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The Lieutenant-Governor/Chapter XIV

Chapter XIV. The Voice of Alleghenia
As Barclay had foreseen, the adoption of stringent measures was all that was needed to break the back-bone of the strike at the Rathbawne Mills. The presence of the Ninth Regiment, under command of that noted disciplinarian, Colonel Broadcastle, and terribly in earnest, as was evinced by the ball cartridges gleaming in their belts, was sufficient to discourage any further attempts at disorder; the sudden shift of base of the newspapers which had formerly supported the rioters, and now, taking their cue from the policy of the new Governor, counseled immediate surrender; above all, the trial, conviction, and sentence of their moving spirit, McGrath, to a term of years for inciting to riot all were irresistible factors in the Union’s capitulation. Two weeks after the death of Governor Abbott, the Rathbawne Mills were running once more, and Peter Rathbawne himself, though whiter of hair and but a shadow of his old self, was, nevertheless, on the high road to recovery.

The trial and conviction of Spencer Cavendish were accomplished with unexampled celerity. He would admit of no defense, although the lawyer appointed for him by the court was strenuous for a plea of insanity, based upon the singular remark which he had made upon the announcement of Elijah Abbott’s death, and which was construed by those who heard it as ample proof of irresponsibility. Called upon in court to give his defense, Cavendish stated in a loud, clear voice that he was strictly accountable for his act, that he was in full possession of his senses at the time, and that he had killed the Governor in the firm conviction that he was a menace to the safety of the community, and that the latter’s sole salvation lay in his removal, and the succession of the Lieutenant-Governor to the position of chief executive.

“I desire,” he concluded, with the same odd smile that he had worn at the moment of the Governor’s death, “nothing but the full penalty of the law.”

The next day Spencer Cavendish was sentenced to be executed on the thirtieth of the following month at the State’s Prison at Mowberly.

Then followed the most remarkable manifestation of popular sentiment ever known in Alleghenia. As Barclay had once said of them, the citizens of his long degraded state were less vicious than callous, and their callousness was effectively cured by the dramatic event which had removed a corrupt official from the head of the state government, and put in his place a man whose first acts were proofs positive of strength, integrity, and singleness of purpose. The revulsion of feeling was overwhelming. Even the press which had sneered at and cried down John Barclay was forced to the other extreme. Relieved from the burden of lawlessness which had lain on Kenton City for close upon three months, the citizens went over in a body to the support of their new Governor. He was cheered on his every appearance in public as assiduously as he had been ignored before, and, responding with the whole force of his sensitive nature to this longed-for and unexpected popularity, he devoted himself more and more earnestly, day by day, to the welfare of the state which was his idol.

But following in the wake of this revulsion of feeling in favor of Barclay came one, hardly less complete, in favor of Spencer Cavendish. While strictly speaking there could be no condoning his act, it was none the less evident to even the most rigid adherents of law that by it he had conferred an indisputable benefit upon the state of Alleghenia, and his open statement of his reasons at the time of his trial militated for rather than against him. So it was that a public petition was framed and circulated, asking, at the hands of Governor Barclay, the commutation of the death sentence to one of life imprisonment. Little by little the list of signatures grew, until, a week before the date fixed for Cavendish’s execution, they were numbered by tens of thousands. Then the petition, rolled into a cylinder, was presented to the Governor by a committee, and left for his consideration.

To Barclay the intervening time had passed with almost incredible rapidity. His days, filled as they were to overflowing with numberless and complex duties, were yet the pleasantest he had ever known. At last, he was what he had dreamed of being — an active factor, the most active of all factors, in the advancement of his state. Redeemed, as if by a miracle, from the disgrace which had laid her low, Alleghenia arose, in his eyes, like a phœnix, throwing off the ashes of her reproach, and blazing, with new wings of burnished beauty, in the sunlight of hope and peace.

Barclay had retained his old office, not caring to make use of a room so permeated with associations of recent tragedy as was that which had formerly been Governor Abbott’s. Now, with the windows open and the soft May air stirring the papers on his desk, he sat, looking vacantly across the room, with the huge petition spread out before him. His attention, long absorbed by the problem in hand, was diverted by a tap on the ante-room door, and, in answer to his call, Natalie Rathbawne stood before him, smiling out of the exquisite daintiness of a fresh spring frock.

“You’ve forgotten!” she said immediately, at sight of his knit brows.

“Forgotten what?” inquired the Governor inadvisedly.

The girl’s little foot stamped almost noiselessly upon the thick carpet.

“Upon my word!” she exclaimed, “if there’s one thing worse than being engaged to the Lieutenant-Governor, it’s being engaged to the Governor himself! Forgotten, of course, that we are to lunch together, and look at wall-papers afterwards! Do you know, John Barclay, I don’t believe you mean to marry me, after all? We’ll be just approaching the altar, when” —

She was interrupted in characteristic fashion, and disengaged herself, with a great air of indignation, from Barclay’s arms.

“If you want to take lunch in the company of a rag carpet,” she said severely, “that’s the very best way to go about it. Get your hat.”

There was a little pause as Barclay filed some papers in his private safe, and then one startled word from the girl.

“John!”

Wheeling abruptly, he saw her standing at the desk, with her hand on the petition, and her eyes, wide and wonderstruck, searching his face.

“Dearest!” he said impulsively, “I wish you hadn’t.”

But Natalie only laughed joyfully.

“But I’m glad, Johnny boy,” she answered, “glad — glad — glad! What a wonderful thing it is to be Governor, boy dear! I don’t think I ever really understood before. Think of it! To have the power of life and death — to be able to right the wrongs of justice with a single stroke of the pen. Oh, John! Sign it now — before we go. I shall be so much happier.”

The Governor made no reply. He stood, with his head bent, smoothing his hat with the fingers of his right hand. Gradually the expression of eager expectation on her face changed to one of anxiety.

“John,” she said in a half whisper, “you are going to sign it, aren’t you, boy dear?”

“I’m not sure,” faltered the Governor. “I’m not quite sure, dearest. It is the hardest problem I’ve ever had given me to solve. I can understand now the meaning of something your father said to me just before the strike, — that, for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do, because right seemed to be hopelessly entangled with wrong, and wrong with right. When a man does evil in order that good may come, one tries to find an excuse for him, tries to palliate his offense in any reasonable way. That is human instinct. That is what accounts for the petition there, with the signatures of many of the most conscientious men in Alleghenia attached. They have managed to find the excuse, or they think they have, which, so far as their personal convictions are concerned, amounts to about the same thing. And I’ve been saying to myself that when public opinion points out a course as justifiable it can hardly be possible for a single individual to say that it is not. And yet the wrong is there, isn’t it? No matter how confused a question may seem to us, there must absolutely, when we come to think of it, be some one great elemental principle upon which it not only can, but must, be decided — some boundary line between justice and injustice which we may be too blind to see, but which exists, and calls for observance, none the less. Right is right, wrong is wrong. No confusion between the two can possibly exist except in appearance. Strive to elude truth as we will, it remains eternal truth, and cannot be evaded in the end. And where it seems to be beyond us, all we can do is to strive to find the silken thread which will surely lead us out of the labyrinth into the searching light of day. It is that clue which I have been groping for. What is it? How am I to know it when I see it? What am I to do? At first I thought the case was clear — what he said, you know — about Diogenes — it seemed so odd — every one thought so — it might be construed as — as insanity” —

“Oh, no, John! Why, we know what that meant! No — no! The best part of it all was his sanity, his wonderful courage, his braving of almost certain death for what he believed — and knew, John — knew to be right and best. Think what he did for Alleghenia, Johnny boy. He has been almost as great an instrument in her salvation as you. Think what he has done for all of us — for you, in giving you this opportunity — for me — for Dad! John, how can you hesitate?”

The Governor shook his head.

