that book."

"Good girl!" cried Leopold, sitting bolt upright upon the lounge. "I

mean, good boy, for it was, no doubt, your acknowledged powers of

argument and gently persuasive ways that have secured this consummation

of my desire. Let me think;" and he scratched his head vigorously. "I

think I have it," said he, finally. "One of our girls down to the office

worked so hard during our late splurge that the doctor told her she must

rest this week. She rooms over on Myrtle Street. I happened to be late

in getting out one day last week, and we walked together up as far as

Chestnut Street. She lives nearly down to the end of Myrtle Street."

"No further explanation or extenuation is necessary," said Quincy. "Is

she pretty?"

"You're right, she is," replied Leopold, "She's both pretty and smart.

She has a beautiful voice and writes a hand that looks like copperplate.

She's a first-class proof reader and a perfect walking dictionary on

spelling, definitions, and dates. They treat her mighty shabby on pay,

though. She's a woman, so they gave her six dollars a week. If she were

a man they'd give her twenty, and think themselves lucky. I'll run over

and see if she is at home. At what time could she go down with you

to-morrow?" he asked.

"I'll come after her at nine o'clock. Tell her Miss Pettengill will give

her eight dollars a week, with board and lodging free."

"All right," cried Leopold, "that's business. While I'm gone just see

how pretty those stories look in cold type. I've been all through them

myself just for practice."

Leopold dashed out of the room and Quincy took up the proofs of the

story, Was It Signed? He became so absorbed in its perusal that Leopold

pulled it out of his hand in order to attract his attention.

"It's all right," he said. "She's delighted at the idea of going. She

thinks the change will do her good. She can't build up very fast in a

little back room, up three flights."

"What's her name?" asked Quincy.

"Oh! I forgot," replied Leopold. "I'll write her name and address down

for you. There it is," said he, as he passed it to Quincy. "Her first

name is Rosa, and that's all right. She's of French-Canadian descent,

and her last name is one of those jawbreakers that no American can

pronounce. It sounded something like Avery, so she called herself at

first Rosa Avery; then the two A's caused trouble, for everybody thought

she said Rose Avery. Being a proof reader," continued Leopold, "she is

very sensitive, so while the name Rosa satisfied her inmost soul, the

name Rose jarred upon her sensibilities. Thus another change became

necessary, and she is now known, and probably will continue to be known,

as Miss Rosa Very, until she makes up her mind to change it again."

"I'm greatly obliged, Leopold," said Quincy, making the proofs into a

flat parcel and putting them into his inside overcoat pocket.

"Don't mention it, old fellow," remarked Leopold. "You may be the means

of supplying me with an assistant some day. If you should, don't fail to

call my attention to it."

Aunt Ella was at dinner when Quincy arrived. She sent word up by Buttons

for Quincy to come down to the dining-room at once. She was alone in the

room when he entered.

"Just in time," said he, "and I'm hungry as a bear."

"That's a good boy; sit down and help me out," said his aunt. "These

extravagant servants of mine cook ten times as much as I can possibly

eat."

"I don't imagine it is wasted," replied Quincy.

"I think not," said Aunt Ella, with a laugh; "for, judging from the

extra plentiful supply, they probably have a kitchen party in view for

this evening. But what keeps you away from Eastborough over night?"

"I thought you couldn't eat and talk at the same time," remarked Quincy.

"I can't," she replied. "I'm through eating and I'm going to sit and

listen to you. Go right ahead, the servants won't come in. I won't let

them stand and look at me when I'm eating. If I want them I ring for

them."

Quincy then briefly related the principal events that had taken place at

Mason's Corner since the nineteenth, remarking, incidentally, that he

had received no word from Lindy.

"Let her alone, and she'll come home when she gets ready," said Aunt

Ella. "As to the best place for your young lady to go, I shall have to

think a minute. Old Orchard is my favorite, but I'm afraid it would be

too noisy for her there, the hotels are so close to the railroad track.

I suppose your family, meaning your mother's, of course, will go to

Nahant, as usual. Sarah would have society convulsions at Old Orchard. I

should like to see her promenading down in front of the candy stores,

shooting for cigars in the shooting gallery, or taking a ride down to

Saco Pool on the narrow-gauge; excuse me for speaking so of your mother,

Quincy, but I have been acquainted with her much longer than you have."

She went on, "Newport is too stylish for comfort. Ah! I have it, Quincy.

I was there three years ago, and I know what I'm talking about. Quaint

place,--funny looking houses, with little promenades on top,--crooked

streets that lead everywhere and nowhere,--very much like Boston,--full

of curiosities,--hardy old mariners and peaceable old Quakers,--plenty

of nice milk and eggs and fresh fish,--more fish than anything

else,--every breeze is a sea breeze, and it is so delightfully quiet

that the flies and mosquitoes imitate the inhabitants, and sleep all day

and all night."

"Where is this modern Eden, this corner lot in Paradise?" asked Quincy;

"it can't be part of the United States."

"Not exactly," replied Aunt Ella; it's off shore, I forget how many

miles, but you can find it swimming around in the water just south of

Cape Cod."

"Oh! you mean Nantucket," cried Quincy.

"That's the place," assented his aunt. "Now, Quincy, I'll tell you just

what I want you to do, and I want you to promise to do it before I say

another word."

"That's a woman's way," remarked Quincy, "of avoiding argument and

preventing a free expression of opinion by interested parties; but I'll

consent, only be merciful."

"What I'm going to ask you to do, Quincy Sawyer, is for your good, and

you'll own up that I've been more than a mother to you before I get

through."

"You always have been," said Quincy, seriously. "Of course, I love my

mother in a way, but I'm never exactly comfortable when I'm with her.