“Dearest,” he said, “you’re on the wrong track, just as I have been, a dozen times since the petition came. Don’t you suppose I’ve thought of all that? Its significance, not only to me, but, as you say, to the state, is so tremendous that, at the first glance, it seems to be an unanswerable argument. But — don’t you see? — no sophistry, no contemplation of the results achieved, can ever make it justifiable for a man to arrogate to himself the power of taking human life, which is the prerogative of God and the law alone. The peculiar circumstances of Cavendish’s crime plead eloquently, almost irresistibly, for his pardon. He has saved the state — yes! But the case is one in a million, and it is not an individual case alone which hangs upon my decision, — it is the establishment of a precedent, the maintenance of a principle.”

“But, John,” broke in Natalie eagerly, “what you’ve just said — isn’t that the clue for which you have been groping? He saved the state! I’ve heard you talk of Alleghenia too often, of what you hoped for her, and what you despaired of ever bringing to pass, not to know what those four words must mean to you. Think of it! He saved the state! Without any possibility of selfish object he did this extraordinary thing — made it possible for Alleghenia to win back the honor and respect she had so nearly lost forever! He killed the man who had no thought of her purity and dignity, who used the power the people had given him for the furtherance of his own selfish and wicked ends, who made her justice a mockery, who played with her law as if” —

“Stop!” exclaimed the Governor. “Stop — I must think. Wait a moment. I must think — I must think!”

After a minute he began to speak again, this time in a lower tone, a tone which suggested self-communion rather than direct address to the girl before him.

“Yes, that’s it. Wait now, — let me be sure! He killed the man who had no thought of Alleghenia’ s purity, who used his power to serve his own ends, who made her justice” — he was speaking very slowly, dwelling on each word as it left his lips — “her justice a mockery, who played with her law — her law — her Law” —

He paused once more, his brows knit, his firm hand slowly stroking his chin. Then, of a sudden, he drew a deep breath, flung back his shoulders, and looked at her. His eyes were blazing, his voice touched with a new meaning, an eloquence deep, firm, conclusive.

“Natalie,” he said, “come here.”

“You’ve struck the keynote,” he added, when they stood face to face, a foot or two apart. “It isn’t what you thought, or what you meant, but it is the keynote, just the same. The Law!”

He wheeled slowly, and stepped forward, until he was directly before the emblazoned arms of Alleghenia which hung upon his wall.

“Justitia — Lex — Integritas!” he said. “Many a time, when the way seemed darkest, I’ve read those words over to myself, and found hope in them. Events changed, crises came and went, portents loomed thick, despair seemed omnipotent, failure and disgrace inevitable — but the motto of Alleghenia remained the same. Steadfast, purposeful, and commanding, it has endured through the trivial changes of political significance which have been as impotent to sully the actuality of her fair fame as are sun-spots to dim the radiance of the sun. It is only natural, perhaps, that the discouragements which were but transient should have seemed to me to be vital, damning, irremediable. Just as the Israelites of old turned from the promises of God to worship Baal, so have I turned from the assurance given me by these arms of Alleghenia, to prostrate myself before false idols of doubt and despair. I should have remembered how they called me, in the first instance, from a life of idleness and ease, to fight my way through the desert of difficulty, toward the promised land of honor. I should have remembered how in my darkest hours they went before me as a pillar of fire, how in the famine of my soul these words were the manna of encouragement, how in my thirst they struck clear water from the rock of adverse circumstance. But the Israelites came back to their true God at last; so I, little girl, to my true ideal. The Law! — you said the word — the Law is the clue, the keynote, the boundary between right and wrong!”

She was at his side, and he slipped one arm around her, and held her close to him as with his finger he traced again the motto of Alleghenia.

“Do you know what this means?” he asked. “Justitia, — to be just to all men, without fear or favor, lenient to our enemies, rigid and unyielding, if need be, to our friends; putting aside personal considerations, striving so far as in us lies to be impartial, merciful in the face of prejudice, relentless in that of conviction fair! Lex, — to abide by the law, in spirit only if our inmost conviction warrants that course, but in letter absolutely where there is the smallest hint of doubt; secure in the knowledge that, however fallible it be, it is the best that man has yet been able to do in imitation of the immutable decrees of God. Integritas, — to be true to the oaths we have sworn, faithful to the promises we have made, loyal to the office intrusted to us by the people, to whom and for whom we are responsible. Dearest, I am no mere man. Were I that, were I to consult my will alone, and it lay, as now it lies, in my power to accomplish, Spencer Cavendish should go free to-day. I know what he has done; I appreciate his sacrifice; I see that by a single act he has accomplished what the rest of us were powerless to cure; I admire his courage; I condone his crime; I could forget all his weaknesses for the sake of this one great evidence of his strength. And yet — listen to me, dearest! — in what he strove to do he has failed utterly, if in removing a corrupt official who made a mockery of Alleghenia’s law he has not replaced him by one who with all the force of his conscience and all the power of his influence will see that law administered. And whatever we may say of his crime, whatever its causes, whatever its wonderful results, it was and is a crime. ‘Thou shalt not kill!’ God has said it; Alleghenia by the voice of her law has ratified it. And not even the fact that Cavendish has made possible all my fondest and worthiest hopes, the fact that he has rescued from suffering all I hold most dear” —

Barclay suddenly covered his face with his free hand, as he had covered it on that afternoon in Peter Rathbawne’s library, weeks before; then he looked up again, his lips trembling.

“Dearest,” he said, “I am Governor of Alleghenia, and as such owe an allegiance, an obedience, which personal prejudice cannot impugn. On the day when you spoke to me of meeting Cavendish you pointed out the course of a gentleman and a friend. On the night of the Ninth’s review you taught me the creed of an American and an Alleghenian. To-day — unconsciously perhaps, but none the less surely — you have made clear the duty of a public servant. God bless you, my life, my heart, my conscience! May I be worthy of you and of the commonwealth I serve. Where I doubted before, now I am sure. It is hard — God only knows how hard — but listen to Alleghenia’s bidding! Justitia, Lex, Integritas, — equity, the code, and good faith, in the sight of God and man, heaven and earth, the American people and the commonwealth of Alleghenia. God save the state!”

“John,” whispered the girl brokenly, — “John, you’re right. God save the state!”

Slowly, tenderly, the Governor of Alleghenia led her back to the table, and taking up a pen, with a firm hand wrote five words, heavily underscored, at the head of the Cavendish petition. And these were: —

 * “Disapproved.
 * John Hamilton Barclay,
 * Governor”

Then, turning to the girl who loved him, he took her in his arms.

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Rh Peter on her nest. By working her wings, in a way she had learned since the nest fell into the water, she was able to some extent to guide her strange craft, but by the time Peter recognised her she was very exhausted. She had come to save him, to give him her nest, though there were eggs in it. I rather wonder at the bird, for though he had been nice to her, he had also sometimes tormented her. I can suppose only that, like Mrs. Darling and the rest of them, she was melted because he had all his first teeth.

She called out to him what she had come for, and he called out to her what was she doing there; but of course neither of them understood the other's language. In fanciful stories people can talk to the birds freely, and I wish for the moment I could pretend that this was such a story, and say that Peter replied intelligently to the Never bird; but truth is best, and I want to tell only what really happened. Well, not only could they not understand each other, but they forgot their manners.

"I—want—you—to—get—into—the—nest," the bird called, speaking as slowly and distinctly as possible, "and—then—you—can—drift—ashore, but—I—am—too—tired—to—bring—it—any—nearer—so—you—must—try—to—swim—to—it."

"What are you quacking about?" Peter Rh

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Rh. "Why don't you let the nest drift as usual?"

"I—want—you—" the bird said, and repeated it all over.

Then Peter tried slow and distinct.

"What—are—you—quacking—about?" and so on.

The Never bird became irritated; they have very short tempers.

"You dunderheaded little jay," she screamed, "why don't you do as I tell you?"

Peter felt that she was calling him names, and at a venture he retorted hotly:

"So are you!"

Then rather curiously they both snapped out the same remark.

"Shut up!"

"Shut up!"

Nevertheless the bird was determined to save him if she could, and by one last mighty effort she propelled the nest against the rock. Then up she flew; deserting her eggs, so as to make her meaning clear.

Then at last he understood, and clutched the nest and waved his thanks to the bird as she fluttered overhead. It was not to receive his thanks, however, that she hung there in the sky; it was not even to watch him get into the nest; it was to see what he did with her eggs. Rh

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Rh There were two large white eggs, and Peter lifted them up and reflected. The bird covered her face with her wings, so as not to see the last of them; but she could not help peeping between the feathers.

I forget whether I have told you that there was a stave on the rock, driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of buried treasure. The children had discovered the glittering hoard, and when in mischievous mood used to fling showers of moidores, diamonds, pearls and pieces of eight to the gulls, who pounced upon them for food, and then flew away, raging at the scurvy trick that had been played upon them. The stave was still there, and on it Starkey had hung his hat, a deep tarpaulin, watertight, with a broad brim. Peter put the eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon. It floated beautifully.

The Never bird saw at once what he was up to, and screamed her admiration of him; and, alas, Peter crowed his agreement with her. Then he got into the nest, reared the stave in it as a mast, and hung up his shirt for a sail. At the same moment the bird fluttered down upon the hat and once more sat snugly on her eggs. She drifted in one direction, and he was borne off in another, both cheering.

Of course when Peter landed he beached his barque in a place where the bird would easily find Rh

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Rh it; but the hat was such a great success that she abandoned the nest. It drifted about till it went to pieces, and often Starkey came to the shore of the lagoon, and with many bitter feelings watched the bird sitting on his hat. As we shall not see her again, it may be worth mentioning here that all Never birds now build in that shape of nest, with a broad brim on which the youngsters take an airing.

Great were the rejoicings when Peter reached the home under the ground almost as soon as Wendy, who had been carried hither and thither by the kite. Every boy had adventures to tell; but perhaps the biggest adventure of all was that they were several hours late for bed. This so inflated them that they did various dodgy things to get staying up still longer, such as demanding bandages; but Wendy, though glorying in having them all home again safe and sound, was scandalised by the lateness of the hour, and cried, "To bed, to bed," in a voice that had to be obeyed, Next day, however, she was awfully tender, and gave out bandages to every one, and they played till bed-time at limping about and carrying their arms in slings. Rh

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THE

COMPLETE

T must be observed, that the first thing necessary to be known, is to be perfectly acquainted with the different degrees or heights of clarifying or refining sugar; and agreeably to the fruit you have to preserve, in order to have them done in a higher degree of perfection, you must be attentive to make use of such degrees of sugar so refined, as is adapted to their different degrees of ripeness, as well as to their different sorts.

To Clarify Sugar.

In proportion to three pounds of fine, lump, or powder sugar, which you are to put in a skillet or boiler; break into an earthen pan the white of an egg with near a pint fresh water, and beat


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 INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF HER LATE MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA WHO GRACIOUSLY GAVE THE TITLE TO AND ACCEPTED THE DEDICATION OF THIS HISTORY

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 CHAPTER X

THE HAPPY HOME

important result of the brush on the lagoon was that it made the redskins their friends. Peter had saved Tiger Lily from a dreadful fate, and now there was nothing she and her braves would not do for him. All night they sat above, keeping watch over the home under the ground and awaiting the big attack by the pirates which obviously could not be much longer delayed. Even by day they hung about, smoking the pipe of peace, and looking almost as if they wanted tit-bits to eat.

They called Peter the Great White Father, prostrating themselves before him; and he liked this tremendously, so that it was not really good for him.

"The great white father," he would say to them in a very lordly manner, as they grovelled at his feet, "is glad to see the Piccaninny warriors protecting his wigwam from the pirates."

"Me Tiger Lily," that lovely creature would reply, "Peter Pan save me, me his velly nice friend. Me no let pirates hurt him." Rh

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Rh She was far too pretty to cringe in this way, but Peter thought it his due, and he would answer condescendingly, "It is good. Peter Pan has spoken."

Always when he said, "Peter Pan has spoken," it meant that they must now shut up, and they accepted it humbly in that spirit ; but they were by no means so respectful to the other boys, whom they looked upon as just ordinary braves. They said "How-do?" to them, and things like that; and what annoyed the boys was that Peter seemed to think this all right.

Secretly Wendy sympathised with them a little, but she was far too loyal a housewife to listen to any complaints against father. "Father knows best," she always said, whatever her private opinion must be. Her private opinion was that the redskins should not call her a squaw.

We have now reached the evening that was to be known among them as the Night of Nights, because of its adventures and their upshot. The day, as if quietly gathering its forces, had been almost uneventful, and now the redskins in their blankets were at their posts above, while, below, the children were having their evening meal; all except Peter, who had gone out to get the time. The way you got the time on the island was to find the crocodile, and then stay near him till the clock struck.

This meal happened to be a make-believe tea, Rh

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118 (1) A small piece from Tintoret's Paradiso in the Ducal Palace, representing the group of St. Ambrose, St. Jerome, St. Gregory, St. Augustine, and behind St. Augustine his mother watching him, her chief joy even in Paradise.

(2) The Arundel Society's reproduction of the Altarpiece by Giorgione in his native hamlet of Castel Franco. The Arundel Society has done more for us than we have any notion of.


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For two days, the disagreement between the Portenduères and Doctor Minoret was the subject of conversation for the heirs, who paid tribute to Dionis’s genius, and now looked upon their inheritance as saved. And so, in a century in which ranks are leveled, in which the rage for equality places all individuals on a level and threatens everything, even military subordination, the last entrenchment of power in France; in which, consequently, the passions have no other obstacles to overcome than personal antipathies or the want of balance between fortunes, the obstinacy of an old Bretonne and Doctor Minoret’s dignity raised barriers between these two lovers that were fated, as in bygone times, less to destroy than to strengthen love. To a passionate man, every woman is worth what she costs him; now, Savinien foresaw a struggle, efforts and uncertainties which were already making this young girl dear to him; he wanted to win her. Perhaps our feelings obey the laws of Nature upon the duration of her creations; a long life has a long childhood!

The next morning, on rising, both Ursule and Savinien thought of the same thing. This understanding would have given rise to love even had it not already been the most delightful proof. When the young girl slightly parted her curtains in order (201)


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Rh and they sat round the board, guzzling in their greed; and really, what with their chatter and recriminations, the noise, as Wendy said, was positively deafening. To be sure, she did not mind noise, but she simply would not have them grabbing things, and then excusing themselves by saying that Tootles had pushed their elbow. There was a fixed rule that they must never hit back at meals, but should refer the matter of dispute to Wendy by raising the right arm politely and saying, "I complain of so-and-so"; but what usually happened was that they forgot to do this or did it too much.

"Silence," cried Wendy when for the twentieth time she had told them that they were not all to speak at once. "Is your mug empty, Slightly darling?"

"Not quite empty, mummy," Slightly said, after looking into an imaginary mug.

"He hasn't even begun to drink his milk," Nibs interposed.

This was telling, and Slightly seized his chance.

"I complain of Nibs," he cried promptly.

John, however, had held up his hand first.

"Well, John?"

"May I sit in Peter's chair, as he is not here?"

"Sit in father's chair, John!" Wendy was scandalised. "Certainly not."

"He is not really our father," John answered. Rh

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 to allow her eyes the strictly necessary space for looking over at Savinien’s house, she perceived her lover’s face above the opposite window-fastening. When one thinks of the immense service windows render to lovers, it seems natural enough that they should be made an object for taxation. After having thus protested against her godfather’s hardness of heart, Ursule lowered the curtains and opened her windows to shut the outer blinds through which she could in future see without being seen. She went up to her room at least seven or eight times during the day and always found the young viscount writing, tearing up paper and beginning to write again, doubtless to her!

The next morning, upon waking Ursule, La Bougival brought her the following letter:

TO MADEMOISELLE URSULE.