But when I'm with you, Aunt Ella, I'm always contented and feel

perfectly at home."

"Bless you, my dear boy," she said. Then, rising, she went behind his

chair, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead; then, pulling a chair

close to him, she went on: "I haven't spoken to you of her, Quincy,

because I have had no opportunity until now. I've fallen in love with

her myself. I am a physiognomist as well as a phrenologist. Robert

taught me the principles. She's almost divinely lovely. I say almost,

for, of course, she'll be still lovelier when she goes to Heaven. Her

well-shaped head indicates a strong, active, inventive mind, while her

pure heart and clean soul are mirrored in her sweet face. She is a good

foil for you, Quincy. You are almost dark enough for a Spaniard or an

Italian, while she is Goethe's ideal Marguerite."

It was not necessary for Quincy to ask to whom she referred, nor to

praise her powers of discernment. It was Aunt Ella's time for talking,

and she was not inclined to brook any interference. So she went on.

"I want you to bring her here to me and have Rosa What-d'yer-call-her

come with her. Here they can work and play until you get the nest ready

for her down to Nantucket. You say she plays and sings. I love music

passionately, but I can't play a note, even on a jew's-harp; but if she

plays a wrong note I shall feel inclined to call her attention to it.

When I used to go to the theatre with Robert, I delighted in telling him

how badly some of the members of the orchestra were playing, but I

repented of it. He got in the habit of going out between the acts to

escape the music, he said, and I never could keep him in his seat after

that."

Quincy laughed heartily at this. "I see no way of stopping this bad

habit that gentlemen have of going out between the acts," said he,

"unless you ladies combine, and insist on a higher grade of orchestral

excellence."

"I have a large library," continued Aunt Ella, "and she may find many

books in it that will be of use to her. Robert spent eighteen thousand

dollars on it, and I've bought a couple of thousand dollars' worth more

since his death. Now, what do you say, Quincy? You know I will do all in

my power to make her comfortable and happy while she is here. If Maude

runs up, and she's the only one that is likely to, I will tell her that

I have friends here from England. I will keep her out of the way. Will

you bring her?"

"If she will come, I will," Quincy replied.

"You will never repent it," said Aunt Ella. "Now let us go upstairs."

When they reached her room the cigars and cigarettes were again in

requisition.

"I kept my promise the other day, Quincy," said she, "when the three

girls were here. What a sweet, rosy-cheeked, healthy, happy trio they

were! I wasn't more than twenty myself that day. I give you my solemn

promise, Quincy, that I won't smoke a cigarette nor drink a glass of

wine while Alice is here,--until after she goes to bed; and then I'll

eat a clove and air the room out thoroughly before I let her in in the

morning."

Quincy was up early next morning, and at ten minutes of nine reached the

lodging house in Myrtle Street. He had taken a carriage, for he knew

Miss Very would have her luggage, probably a trunk. His call at the door

was answered by a sharp-eyed, hatchet-faced woman, whose face was red

with excitement. To Quincy's inquiry if Miss Very was in, the woman

replied, "that she was in and was likely to stay in."

"I trust she is not sick," said Quincy.

"No! she ain't sick," the woman replied, "what you mean by sick; but

there's worse things than bein' sick, especially when a poor widder has

a big house rent to pay and coal seven dollars and a half a ton."

A small trunk, neatly strapped, stood in the hallway. Glancing into the

stuffy little parlor, he saw a woman, apparently young, with her veil

down, seated on a sofa, with a large valise on the floor and a hand bag

at her side.

Quincy divined the situation at once. Stepping into the hallway, he

closed the parlor door, and, turning to the woman, said, "How much?"

"Three dollars," replied the woman, "and it's cheap enough for--"

"A miserable little dark stuffy side room, without any heat, up three

flights, back," broke in Quincy, as he passed her the money.

The woman was breathless with astonishment and anger. Taking advantage

of this, Quincy opened the parlor door, first beckoning to the coachman

to come in and get the trunk.

"Miss Very, I presume?" said Quincy, as he advanced towards the young

lady on the sofa.

She arose as he approached, and answered, "Yes, sir."

"Come with me, please," said he, grasping the valise. She hesitated; he

understood why. "It's all right," he said, in a low tone. "I've settled

with the landlady, and you can settle with me any time."

"Thank you, so much," spoke a sweet voice from underneath the veil, and

the owner of it followed close behind him, and he handed her into the

carriage. As Quincy pulled the carriage door to, that of the lodging

house closed with a report like that of a pistol, and Mrs. Colby went

down stairs and told the servant, who was scrubbing the kitchen floor,

what had occurred, and added that she "had always had her suspicions of

that Miss Very."

* * * * *

While Quincy was talking with Alice the day before, his dinner that Mrs.

Hawkins had saved for him was being burned to a crisp in and on the

stove. Mrs. Hawkins's attention was finally attracted to it, and,

turning to Betsy, she said, "Law sakes, somethin' must be burnin'."

Running to the stove, she soon discovered the cause. "Mercy on me!" she

ejaculated. "I left that damper open, and his dinner's burnt to a

cinder. Wall, I don't care; he may be a good lodger, an' all that, but

he's a mighty poor boarder; and it's no satisfaction gittin' up things

for him to eat, and then lettin' them go to waste, even if he does pay

for it. Them's my sentiments, and I'll feel better now I've spit it

out."

The good woman went to work to clean up her stove, while Betsy kept on

with the seemingly endless dish washing. Mrs. Hawkins finished her work,

and, going to the sink, began to wipe the accumulated pile of dishes.

"I s'pose everybody in town will go to church next Sunday," said Mrs.

Hawkins, "to see them brides."

"Will they look any different than they did the other day?" Betsy

innocently inquired.

"Well, I guess," remarked Mrs. Hawkins. "I saw Mandy yesterday and she

told me all about her trip to the city. Mrs. Chessman went shoppin' with

them, and the way she beat them shopkeepers down was a sight, Mandy

says. It beats all how them rich folks can buy things so much cheaper

than us poor people can. She took them all home to dinner, and Mandy

says she lives in the most beautifulest house she ever saw. Then she

went to the dressmakers with them, and she beat them down more'n five

dollars on each gown. Then she took 'em to the millinery store, and she

bought each one of them a great big handsome hat, with feathers and

ribbons and flowers all over 'em. Nobody has seen 'em yet, but all three

on 'em are going to wear 'em to church next Sunday, and won't there be a

stir? Nobody'll look at the new orgin."

"I wish I could go," said Betsy.

Mrs. Hawkins rattled on: "Mandy says she took 'em all into a jewelry

store, and bought each one on 'em a breast-pin, a pair of earrings, and

a putty ring, to remember her by. Then she druv 'em down to the deepo in

her carriage."

"I wish I could see them with all their fine things on," said Betsy,

again.

"Well, you shall, Betsy," said good-hearted Mrs. Hawkins. "I'll make

Jonas help me wash the dishes Sunday mornin', and you shall go to

church."

Betsy's face was wreathed in smiles.

"You're so good to me, Mrs. Hawkins," she cried.

"Well," answered Mrs. Hawkins, "you've worked like a Trojan the last

week, and you deserve it. I guess if I go up in the attic I can git a

good look at them as they're walking home from church."

In her excitement the old lady dropped a cup and saucer on the floor,

and both mistress and maid went down on their hands and knees to pick up

the pieces.

CHAPTER XXXV.

"THE BIRD OF LOVE."

The carriage containing Quincy and Rosa was driven at a rapid rate

toward the station. There was no time to lose, as some had already been

lost in the altercation with Mrs. Colby. They had proceeded but a short

distance, when Rosa took out a pocketbook, and, lifting her veil, turned

her face to Quincy.

What a striking face it was! Large, dark blue eyes, regular features, a

light olive complexion, with a strong dash of red in each cheek, full

red lips, and hair of almost raven blackness. Like lightning the thought

flashed through Quincy's mind, "What a contrast to my Alice!" for he

always used the pronoun when he thought of her.

"Allow me to cancel part of my indebtedness to you," said Rosa, in a

low, sweet voice, and Quincy again thought how pleasant that voice would

be to Alice when Miss Very was reading to her.

As Rosa spoke she handed Quincy a two-dollar bill and seventy-five cents

in currency.

"I owe you an explanation," she continued. "Mr. Ernst told me that I

must be ready to accompany you the moment you called, so I packed and

strapped my trunk last evening. When I returned from breakfast this

morning I looked through my pocketbook, and found to my surprise that I

lacked a quarter of a dollar of enough to pay for my week's lodging. In

my haste I had put my jewel case, which contained the greater part of my

money, in my trunk, and I realized that there would not be time to

unpack and pack it again before your arrival. I offered Mrs. Colby the

two seventy-five, and told her I would send her the balance in a letter

as soon as I arrived at my destination. To my astonishment, she refused

to take it, saying that she would have the three dollars or nothing."

"If I had known that," said Quincy, "she would have got nothing."

"Oh! it's all right," remarked Rosa, with a smile. "I know the poor

woman has hard work to make a living, and I also know that she has lost

considerable money from persons failing to pay at all or paying part of

their bills and then not sending the balance, as they promised to do."

"And did she get up all that ugliness for a quarter of a dollar?"

inquired Quincy.

"Oh! that wasn't the reason at all," replied Rosa; "I've always paid her

promptly and in advance. She was mad because I was going away. If she

lets the room right off she will get double rent this coming week, for

it so happened my week ended last night."

"Lodging-house keepers," said Quincy, "seem to be a class by themselves,

and to have peculiar financial and moral codes. Here we are at the

station," he added, as the carriage came to a stop.

As Quincy handed Rosa from the carriage, his observant eye noticed that

the hand placed in his was small and well-gloved, while the equally

small feet were encased in a pair of dainty boots. "She is true to her

French origin," he soliloquized, as they entered the

station,--"well-booted, well-gloved. I am glad she is a lady."

The train was soon on its way to Eastborough. It was an accommodation,

and Quincy had plenty of time to point out the objects of interest on

the way. Rosa was not a lover of the country. She acknowledged this to

Quincy, saying that she was born and educated in the country, but that

she preferred paved streets and brick sidewalks to green lanes and dusty

roads.

Alice had not waited for Quincy's return to broach the matter of the

gift of the Putnam house to Ezekiel and Huldy. She had simply asked

Quincy, so as to assure herself that there was no legal objection or

reason why she should not make the transfer.

After breakfast the next morning she told her uncle that she wished to

have a talk with him in the parlor, and when they were alone together,

she stated her intentions to him, as she had to Quincy. The old

gentleman approved of her plan, only suggesting that it should be a

swap; that is, that Ezekiel should deed the house in which they were, in

which, in fact, she owned a half-interest, to her, so she would be sure

of a home in case she lost part of her money, or all of it, or wished to

live in the country.

Most opportunely, Ezekiel and Huldy came over that morning to make a

call, and the matter was soon under discussion in family conclave.

Ezekiel at first objected strenuously to the gift. He would buy the

house, he said, and pay so much a year on it, but both Alice and Uncle

Ike protested that it was foolish for a young couple to start in life

with such a heavy debt hanging over them.