“MADEMOISELLE,

“I do not delude myself at all as to the mistrust a young man must inspire who has placed himself in the position from which I escaped only through your guardian’s intervention; in future I must offer more security than anyone else; therefore, mademoiselle, it is with the deepest humility that I throw myself at your feet to confess my love to you. This declaration is not prompted by passion; it springs from a certainty that embraces the whole life. A foolish passion for my young aunt, Madame de Kergarouët, threw me into prison; in the complete disappearance of my memories, and of this image which has been obliterated by yours, will you not see a mark of sincere love? From the moment I saw you asleep, and so graceful in your childish slumber, at Bouron, you have occupied my mind like a queen who takes possession of her


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 empire. I will not have any other for wife than you. You have all the distinction that I wish for in her who is to bear my name. The education you have received and the dignity of your heart place you on a level with the most exalted positions. But I mistrust myself too much to try to portray you to yourself, I can only love you. After having heard you yesterday I remembered those sentences which seem written for you:

“‘Made to attract all hearts and charm the eye, both gentle and intelligent, clever and rational, polished as if her life had been passed in courts, simple as the hermit who has never known the world, the fire of her soul is tempered by the divine modesty in her eyes.’

“I have felt the value of this beautiful soul which reveals itself in the slightest things about you. That is what gives me the courage to ask you, if you do not yet love anyone, to let me prove to you by my attentions and my conduct that I am worthy of you. It is a matter of life to me; you cannot doubt but that all my strength will be employed not only to please you, but still more to merit your esteem, which is equivalent to that of the whole earth. With this hope, Ursule, and if you will allow me to worship you in my heart, Nemours will be a paradise to me, and the most difficult undertakings will only afford me gratification which shall be ascribed to you as one ascribes all to God. Tell me then that I may call myself

“YOUR SAVINIEN.”

Ursule kissed this letter; then, after having read it again and clung to it with foolish emotion, she dressed herself to go and show it to her godfather.

“Mon Dieu! I had almost left without saying my prayers!” she said, returning to kneel at her priedieu.


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 A few moments after, she went down to the garden and there found her guardian, to whom she gave Savinien’s letter to read. Both sat down on the bench, under the clump of climbing plants, opposite the Chinese pavilion; Ursule waiting for some remark from the old man, and the old man reflecting much too long a time for an impatient girl. Finally, the result of their secret interview was the following letter, which the doctor had doubtless partly dictated:

“MONSIEUR,

“I cannot but feel very much honored by the letter in which you offer me your hand; but at my age, and according to the laws of my bringing up, I was obliged to show it to my guardian, who is all the family I have, and whom I love both as a father and a friend. Here are the cruel objections he has given me and which must serve as my answer. I am, Monsieur le Vicomte, a poor girl whose future fortune depends entirely, not only on my godfather’s good will, but still more on the uncertain measures he will take to elude the ill-will that his heirs bear me. Although I am the legitimate daughter of Joseph Mirouët, bandmaster in the Forty-fifth Infantry Regiment, as he was my guardian’s natural half-brother, a suit, although for no reason, might be brought against a young girl who would be defenceless. You see, monsieur, that my small fortune is not my greatest misfortune. I have many reasons for being humble. It is for your sake, not for my own, that I submit such observations to you, which are often of little weight with loving, devoted hearts. But you must also consider, monsieur, that if I did not lay them before you I should be suspected of wishing to make your tenderness overlook obstacles that the world, and your mother particularly, would deem insurmountable. I shall be sixteen in four months. Perhaps you will acknowledge that we are both too


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 young and too inexperienced to fight the miseries of a life started without any other income than that which I owe to the kindness of the late Monsieur de Jordy. Besides, my guardian does not wish me to marry before I am twenty. Who knows what fate is reserving for you during those four years, the best of your life? Do not blight it then for a poor girl.

“After having stated to you, monsieur, my dear guardian’s reasons, who, far from opposing my happiness, desires to contribute to it with all his power, and hopes to see his protection, which must soon grow feeble, replaced by a tenderness equal to his own, it only remains for me to tell you how much I am touched both by your offer and the kind compliments which accompany it. The prudence which dictates this answer comes from an old man to whom life is well known; but the gratitude that I convey to you is that of a young girl whose mind knows no other feeling.

“Thus, monsieur, I can sign myself in all sincerity,

“Your servant,

“URSULE MIROUET.”

Savinien did not reply. Was he making fresh attempts with his mother? Had this letter quenched his love? A thousand such questions, all insoluble, tortured Ursule horribly, and, indirectly, the doctor, who suffered from his dear child’s slightest agitation. Ursule would often go up to her room and look across at Savinien, whom she could see, thoughtfully sitting at his table and constantly turning his gaze upon her windows. At the end of a week, not before that, she received the following letter from Savinien, the delay being accounted for by an increase of love:


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 TO MADEMOISELLE URSULE MIROUET.

“DEAR URSULE,

“I am somewhat of a Breton, and, once my mind is made up, nothing makes me change it. Your guardian, whom may God preserve for a long time yet, is right; but am I then wrong to love you? Therefore do I only wish to know from you whether you love me. Tell me, if only by a sign, and then those four years will be the best of all my life! One of my friends has forwarded a letter to my great-uncle, Vice-Admiral de Kergarouët, in which I ask his influence in order to enter the navy. This good old man, touched by my misfortunes, has answered to say that the king’s free will would be thwarted by the regulations, in case I should desire any rank. Nevertheless, after three months’ study at Toulon, the minister will send me as steerage master; then, after a cruise against the Algerians, with whom we are at war, I can undergo an examination and become a candidate. Finally, if I distinguish myself in the expedition preparing against Algiers, I shall certainly be made a midshipman; but in how long a time? Nobody can say. Only, the regulations will be made as elastic as possible to reinstate the name of Portenduère in the navy. I must only obtain you from your godfather, I see that; and your respect for him makes you still dearer to my heart. Before replying I will have an interview with him; upon his answer depends my whole future. Whatever happens, know that, rich or poor, daughter of a bandmaster, or daughter of a king, you are to me the woman whom the voice of my heart has designated. Dear Ursule, we are living in an age in which the prejudices, which would formerly have separated us, have not sufficient strength to prevent our marriage. And so I send you all the feelings of my heart, and to your uncle the pledges which will assure him of your happiness! He does not know that I loved you more in a few moments than he has loved you for fifteen years.—Till to-night.”


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 “Here, godfather,” said Ursule, holding out this letter to him through an impulse of pride.

“Ah! my child!” cried the doctor, after having read the letter, “I am even more pleased than you are. The gentleman has, by this resolution, redeemed all his faults.”

After dinner, Savinien called upon the doctor, who was then walking with Ursule along the balustrade of the terrace by the river. The viscount had received his clothes from Paris, and the lover had not failed to enhance his natural advantages by as careful and elegant a dress as if it were a question of pleasing the beautiful, proud Comtesse de Kergarouët. When she saw him coming toward them from the steps, the poor little thing clasped her uncle’s arm just as if she were holding back from a precipice, and the doctor heard deep, muffled palpitations which made him shudder.

“Leave us, my child,” he said to his ward, who sat down on the steps of the Chinese pavilion after having allowed Savinien to take her hand, and kiss it respectfully.

“Monsieur, would you give this dear young girl to a naval captain?” said the young viscount to the doctor, in a low voice.

“No,” said Minoret, smiling, “we might have to wait too long; but—to a lieutenant.”

Tears of joy moistened the young man’s eyes, and he squeezed the old man’s hand very affectionately.

“Then I will go,” he replied, “and study and try


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 to learn in six months what the pupils at the Naval College have learnt in six years.”

“Go?” said Ursule, rushing toward them from the steps.

“Yes, mademoiselle, to be worthy of you. And so, the more haste I make, the more affection I shall be showing you.”

“To-day is the third of October,” she said, looking at him with infinite tenderness, “go after the nineteenth.”

“Yes,” said the old man, “we will keep the day of Saint-Savinien.”