The only circumstance that led him to change his mind and agree to

accept the Putnam homestead as a gift was Uncle Ike's suggestion that he

deed the Pettengill homestead to Alice, and pay her all he received for

the sale of products from the present Pettengill farm; but 'Zekiel would

not accept any loan. He said Deacon Mason had given his daughter five

thousand dollars outright, and that would be all the cash they would

need to stock and carry on both the farms.

Then 'Zekiel said he might as well settle on who was to live in the two

houses. He knew that Cobb's twins would like to stay with him, and he

would take them up to the Putnam house with him. Mrs. Pinkham had been

hired by the executors to remain with Samanthy until some one came to

live in the house. Ezekiel said Samanthy was a good girl, and he and

Huldy both liked her, and he felt pretty sure she'd be willing to live

with them, because she was used to the house, and as it was the only one

she'd ever lived in, it would seem like going away from home if she left

there and went somewhere else.

Then 'Zekiel was of the opinion that Abbott Smith and Billy Ricker had

better board with Hiram and Mandy, because the grocery teams and horses

would have to be kept in the Pettengill barn, as there was no stable to

the grocery store. "'Twon't be stealin' anythin' from Mrs. Hawkins if

they don't board with her, cuz none of 'em ever lived with her afore."

"Don't you think, 'Zekiel," asked Huldy, "that Uncle Ike ought to come

down stairs and have a better room? It will be awful hot up there in the

summer. Alice and I used to play up there, and in July and August it was

hot enough to roast eggs, wasn't it, Alice?"

Alice, thus appealed to, said it might have been hot enough, but she was

positive that they never did roast any up there, although she remembered

setting the attic floor on fire one day with a burning glass. 'Zekiel

remembered that, too, and how they had to put new ceilings on two rooms,

because he used so much water to put the fire out.

When Uncle Ike got a chance to speak, he said to Huldy, "Thank you, my

dear Mrs. Pettengill," with a strong accent on the Mrs., which made

Huldy blush a rosy red, "but I wouldn't swap my old attic for all the

rest of the rooms in the house. My old blood requires warmth, and I can

stand ninety-six without asking for a fan. When I come up to see you,

you can put me in one of your big square rooms, but I sha'n't stay long,

because I don't like them."

The noise of wheels was heard, and Huldy ran to the window to look out.

"Oh, it's Mr. Sawyer," said she; "and he's got a young lady with him,

and she's got a trunk. I wonder who she is? Do you know, Alice?"

"I don't know who she is," replied Alice; "but I can imagine what she's

here for."

"Is it a secret?" asked Huldy.

"No, not exactly a secret," replied Alice. "It's a business matter. I

have a great many things to be read over to me, and considerable writing

to do, and as Mr. Sawyer is going away, I was obliged to have some one

to help me."

"Well!" said Huldy, "you'll miss Mr. Sawyer when he goes away; I did.

Now you mustn't get jealous, Mr. Pettengill," she said to 'Zekiel; "you

know Mr. Sawyer and I were never in love with each other. That was all

village gossip, started by, you know who, and as for Mr. Sawyer liking

Lindy Putnam, or she liking him, I know better. She's never got over the

loss of her brother Jones, who, it seems, wasn't her real brother, after

all; and Samanthy Green told me the other day that Lindy wanted to marry

him."

"I think matters are getting rather too personal for me," said Uncle

Ike, rising. "I may get drawn into it if I stay any longer. I always

liked Lindy Putnam myself." And the old gentleman laughed heartily as he

left the room.

"Well, I guess you and me'd better be goin', if we want to be home at

dinner time," said 'Zekiel to Huldy. Then, going to his sister, he took

her in his arms and kissed her on the cheek. "You know, Alice," said he,

"that I ain't much of a talker, but I shall never forget how good you've

been to me and Huldy, and if the old house burns down or you get

lonesome, you'll always find the latchstring out up to the new house,

an' there'll be a room, an' board, an' good care for you as long as you

want to stay. Eh, Huldy?" said 'Zekiel, turning to his wife.

"You know, 'Zekiel," replied the impulsive Huldy, "I've said a dozen

times that I wished Alice would come and live with us. Won't you,

Alice?" she added. "I never had a sister, and I think it would be

delightful to have one all to myself, especially," she added archly,

"when I have her brother, too."

"I could never live in that house," said Alice, with a slight shudder;

"besides, I think my future path in life is being marked out for me by

the hand of Fate, which I am powerless to resist. I am afraid that it

will take me away from you, my dear ones; but if it does, I shall always

love you both, and pray for your happiness and success."

At the front door 'Zekiel and Huldy met Quincy. The latter had turned

Miss Very over to the care of Mrs. Maxwell, and had got one of the twins

to carry the young lady's trunk to her room, which was the one formerly

occupied by Mandy. He had then driven the carryall around to the barn

and was returning, anxious to bear his tidings of success to Alice, when

he met the departing couple.

"I hear you are going to leave us," said Huldy.

"Who told you?" inquired Quincy.

"Alice," replied Huldy; "and I told her she'd miss you very much when

you were gone."

"I am afraid," replied Quincy, "that any service that I have rendered

Miss Pettengill has not been of so important a nature that it would be

greatly missed. I am glad that I have succeeded in securing her a

companion and assistant of her own sex, which will much more than

compensate for the loss of my feeble services."

"That's what I don't like about city folks," said Huldy Pettengill, as

she walked along the path, hanging on her husband's arm.

"What's that?" asked 'Zekiel bluntly.

"Because," continued Huldy, "they use such big words to cover up their

real feelings. Of course, he wouldn't let on to us, but any one with

half an eye could see that he's head over heels in love with your

sister Alice, and he'd stand on his head if she told him to."