“Then good-bye,” cried the young man, “I must spend this week in Paris, and make the necessary applications, preparations and purchases of books and mathematical instruments, win the minister’s favor, and obtain the best possible terms.”

Ursule and her godfather conducted Savinien as far as the gate. After having seen him re-enter his mother’s house, they saw him come out accompanied by Tiennette, who was carrying a small trunk.

“Why, if you are rich, do you force him to serve in the navy?” said Ursule to her godfather.

“I think that it will soon be I who will have created his debts,” said the doctor, smiling. “I do not force him at all; but the uniform, my dear love, and the Cross of the Legion of Honor gained in a fight, will efface many stains. In four years, he may succeed in commanding a vessel, and that is all I ask of him.”


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 “But he may perish,” she said, looking at the doctor with a white face.

“Lovers, like drunkards, have a god of their own,” replied the doctor, jokingly.

During the night, unknown to her godfather, the poor little thing, with the help of La Bougival, cut off enough of her long and beautiful fair hair to make a chain; then, on the third day, she coaxed her music master, old Schmucke, to promise to see that her hair was not changed and that the chain was finished for the following Sunday. Upon his return, Savinien informed the doctor and his ward that he had signed his engagement. On the twenty-fifth he was to be at Brest. Invited by the doctor to dine on the eighteenth, he spent nearly two whole days at his house; and, in spite of the most prudent recommendations, the two lovers could not help betraying their good understanding to the eyes of the curé, the justice of the peace, the Nemours doctor and La Bougival.

“Children,” said the old man, “you are risking your happiness by not keeping the secret to yourselves.”

At last, on his birthday, after mass, during which they had exchanged several looks, Savinien, watched by Ursule, crossed the road and came into the little garden where they both found themselves almost alone. The doctor was indulgently reading his newspapers in the Chinese pavilion.

“Dear Ursule,” said Savinien, “will you make


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 my birthday even greater than my mother could by giving me life a second time—?”

“I know what you want to ask me,” said Ursule, interrupting him. “Here, this is my answer”—she added, taking the hair chain from her apron pocket and offering it to him with a nervous trembling which betokened unbounded joy. “Wear this,” she said, “for love of me! May my gift keep you from all perils by reminding you that my life is linked with yours!”

“Ah! the little minx, she is giving him a chain of her hair,” the doctor was saying to himself. “How did she manage it? Cutting her beautiful fair tresses!—would she then give him my blood?”

“Would you think me very wrong, before going, to ask you to give me a solemn promise that you will never have any other husband than me?” said Savinien, kissing the chain, unable to restrain a tear as he looked at Ursule.

“If I have not already told it to you too plainly, I who went to contemplate the walls of Sainte-Pélagie when you were there,” she replied, blushing, “I now repeat it to you, Savinien: I will never love anyone but you and will never belong to anyone but you.”

At sight of Ursule, half-hidden in the thicket, the young man could not resist the pleasure of clasping her to his heart and kissing her on the forehead; but she gave a faint cry and sank upon the bench, and when Savinien sat down beside her, asking her pardon, he saw the doctor standing before them.


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 “My dear monsieur,” he said, “Ursule is a regular sensitive-plant, that a harsh word would kill. With her, you ought to moderate the outburst of love. Oh! if you had loved her for sixteen years, you would have been content with her promise,” he added, by way of revenge for the remark with which Savinien had concluded his last letter.

Two days after, Savinien left In spite of the letters he wrote regularly to Ursule, she fell a prey to an apparently causeless illness. Like beautiful fruit attacked by worms, one thought was gnawing at her heart. She lost appetite and her beautiful color. When her godfather first asked her what she felt:

“I want to see the sea,” she said.

“It is difficult to take you to any seaport in December,” replied the old man.

“Can I go then?” she said.

If high winds arose, Ursule would feel greatly disturbed, believing, in spite of the learned distinctions of her godfather, the curé and the justice of the peace between the winds of sea and those of the land, that Savinien was fighting a hurricane. The justice of the peace made her happy for several days with an engraving of a midshipman in uniform. She would read the newspapers, fancying they might give some news of the cruise for which Savinien had left. She devoured Cooper’s naval romances, and tried to learn the naval terms. These proofs of fixity of thought, often pretended by other women, were so natural to Ursule that she


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 saw each of Savinien’s letters in a dream, and never failed to foretell them the very morning, while relating the dream that was their forerunner.

“Now,” she said to the doctor, the fourth time that this fact took place without the curé and the doctor being at all surprised: “I am easy; no matter how far away Savinien may be, if he should be wounded, I shall feel it at that very moment.”

The old doctor remained sunk in deep meditation, which the justice of the peace and the curé judged to be of a painful nature, from the expression of his face.

“What is the matter with you?” they both asked when Ursule had left them alone.

“Will she live?” replied the old doctor. “Will such a delicate, tender flower be able to withstand any heart-sorrows?”

Nevertheless, the “little dreamer,” as the curé nicknamed her, was working ardently; she understood the importance of a good education for a woman of the world, and all the time that was not given to singing, the study of harmony and composition, she spent reading the books that the Abbé Chaperon selected for her from her godfather’s library. Even whilst leading this busy life, she was suffering, but without complaint. Sometimes, she would remain whole hours looking at Savinien’s window. On Sunday, coming from mass, she would follow Madame de Portenduère, contemplating her with tenderness, for, in spite of her harshness, she loved her as being Savinien’s mother. Her piety increased,


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 she went to mass every morning, for she firmly believed that her dreams were a favor from God. Alarmed at the ravages caused by this lovesickness, on Ursule’s birthday the doctor promised to take her to Toulon to see the departure of the Algerian expedition, without informing Savinien, who was to take part in it. The justice of the peace and the curé kept secret the object of the doctor’s journey, which appeared to be undertaken for Ursule’s health, and which very much puzzled the Minoret heirs. After having seen Savinien once more, in midshipman’s uniform, after having boarded the admiral’s beautiful vessel, to which the minister had recommended young Portenduère, Ursule, at her lover’s entreaty, went to breathe the air of Nice, and traveled down the coast of the Mediterranean as far as Genoa, where she learnt of the arrival of the fleet before Algiers and of the good news of the landing. The doctor would have liked to continue this journey through Italy, as much to distract Ursule as in some degree to finish her education by enlarging her ideas by the comparison of customs and country, and by the charms of the land where dwell the masterpieces of art, and where so many civilizations have left their brilliant traces; but the news of the resistance opposed by the throne to the electors of the famous Chamber of 1830 recalled the doctor to France, where he brought back his ward in a state of blooming health, and enriched by a charming little model of the vessel upon which Savinien was serving.


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 *

The elections of 1830 brought some credit to the heirs, who, through the pains of Désiré Minoret and Goupil, formed a committee in Nemours whose efforts caused the liberal candidate to be returned at Fontainebleau. Massin exercised a tremendous influence over the country constituents. Five of the postmaster’s tenants were electors. Dionis represented more than eleven votes. Through assembling at the notary’s house, Crémière, Massin, the postmaster and their adherents ended by falling into the habit of meeting there. Upon the doctor’s return, Dionis’ salon had then become the camp of the heirs. The justice of the peace and the mayor, who then formed a league to resist the liberals of Nemours, and who were beaten by the opposition in spite of the efforts of the aristocracy situated in the neighborhood, were closely linked together by their defeat. When Bongrand and the Abbé Chaperon told the doctor the result of this antagonism which, for the first time, formed two parties in Nemours, Charles X. was leaving Rambouillet for Cherbourg. Désiré Minoret, who shared the opinions of the Paris bar, had sent to Nemours for fifteen friends commanded by Goupil, and whom the postmaster supplied with horses to hasten to Paris, where they arrived at Désiré’s during the (215)


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 night of the twenty-eighth. Goupil and Désiré, with this band, co-operated in the capture of the town-hall. Désiré Minoret was decorated with the Legion of Honor, and appointed substitute of the attorney for the crown at Fontainebleau. Goupil was given the Cross of July. Dionis was elected Mayor of Nemours in place of the Sieur Levrault, and the municipal council was composed of MinoretLevrault, deputy; of Massin, Crémière and all the followers of Dionis’ salon. Bongrand kept his place only through the influence of his son, appointed attorney for the Crown at Melun, and whose marriage with Mademoiselle Levrault then appeared likely. Seeing that the three per cents were at fortyfive, the doctor set out by post for Paris; and invested five hundred and forty thousand francs in certificates to bearer. The remainder of his fortune, which amounted to about two hundred and seventy thousand francs, invested in his name in the same stock, gave him an ostensible income of fifteen thousand francs. He laid out the capital bequeathed by the old professor to Ursule in the same way, as well as the eight thousand francs yielded by the interest of nine years, which gave his ward an income of fourteen hundred francs, with the help of a small sum he added to it so as to enlarge this slight revenue. Following her master’s advice, old La Bougival had an income of three hundred and fifty francs by investing five thousand and a few hundred francs’ savings in the same way. These prudent speculations, planned between the


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 doctor and the justice of the peace, were accomplished in the most profound secrecy under cover of the political disturbances. When peace was almost re-established, the doctor bought a little house adjoining his own, and tore it down, as well as the wall of his courtyard, so as to have a coach house and stable built on the ground. To use the capital of a thousand francs’ income to set up outhouses seemed madness to the Minoret heirs. The so-called madness began a new era in the doctor’s life, for, at a time when horses and carriages were to be procured for almost nothing, he brought back from Paris three superb horses and a barouche.

When, in the beginning of November, 1830, the old man, for the first time, drove to mass on a rainy day, and got down to give his hand to Ursule, all the inhabitants rushed into the market-place, as much to see the doctor’s carriage and question his coachman, as to find fault with his ward, to whose excessive ambition Massin, Crémière, the postmaster and their wives attributed their uncle’s follies.

“The barouche! eh! Massin!” cried Goupil, “your succession is going capitally, hein?”

“You must have good wages, Cabirolle?” said the postmaster to the son of one of his drivers, who was standing by the horses, “for it is to be hoped that you will not wear out many horseshoes with a man eighty-four years old. How much did the horses cost?”


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 “Four thousand francs. The carriage, although second-hand, cost two thousand francs; but it is a handsome one, the wheels are a patent.”

“What do you say, Cabirolle?” asked Madame Crémière.

“He says à ma tante,” replied Goupil, “it is an English idea, and they invented these wheels. Here! you see, nothing can be seen, it all fits in, that’s nice, it does not get locked, and there is no longer that horrid end of square iron which used to go beyond the axle.”

“What rhymes with ma tante?” then said Madame Crémière, innocently.

“What!” said Goupil, “that does not ‘tente’ you then?”

“Ah! I understand,” she said.

“Well, no, you are an honest woman,” said Goupil, “I must not deceive you, the real word is à patte entre, because the pin is hidden.”

“Yes, madame,” said Cabirolle, who was taken in by Goupil’s explanation, so seriously had the clerk given it.

“It is a fine carriage all the same,” cried Crémière, “and one must be rich to buy a kind like that.”

“She is doing well, the little one,” said Goupil. “But she is right, she is teaching you how to enjoy life. Why have you not got beautiful horses and carriages, you, Papa Minoret? Will you let yourself be humiliated? Were I in your place I would have a prince’s carriage!”


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 “See, Cabirolle,” said Massin, “is it the little one that launches our uncle into these luxuries?”

“I don’t know,” replied Cabirolle, “but she is almost mistress at home. Master upon master now comes from Paris. They say she is going to study painting.”

“I shall seize this opportunity to have my portrait drawn,” said Madame Crémière.

In the provinces, in speaking of a portrait they still say drawn, instead of to have a portrait taken.

“And yet the old German is not dismissed,” said Madame Massin.

“He is there again to-day,” replied Cabirolle.

“You can’t have too much of a good thing,” said Madame Crémière, making everybody laugh.

“Now,” cried Goupil, “you need not reckon on the inheritance. Ursule will soon be seventeen, she is prettier than ever; travel improves youth, and the little humbug has got on the right side of your uncle. Every week the stage brings her five or six packages, and dressmakers and milliners come here to try on her dresses and things. And so my mistress is furious. Wait until Ursule comes out and then look at her little shoulder shawl, a real cashmere at six hundred francs.”

Had a thunderbolt fallen in the middle of the group of heirs it would not have produced more effect than these last words of Goupil, who rubbed his hands.

The doctor’s old green salon was renovated by an upholsterer from Paris. Judged by the luxury


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 he was displaying, the old man was at one time accused of having concealed his fortune and of possessing an income of sixty thousand francs, at another of spending his capital to please Ursule. He was alternately called a rich man and a libertine. This remark: “He is an old fool!” summed up the opinion of the country. This false direction of the judgment of the little town had this advantage, that it deceived the heirs, who did not at all suspect Savinien’s love for Ursule, which was the real cause of the doctor’s expenditure, as he delighted to accustom his ward to her rôle of viscountess, and who, with more than fifty thousand francs a year, gave himself the pleasure of adorning his idol.

In February, 1832, on Ursule’s seventeenth birthday, that same morning as she was getting up, she saw Savinien, at his window, in midshipman’s uniform.

“How is it that I knew nothing of it?” she said to herself.

Since the capture of Algiers in which Savinien distinguished himself by an act of courage which had gained him the cross, the corvette upon which he served having remained several months at sea, he had found it absolutely impossible to write to the doctor, and he would not leave the service without having consulted him. Anxious to keep such an illustrious name in the navy, the new government had profited by the July disturbances to confer the rank of midshipman upon Savinien. After having obtained leave for a fortnight, the new midshipman


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 arrived from Toulon by the mail-coach for Ursule’s birthday and at the same time to seek the doctor’s advice.

“He has come!” cried the goddaughter rushing into her godfather’s room.

“All right,” he replied, “I can guess the motive which has made him leave the service, and he can now remain in Nemours.”

“Ah! it is my birthday; it is all in that word,” she said, kissing the doctor.

At a sign she went to make to him, Savinien came at once; she wanted to admire him, for she thought he seemed improved. In fact, military service stamps the gestures, the bearing and appearance of men with decision mingled with gravity, an indefinable uprightness which enables the most superficial observer to recognize a military man under the bourgeois coat; there is no better proof that a man is made to command. Ursule loved Savinien still better for it, and felt a childish delight in walking up and down the little garden on his arm, making him relate the share he had had, in his character of naval cadet, in the capture of Algiers. Obviously, Savinien had taken Algiers. She saw everything red, she said, when she was looking at Savinien’s decoration. The doctor, who was watching them from his room whilst dressing, came to join them. Without entirely unbosoming himself to the viscount, he then told him that in case Madame de Portenduère should consent to his marriage with Ursule, his goddaughter’s fortune


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 would make the salary from any rank he might attain, superfluous.

“Alas!” said Savinien, “it will take a long time to overcome my mother’s opposition. Before my departure, with the alternative of seeing me stay with her if she consented to my marriage with Ursule, or of only seeing me from time to time with the knowledge that I was exposed to the dangers of my profession, she let me go—”

“But, Savinien, we shall be together,” said Ursule, taking his hand and shaking it half impatiently.

To see each other, and never to part, was to her the whole of love; she did not look beyond that; and her pretty gesture, and her rebellious accent were expressive of so much innocence that Savinien and the doctor relented. The resignation was sent in, and the presence of her fiancé gave the greatest radiance to Ursule’s birthday. Several months after, toward May, domestic life at Doctor Minoret’s resumed its tranquillity, but with one more regular visitor. The young viscount’s attentions were all the more promptly construed as those of an intended husband, as, whether at mass, or out walking, his and Ursule’s manners, although reserved, betrayed the understanding of their hearts. Dionis called the attention of the heirs to the fact that the old man never demanded his interest from Madame de Portenduère, and that the old lady already owed it for three years.