"Well, Alice is too sensible a girl to ask him to do that sort of

thing," said 'Zekiel frankly. "Any way, I don't believe she's in love

with him."

"'Twould be a great match for her," said Huldy.

"I don't know 'bout that. On general principles, I don't believe in

country girls marryin' city fellers."

"I know you don't," said Huldy, and she gave his arm a little squeeze.

"But," continued 'Zekiel, "Alice is different from most country girls.

Besides, she's lived in the city and knows city ways. Anyway, I sha'n't

interfere; I know Mr. Sawyer is a respectable young man, and, by George!

when he wants to do anything, don't he jest put it through. The way he

sarcumvented that Strout was as good as a circus."

"I think I sarcumvented that Strout, too," said Huldy, as they reached

the corner of Deacon Mason's front fence.

"You've been quite a little flirt in your day," remarked 'Zekiel, "but

it's all over now;" and he squeezed the little hand that stole

confidingly into his big, brawny one.

Quincy at once entered the parlor and found Alice seated in her

accustomed easy-chair.

"You have returned, Sir Knight," was the remark with which Alice greeted

him.

"I have, fair lady," replied Quincy, in the same vein; "I have captured

one of the enemy and brought her as a prisoner to your castle. Here are

some documents," he continued, as he placed the proofs in Alice's hands,

"that contain valuable secrets, and they will, no doubt, furnish strong

evidence against the prisoner."

"What is it?" asked Alice, holding up the package.

"They are the proofs of three of your stories," replied Quincy,

relapsing into commonplace; "and Leopold says they must be read and

corrected at once. If we can attend to this during the afternoon and

evening, I will go up to Boston again to-morrow morning." Quincy then

told Alice about Rosa and the terms that he had made with her, and Alice

expressed herself as greatly pleased with the arrangement. "You will

find Miss Very a perfect lady," said Quincy, "with a low, melodious

voice that will not jar upon your ears, as mine, no doubt, has often

done."

"You are unfair to yourself, when you say that," remarked Alice

earnestly. "Your voice has never jarred upon my ears, and I have always

been pleased to listen to you."

Whether Quincy's voice would have grown softer and sweeter and his words

more impassioned if the interview had continued, cannot be divined, for

Mrs. Maxwell at that moment opened the parlor door and called out,

"Dinner's ready," just as Mandy Skinner used to do in the days gone by.

Miss Very was introduced to Alice and the others at the dinner table,

and took the seat formerly occupied by 'Zekiel. Quincy consented to

remain to dinner, as he knew his services would be required in the proof

reading. When Cobb's twins reached the barn, after dinner, Jim said to

Bill, "Isn't she a stunner! I couldn't keep my eyes off'n her."

"Neither could I," rejoined Bill. "I tell yer, Jim, style comes nat'ral

to city folks. I'll be durned if I know whether I had chicken or codfish

for dinner."

After the noonday meal the three zealous toilers in the paths of

literature began work. Quincy read from the manuscript, Rosa held the

proofs, while Alice listened intently, and from time to time made

changes in punctuation or slight alterations in the language. No

sentence had to be rewritten, and when the reading of the story, Was It

Signed? was finished, Rosa said, "A remarkably clean set of proofs; only

a few changes, and those slight ones. In the case of very few authors

are their original ideas and second thoughts so harmonious. How do you

manage it, Miss Pettengill?"

"Oh, I don't know," replied Alice, with a smile, "unless it is that I

keep my original ideas in my mind until they reach the stage of second

thoughts, and then I have them written down."

"You will find Miss Pettengill very exact in dictation," said Quincy to

Rosa. "I took that long story there down in pencil, and I don't think I

was obliged to change a dozen words."

"To work with Miss Pettengill," remarked Rosa, "will be more of a

pleasure than a task."

This idea was re-echoed in Quincy's mind, and for a moment he had a

feeling of positive envy towards Miss Very. Then he thought that hers

was paid service, while his had been a labor--of love. Yes, it might as

well be put that way.

The sun had sunk quite low in the west when the second story, Her Native

Land, was completed. "How dramatic!" cried Rosa; "the endings of those

chapters are as strong as stage tableaus."

"It is being dramatized by Jameson of the 'Daily Universe,'" said

Quincy.

"I am well acquainted with Mr. Jameson," remarked Rosa; "I belong to a

social club of which he is the president. He is a very talented young

man and a great worker. He once told me that when he began newspaper

work he wrote eighteen hours out of twenty-four for a month, and nearly

every night he woke up and made notes that he wrote out in the morning.

Do you believe in unconscious mental cerebration, Mr. Sawyer?"

"I'm afraid not," replied Quincy, laughing; "I never had ideas enough to

keep my brain busy all day, much less supply it with work at night."

"Mr. Sawyer is always unfair to himself," remarked Alice to Miss Very.

"As for myself, I will answer your question in the affirmative. I have

often gone to bed with only the general idea of a story in my mind, and

have awakened with the details all thought out and properly placed."

"I think it best to postpone the reading of the last story until after

supper," said Quincy.

Alice assented, and, turning to Rosa, asked, "Do you like the country,

Miss Very?"

"To speak honestly," replied Rosa, "I do not. I told Mr. Sawyer so on

the train. It is hotter in the country than it is in the city. I can't

bear the ticking of a clock in my room, and I think crickets and owls

are more nerve-destroying than clocks, and I positively detest anything

that buzzes and stings, like bees, and wasps, and hornets."

"But don't you like cows, and sheep, and horses?" asked Alice; "I love

them."

"And I don't," said Rosa frankly. "I like beefsteak and roast lamb, but

I never saw a cow that didn't have a ferocious glare in its eye when it

looked at me." Both Quincy and Alice laughed heartily. "As for horses,"

continued Rosa, "I never drive alone. When I'm with some one I alternate

between hope and fear until I reach my destination."

"I trust you were more hopeful than fearful on your way from Eastborough

Centre," said Quincy.

"Oh! I saw at a glance," remarked Rosa, "that you were a skilful driver,

and I trusted you implicitly."

"I have had to rely a great deal upon Mr. Sawyer," remarked Alice, "and,

like yourself, I have always placed the greatest confidence in him.

Huldy told me this morning, Mr. Sawyer, that I would miss you very much,

and I know I shall."

"But you will have Miss Very with you constantly," said Quincy.

"Oh! she does not like the country," continued Alice, "and she will get

homesick in a little while."

"One's likes and one's duties often conflict," said Rosa; and a grave

look settled upon her face. "But how can you write your book down here,

Miss Pettengill? You will have to consult hundreds of books, if you

intend to write an historical novel, as Mr. Sawyer told me you did. You

ought to have access to the big libraries in Boston, and, besides, in

the second-hand bookstores you can buy such treasures for a mere song,

if you will only spend the time to hunt for them."

"That reminds me," broke in Quincy, "that my aunt, Mrs. Chessman,--she

is my mother's only sister, who lives on Mt. Vernon Street,--wished me

to extend a cordial invitation to you two young ladies to visit her,

while I am getting your summer home ready for you. She suggests

Nantucket as the best place for work, but with every opportunity for

enjoyment, when work becomes a burden."

"Oh, that will be delightful," cried Rosa. "I love the sea, and there we

shall have it all around us; and at night, the great dome of Heaven,

studded with stars, will reach down to the sea on every side, and they

say at 'Sconset, on the east end of the island, that when the breakers

come in the sight is truly magnificent."

Quincy was inwardly amused at Rosa's enthusiasm, but it served his

purpose to encourage it, so he said, "I wish Aunt Ella were her to join

forces with Miss Very. You would find it hard work to resist both of

them, Miss Pettengill."

"You mean all three of you," said Alice, with a smile.

"If we go to Nantucket," added Rosa, "I shall have to spend a week in

the city, and perhaps more. I have no dresses suitable for so long a

residence at the beach."

"Neither have I," coincided Alice, with a laugh.

There the matter was dropped. Quincy knew too much, to press the

question to a decision that evening. He had learned by experience that

Alice never said yes or no until her mind was made up, and he knew that

the answer was more likely to be favorable if he gave her plenty of time

for reflection; besides, he thought that Alice might wish to know more

particularly what his aunt said, for she would be likely to consider

that his aunt must have some reason for giving such an invitation to two

persons who were virtually strangers to her.

After supper, the third story, How He Lost Both Name and Fortune, was

read and corrected, and it was the unusually late hour of eleven o'clock

before the lights in the Pettengill house were extinguished. It was past

midnight when Quincy sought his room at Mrs. Hawkins's boarding house,

and the picture of Alice Pettengill, that he had purloined so long ago,

stood on a little table at the head of his bed, leaning against a large

family Bible, which he found in the room.

The next morning he was up early, and visited the grocery store. Mr.

Strout and Hiram both assured him that business had picked up amazingly,

and was really "splendid." The new wagons were building up trade very

fast. Billy Ricker went over to Montrose for orders Monday, Wednesday,

and Friday mornings, and delivered them in the afternoons. This gave

Abbott Smith a chance to post up the books on those days, for he had

been made bookkeeper. He went to Eastborough Centre and Westvale, the

new name given to West Eastborough at the last town meeting, Tuesday,

Thursday, and Saturday mornings. He delivered goods on the afternoons of

those days, which gave him an opportunity to spend Sunday at home with

his father and his family.

When Quincy reached the Pettengill house, Mrs. Maxwell informed him that

Miss Pettengill was in the parlor alone. After greeting Alice, Quincy

asked, "But where is Miss Very?"

"I told her I should not need her services until after I had seen you,"

she replied. "I have a question to ask you Mr. Sawyer, and I know you

will give me a truthful answer. What led your aunt to invite me to come

and visit her?"

Quincy knew that Alice had been considering the matter, and this one

simple question, to which she expected a truthful answer, was the

crucial test.

He did not hesitate in replying. If he did, he knew the result would be

fatal to his hopes.

"Only the promptings of her own good nature. She is one of the

warmest-hearted women in the world," continued Quincy. "I will tell you

just how it happened. I told her I had found an assistant to help you in

your work, and that the next thing was to fix upon a place for a summer

residence. I asked her opinion, and after considering the advantages and

disadvantages of a score of places, she finally settled upon Nantucket

as being the most desirable. Then she said, 'While you are finding a

place and getting it ready for them, ask Miss Pettengill to come and

visit me and bring her friend. Tell her that I am rich, as far as money

goes, but poor in love and companionship. Tell them both that I shall

love to have them come and will do everything I can to make their visit

a pleasant one.' Those were her words as nearly as I can remember them;"

and Quincy waited silently for the decision.

It soon came. Alice went to him and extended her hand, which Quincy

took.

"Tell her," said Alice in her quiet way, "that I thank her very much and

that we will come."

"How soon?" inquired Quincy anxiously and rather abruptly.

"In a few days," replied Alice. "I can get ready much sooner with Miss

Very to help me."

She withdrew the hand, which she had unconsciously allowed to remain in

his so long, and a slight flush mounted to her cheek, for Quincy had

equally unconsciously given it a gentle pressure as he relinquished it.