“She will be forced to yield, and consent to her


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 son’s misalliance,” said the notary. “If this misfortune happens, it is probable that a large part of your uncle’s fortune will serve, according to Basile, as an irresistible argument.”

The irritation of the heirs at finding that their uncle preferred Ursule too much not to secure her happiness at their expense, then became as secret as it was deep. Meeting every night since the July revolution at the house of Dionis, they would there curse the two lovers, and the evening seldom drew to a close without their having searched, but vainly, for means of thwarting the old man. Zélie, who, like the doctor, had doubtless profited by the fall in stock to advantageously invest her enormous capital, was the hardest upon the orphan girl and the Portenduères. One night when Goupil, who, however, took care not to be bored at these receptions, had come to inquire the affairs of the town which were there being discussed, Zélie had a revival of hatred; in the morning she had seen the doctor, Ursule and Savinien returning in the barouche from a drive in the neighborhood, in an intimacy which betrayed all.

“I would willingly give thirty thousand francs for God to summon our uncle to Himself before the marriage of this Portenduère and that conceited little creature could take place,” she said.

Goupil accompanied Monsieur and Madame Minoret as far as the middle of their big courtyard, and said, looking all around to see that they were quite alone:

“Will you give me the means of buying up


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 Dionis’s practice, and I will break off Monsieur de Portenduère’s marriage with Ursule?”

“How?” asked the giant.

“Do you think I am fool enough to tell you my plan?” replied the head clerk.

“Well, my boy, set them by the ears and we will see,” said Zélie.

“I am not going to enter at all upon such worries for a ‘we shall see!’ The young man is a swaggerer who might kill me, and I should have to be roughshod, and be his match with sword and pistol. Set me up, and I will keep my word.”

“Prevent this marriage and then I will set you up,” replied the postmaster.

“You have been nine months considering whether you should lend me fifteen thousand wretched francs to buy the practice of Lecœur, the attorney, and do you expect me to trust to this promise? Go, you will lose your uncle’s inheritance, and it will be a good job.”

“Were it only a question of fifteen thousand francs and Lecœur’s practice, it might be managed,” replied Zélie, “but to be your security for fifty thousand crowns!”

“But I will pay,” said Goupil, darting a bewitching glance at Zélie which encountered the postmistress’s haughty look.

It was like poison on steel.

“We will wait,” said Zélie.

“The evil genius be with you!” thought Goupil. “If ever I get them in my power,” he said to


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Rh "He didn't even know how a father does till I showed him."

This was grumbling. "We complain of John," cried the twins.

Tootles held up his hand. He was so much the humblest of them, indeed he was the only humble one, that Wendy was specially gentle with him.

"I don't suppose," Tootles said diffidently, "that I could be father."

"No, Tootles."

Once Tootles began, which was not very often, he had a silly way of going on.

"As I can't be father," he said heavily, "I don't suppose, Michael, you would let me be baby?"

"No, I won't," Michael rapped out. He was already in his basket.

"As I can't be baby," Tootles said, getting heavier and heavier, "do you think I could be a twin?"

"No, indeed," replied the twins; "it's awfully difficult to be a twin."

"As I can't be anything important," said Tootles, "would any of you like to see me do a trick?"

"No," they all replied.

Then at last he stopped. "I hadn't really any hope," he said.

The hateful telling broke out again.

"Slightly is coughing on the table." Rh

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 himself as he went out, “I will squeeze them like lemons.”

By cultivating the society of the doctor, the justice of the peace, and the curé, Savinien proved the excellence of his character to them. The young man’s love for Ursule, so devoid of all selfishness, and so persistent, so keenly interested the three friends, that they no longer separated these two children in their thoughts. Before long the monotony of this patriarchal life and the certainty of the lover’s future ended by giving their affection an appearance of fraternity. The doctor often left Ursule and Savinien alone. He had well judged this charming young man, who would kiss Ursule’s hand upon arriving and would not have asked her for it when they were alone, so much was he filled with respect for the innocence and simplicity of this child, whose excessive sensitiveness, often tested, had taught him that a harsh expression, a cold look, or the alternations of gentleness and roughness might kill her. Their greatest liberties the two lovers would be guilty of in the presence of the old men, in the evening. Two years, full of secret joys, passed in this way, with no other incident than the young man’s futile attempts to obtain his mother’s consent to his marriage with Ursule. He would sometimes talk for whole mornings together, his mother listening without answering his arguments and entreaties, except by the silence of a Bretonne or by refusals. At nineteen, Ursule, graceful, an excellent musician and well-educated,


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 had nothing more to acquire; she was perfect. She was also renowned far and wide for her beauty, grace and education. One day, the doctor had to refuse the Marquise d’Aiglemont, who thought of Ursule for her eldest son. Six months later, in spite of the profound secrecy observed by Ursule, the doctor, and Madame d’Aiglemont, Savinien accidentally heard of this circumstance. Touched by so much delicacy, he pleaded this proceeding in order to overcome his mother’s obstinacy, her reply being:

“If the D’Aiglemonts wish to make a bad match, is that any reason why we should?”

In December, 1834, the pious, good old man visibly failed. When he was seen coming out of church, with his yellow, shriveled face and faded eyes, the whole town spoke of the old man’s approaching death, he being then eighty-eight years old.

“You will know how matters stand,” they said to the heirs.

In fact, the old man’s demise possessed the attraction of a problem. But the doctor did not know he was ill, he labored under a delusion, and neither poor Ursule, nor Savinien, nor the justice of the peace, nor the curé, would through delicacy, enlighten him as to his situation; the Nemours doctor, who came to see him every night, was afraid to prescribe any further. Old Minoret felt no pain, he was gently dying. With him, the mind remained strong, clear and powerful. With old men thus constituted, the mind governs the body and gives it strength to die standing. The curé, for


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 fear of hastening the fatal end, excused his parishioner from coming to hear mass in church, and allowed him to read the services at home; for the doctor carefully fulfilled all his religious duties; the further he went toward the grave, the more he loved God. The eternal light more and more explained to him difficulties of all kinds. At the beginning of the new year, Ursule persuaded him to sell his carriage and horses, and to dismiss Cabirolle. The justice of the peace, whose anxiety about Ursule’s future was far from being quieted by the old man’s half-confidences, broached the delicate question of inheritance, by explaining one evening to his old friend the necessity of emancipating Ursule. The ward would then be able to receive a tutelary account and come into possession; which would operate to her advantage. In spite of this overture, the old man, who however had already consulted the justice of the peace, did not at all entrust him with the secret of his arrangements about Ursule; but he adopted the course of emancipation. The more the justice of the peace persisted in wishing to know the means his old friend had taken to enrich Ursule, the more suspicious grew the doctor. At last Minoret positively dreaded confiding to the justice of the peace his thirty-six thousand francs of stock to bearer.

“Why,” said Bongrand, “do you risk any chance?”

“Between two chances,” replied the doctor, “one avoids the most uncertain.”


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 Bongrand conducted the matter of emancipation so quickly that it was finished on the day Mademoiselle Mirouët attained her twentieth year. This anniversary was to be the old doctor’s last fête, and, seized no doubt with a presentiment of his coming end, he celebrated this day sumptuously by giving a small dance to which he invited all the boys and girls of the four families, Dionis, Crémière, Minoret and Massin. Savinien, Bongrand, the curé, his two curates, the Nemours doctor and Mesdames Zélie Minoret, Massin and Crémière, as well as Schmucke, were the guests at the big dinner which preceded the ball.

“I feel that I am going,” said the old man to the notary at the close of the evening. “So I must beg you to come to-morrow to draw up the guardian’s account that I must give Ursule, so as to avoid complicating my inheritance. Thank God! I have not wronged my heirs of a farthing, and have only disposed of my income. Messieurs Crémière, Massin, and Minoret, my nephew, are members of the family council appointed for Ursule, they will assist at this examination of accounts.”