"I must do up these proofs," said he, going to the table. "I will get

the next train to Boston. I will be back to-morrow noon, and in the

afternoon I will drive over to Montrose about that deed of the Putnam

house. I know Aunt Ella will be delighted to hear that you are coming."

But he said nothing about his own delight at being the bearer of the

tidings.

When he had gone, Alice sat in her chair as she had many a time before

and thought. As she sat there she realized more strongly than she had

ever done that if Fate was marking out her course for her, it had

certainly chosen as its chief instrument the masterful young man who had

just left her.

The remainder of that day and the morning of the next Alice spent in

dictating to Rosa a crude general outline of Blennerhassett. During the

work she was obliged, naturally, to address Rosa many times, and

uniformly called her Miss Very. Finally Rosa said, "Wouldn't you just as

soon call me Rosa? Miss Very seems so stiff and formal."

"I hope you will not consider me uncompanionable or set in my ways,"

remarked Alice. "We are working, you know, and not playing," she

continued with a sweet smile. "I have no doubt you are worthy of both my

esteem and love, but I have known you less than a day and such things

come slowly with me. Let me call you Miss Very, because you are that to

me now. When the time comes, as I feel it will, to call you Rosa, it

shall come from a full heart. When I call you Rosa, it will be because I

love you, and, after that, nothing will ever change my feelings towards

you."

"I understand you," replied Rosa. "I will work and wait."

Quincy arrived at about the same time of day that he did when he came

with Rosa. Miss Very had gone to her room, so that he saw Alice alone.

He told her that his aunt was greatly pleased at her acceptance and

would be ready to receive her at any time that it was convenient for her

to come. He proffered his services to aid her in getting ready for the

journey, but she told him that with Miss Very's help she would need no

other assistance.

"I have another matter of business to speak about," continued she, "and

if you will kindly attend to that, when you go to Montrose, it will

oblige me very much. You are always doing something to make me your

debtor," she added with a smile.

"I would do more if you would allow me," replied Quincy.

"The fact is," said Alice, "'Zekiel does not wish to borrow any money,

nor would he accept the gift of the Putnam homestead unless he, in turn,

deeded this house and farm to me. He is going to run this farm and pay

me what he gets from the sale of products. If you will have Squire

Rundlett draw up both deeds and the agreement, the whole matter can be

fixed before I go away."

Quincy promised to give his attention to the matter that afternoon. He

drove up to his boarding house and hitched his horse at the front door.

Mrs. Hawkins saw him enter and take his seat at the dinner table.

"There's that Mr. Sawyer; he's slept in this house just one night and

eaten just one meal up to this noon for nigh on a week. Them city folks

must have Injun rubber stummicks and cast iron backs or they couldn't

eat in so many different places and sleep in so many different beds.

Why, if I go away and stay over night, when I git home I'm allus

sicker'n a horse and tired enough to drop."

Quincy went to Montrose that afternoon and saw Squire Rundlett. The

latter promised to make the papers out the next day, and said he would

bring them over for signing the following morning. Quincy drove down to

Deacon Mason's and told 'Zekiel when to be on hand, and after leaving

the team in the Pettengill barn, saw Alice and informed her of the

Squire's proposed visit. He told her that he would come down that

morning to act as a witness, if his services were required.

He spent the next day at the grocery store, going over the stock with

Strout and Abbott Smith, and had a list made of articles that they

thought it would be advisable to carry in the future. He told Strout

that he would visit some wholesale grocery houses in Boston and have

samples sent down.

"Mr. Sawyer is improvin'," said Mrs. Hawkins to Betsy the next morning

after breakfast. "He's slept in his bed two nights runnin', and he's eat

four square meals, and seemed to enjoy them, too. I guess he didn't git

much when he was jumpin' 'round so from one place to another."

Squire Rundlett kept his word, and the legal documents were duly signed

and executed. Alice told the Squire that she was going away for several

months, and that she would undoubtedly send to him from time to time.

"My dear Miss Pettengill," replied the gallant Squire, "you shall have

all you ask for if I have to sell my best horse and mortgage my house.

But I don't think it will be necessary," he added. "Some more dividends

and interest have come in and I have more than a thousand dollars to

your credit now."

After the Squire had left, Alice told Quincy that her preparations were

all made, and that she would be ready to go to Boston the next day. The

mid-day train was fixed upon. After dinner that day, Quincy informed

Mrs. Hawkins that he wished to pay his bill in full, as he should leave

for good the next day.

Holding the money in her hand, Mrs. Hawkins entered the kitchen and

addressed Betsy.

"Just what I expected," said she; "jest as that Mr. Sawyer got to

stayin' home nights and eating his meals like a Christian, he ups an'

gits. I guess it'll be a dry summer. I kinder thought them two boys over

to the grocery would come here, but I understand they're goin' down to

Pettengill's, and somebody told me that Strout goes over to Eastborough

Centre every Sunday now. I s'pose he's tryin' to shine up again to that

Bessie Chisholm, that he used to be sweet on. When he goes to keepin'

house there'll be another boarder gone;" and the poor woman, having

borrowed enough trouble, sat down and wiped a supposed tear out of each

eye with her greasy apron.

Quincy reached Aunt Ella's residence with the young ladies about noon.

Aunt Ella gave the three travellers a hearty welcome, and the young

ladies were shown at once to their rooms, which were on the third floor

at the front of the house. They were connected, so that Rosa could be

close at hand in case Alice should need assistance.

While the footman and Buttons were taking the trunks upstairs, Quincy

asked his aunt if he could leave his trunk there for a short time. "I do

not wish to take it home," he said, "until after I have the ladies

settled at Nantucket. The carriage is waiting outside and I am going to

get the one o'clock train."

"I will take good care of your trunk," said Aunt Ella, "and you, too, if

you will come and live with me. But can't you stop to lunch with us?"

she asked. But Quincy declined, and requesting his aunt to say good-by

to the young ladies for him, he entered the carriage and was driven off.

After luncheon, which was served in the dining-room, General Chessman

and Aides-de-Camp Pettengill and Very held a counsel of war in the

General's private tent. It was decided that the mornings should be

devoted, for a while, at least, to shopping and visiting modistes and

milliners. Miss Very was also to give some of her time to visits to the

libraries and the second-hand bookstores looking for books that would be

of value to Alice in her work. The afternoons were to be passed in

conversation and in listening to Miss Very's reading from the books that

she had purchased or taken from the libraries. The evenings were to be

filled up with music, and the first one disclosed the pleasing fact

that Miss Very had a rich, full contralto voice that had been well

cultivated and that she could play Beethoven or the songs of the day

with equal facility.

While the feminine trio were thus enjoying themselves in Boston with an

admixture of work and play, Quincy was busily engaged at Nantucket in

building a nest for them, as he called it.

He had found a large, old-fashioned house on the bluff at the north

shore, overlooking the harbor, owned by Mrs. Gibson. She was a widow

with two children, one a boy of about nineteen, named Thomas, and the

other a girl of twelve, named Dorothy, but generally designated as Tommy

and Dolly.

Mrs. Gibson consented to let her second floor for a period of four

months, and to supply them with meals. The price was fixed upon, and

Quincy knew he had been unusually lucky in securing so desirable a

location at such a reasonable price.

There were three rooms, one a large front room, with a view of the

harbor, and back of it two sleeping rooms, looking out upon a large

garden at the rear of the house. Quincy mentally surveyed the large room

and marked the places with a piece of chalk upon the carpet where the

piano and the bookcase were to go. Then he decided that the room needed

a lounge and a desk with all necessary fixtures and stationery for Rosa

to work at. There were some stiff-backed chairs in the room, but he

concluded that a low easy-chair, like the one Alice had at home, and a

couple of wicker rocking chairs, which would be cool and comfortable

during the hot summer days, were absolutely essential.

He then returned to Boston, hired an upright piano and purchased the

other articles, including a comfortable office-chair to go with the

desk. He was so afraid that he would forget some article of stationery

that he made a list and checked it off. But this did not satisfy him.

He spent a whole morning in different stationery stores looking over

their stocks to make sure that he had omitted nothing. The goods were

packed and shipped by express to Mrs. Thomas Gibson, Nantucket, Mass.

Then, and not till then, did Quincy seek his aunt's residence with the

intelligence that the nest was builded and ready for the birds. When he

informed the ladies that everything was ready for their reception at

their summer home, Aunt Ella said that their departure would have to be

delayed for a few days, as the delinquent dressmakers had failed to

deliver certain articles of wearing apparel. This argument was, of

course, unanswerable, and Quincy devoted the time to visiting the

wholesale grocers, as he had promised Strout that he would do, and to

buying and shipping a long list of books that Miss Very informed him

Miss Pettengill needed for her work. He learned that during his absence

the proofs of The Man Without a Tongue had been brought over by Mr.

Ernst and read and corrected, Aunt Ella taking Quincy's place as reader.

At last all was ready, and on the tenth of May a party of three ladies

and one gentleman was driven to the station in time for the one o'clock

train. They had lunched early and the whole party was healthy, happy,

and in the best of spirits. Then came the leave-takings. The two young

ladies and the gentleman sped away upon the train, while the middle-aged

lady started for home in her carriage, telling herself a dozen times on

the way that she knew she would be lonesomer than ever when she got

there.

The trip by train and boat was uneventful. Alice sat quietly and enjoyed

the salt sea breeze, while both Quincy and Rosa entertained her with

descriptions of the bits of land and various kinds of sailing craft that

came in sight. It was nearly seven o'clock when the steamer rounded

Brant Point. In a short time it was moored to the wharf, and the party,

with their baggage, were conveyed swiftly to Mrs. Gibson's, that lady

having been notified by Quincy to expect them at any moment. He did not

enter the house. He told Miss Very to address him care of his aunt if

they needed anything, and that Mr. Ernst and himself would come down

when Miss Pettengill had completed two or three chapters of her book.

Quincy then bade them good-by and was driven to a modest hotel close to

the steamboat wharf. He took the morning boat to Boston, and that

afternoon informed Aunt Ella of the safe arrival of his fair charges.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Aunt Ella.

"I'm going to find my father," replied Quincy, "and through him secure

introductions to the other members of my family."

"Good-by," said Aunt Ella; "if they don't treat you well come and stay

with me and we will go to Old Orchard together about the first of June.

I never skip out the last of April, because I always enjoy having a talk

with the assessor when he comes around in May."

When Rosa took her seat at the new desk next morning, she exclaimed with

delight, "What a nice husband Mr. Sawyer would make!"

"What makes you think so?" inquired Alice gravely.

"Because he'd be such a good hand to go shopping," Rosa answered. "I've

been all over this desk twice and I don't believe he has forgotten a

single thing that we are likely to need."

"Good work requires good tools," remarked Alice.

"And a good workman," interposed Rosa.

"Then we have every adjunct for success," said Alice, "and we will

commence just where we left off at Mrs. Chessman's."

The work on the book progressed famously. Alice was in fine mental

condition and Rosa seemingly took as much interest in its progress as

did her employer. In three weeks the three opening chapters had been

written. "I wonder what Mr. Sawyer and Mr. Ernst will think of that?"

said Alice, as Rosa wrote the last line of the third chapter.