These words, overheard by Massin and hawked about the ballroom, spread joy amongst the three families, who for four years had been living in continual alternations, at one time believing themselves rich, at another disinherited.

“It is a tongue dying out,” said Madame Crémière.

When, toward two in the morning, nobody was


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Rh "The twins began with cheese-cakes."

"Curly is taking both butter and honey."

"Nibs is speaking with his mouth full."

"I complain of the twins."

"I complain of Curly."

"I complain of Nibs."

"Oh dear, oh dear," cried Wendy, "I'm sure I sometimes think that spinsters are to be envied."

She told them to clear away, and sat down to her work-basket, a heavy load of stockings and every knee with a hole in it as usual.

"Wendy," remonstrated Michael, "I'm too big for a cradle."

"I must have somebody in a cradle," she said almost tartly, "and you are the littlest. A cradle is such a nice homely thing to have about a house."

While she sewed they played around her; such a group of happy faces and dancing limbs lit up by that romantic fire. It had become a very familiar scene this in the home under the ground, but we are looking on it for the last time.

There was a step above, and Wendy, you may be sure, was the first to recognise it.

"Children, I hear your father's step. He likes you to meet him at the door."

Above, the redskins crouched before Peter.

"Watch well, braves. I have spoken."

And then, as so often before, the gay children Rh

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 left in the drawing-room but Savinien, Bongrand and the Abbé Chaperon, the old doctor pointed to Ursule, charming in her ball dress, who was just saying good-bye to the young Mesdemoiselles Crémière and Massin, and said:

“It is to you, my friends, that I entrust her! In a few days I shall no longer be here to protect her; stand, all of you, between her and the world, until she is married.—I am afraid for her!”

These words made a painful impression. The account, which was made up several days afterward in a family council, showed that Doctor Minoret was short ten thousand six hundred francs, partly as arrears of the stock receipt of fourteen hundred francs a year, the acquisition of which was accounted for by the employment of Captain de Jordy’s legacy, and partly by the little capital of five thousand francs coming from gifts that, for fifteen years, the doctor had made to his ward on their respective fête-days or birthdays.


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 *

This authentic rendering of the account had been recommended by the justice of the peace, who dreaded the effects of Doctor Minoret’s death, and who, unfortunately, was right. The day following the acceptance of the guardian’s account which gave Ursule ten thousand six hundred francs and fourteen hundred francs a year, the old man was seized with an attack of faintness which compelled him to keep to his bed. In spite of the secrecy surrounding the doctor’s house, the rumor of his death spread over the town, where the heirs ran through the streets like the beads of a chaplet of which the string has broken. Massin, who came to inquire, was told by Ursule herself that the old man was in bed. Unfortunately, the Nemours doctor had declared that the moment at which Minoret should take to his bed would be that of his death. From that time, in spite of the cold, the heirs stood in the streets, in the market-place or on their doorsteps, busy chattering about this long-expected event, and watching for the moment when the curé should carry the Sacrament to the old doctor with all the array in use in provincial towns. And so, when, two days after, the Abbé Chaperon, accompanied by his curate and the choir boys, preceded by the sexton bearing the cross, crossed the Grand’ Rue, the heirs joined him in order to occupy the house, prevent all purloining (231)


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 and put their greedy hands on presumable treasures. When the doctor, through the clergy, perceived his kneeling heirs, who, far from praying were watching him with eyes as keen as the gleam of a taper, he could not restrain a malicious smile. The curé turned round, saw them, and then said the prayers very slowly. The postmaster was the first to leave his tiring position, his wife followed him; Massin, fearing lest Zélie and her husband should lay their hands on some trifle, joined them in the drawing-room, and soon all the heirs were assembled there.

“He is too honest a man to steal the extreme unction,” said Crémière, “so we can be quite easy.”

“Yes, we shall each have about twenty thousand francs a year,” replied Madame Massin.

“I have an idea,” said Zélie, “that, for three years, he did not invest any more; he loved to hoard—”

“The treasure is no doubt in his cellar?” said Massin to Crémière.

“Provided that we find something,” said Minoret-Levrault.

“But, after his declaration at the ball,” cried Madame Massin, “there is no longer any doubt about it.”

“In any case,” said Crémière, “how shall we manage? Shall we share? shall we have an auction? or shall we divide by lots? for after all we are all of age.”

A discussion, growing rapidly more and more


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 bitter, arose about the manner of proceedings. At the end of half-an-hour, a noise of confused voices, amongst which Zélie’s shrill voice could be distinguished, resounded in the courtyard and reached the road.

“He must be dead,” then said the busybodies collected in the road.

This uproar reached the ears of the doctor, who heard these words:

“But the house, the house is worth thirty thousand francs! I take it, I do, at thirty thousand francs!” cried or rather bellowed by Crémière.

“Well, we will pay what it is worth,” sharply replied Zélie.

“Monsieur le Curé,” said the old man to the Abbé Chaperon, who stayed beside his friend after having administered to him, “arrange it so that I can die in peace. My heirs, like those of Cardinal Ximénès, are capable of pillaging my house before my death, and I have no monkey to set me up again. Go and tell them that I do not wish anyone to remain in the house.”

The curé and the doctor went down, repeated the dying man’s order, and in a fit of indignation, added strong words full of rebuke.

“Madame Bougival,” said the doctor, “shut the gate and do not let anyone in; it seems that it is impossible to die in peace. You will prepare poultices of ground mustard, in order to apply them to monsieur’s feet.”

“Your uncle is not dead, and may yet live a long


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Rh dragged him from his tree. As so often before, but never again.

He had brought nuts for the boys as well as the correct time for Wendy.

"Peter, you just spoil them, you know," Wendy simpered.

"Ah, old lady," said Peter, hanging up his gun.

"It was me told him mothers are called old lady," Michael whispered to Curly.

"I complain of Michael," said Curly instantly.

The first twin came to Peter. "Father, we want to dance."

"Dance away, my little man," said Peter, who was in high good humour.

"But we want you to dance."

Peter was really the best dancer among them, but he pretended to be scandalised.

"Me! My old bones would rattle!"

"And mummy too."

"What!" cried Wendy, "the mother of such an armful, dance!"

"But on a Saturday night," Slightly insinuated.

It was not really Saturday night, at least it may have been, for they had long lost count of the days; but always if they wanted to do anything special they said this was Saturday night, and then they did it.

"Of course it is Saturday night, Peter," Wendy said, relenting. Rh

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 time,” said the Abbé Chaperon, dismissing the heirs, who had brought their children with them. He implores the deepest silence and will have no one but his ward near him. What a difference between this young girl’s behavior and yours!”

“Old hypocrite!” cried Crémière, “I shall stand sentry. It is quite possible that there is some plot against our interests.”

The postmaster had already disappeared into the garden, intending to watch his uncle with Ursule, and to have himself admitted into the house as an assistant. He returned stealthily without making the least noise with his boots, for the corridor and stairs were both carpeted. He was then able to reach the door of his uncle’s room unheard. The curé and the doctor had gone, La Bougival was preparing the poultices.

“Are we quite alone?” said the old man to his ward.

Ursule stood on tiptoe to look into the courtyard.

“Yes,” she said, “Monsieur le Curé has shut the gate himself in going out.”

“My beloved child,” said the dying man, “my hours, my minutes even, are numbered. I have not been a physician for nothing; the doctor’s poultices will keep me alive till to-night Do not cry, Ursule,” he said, finding himself interrupted by his goddaughter’s tears, “but listen to me carefully; it is a question of marrying Savinien. As soon as La Bougival comes up with the poultice, go down to


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 the Chinese pavilion, here is the key; raise the marble top of the Boule sideboard, and under it you will find a sealed letter addressed to you; take it, come back and show it to me, for I shall not die peacefully unless I see it in your hands. When I am dead, you are not to tell it at once; but send for Monsieur de Portenduère, you will read the letter together, and you must swear to me in your name and his to fulfil my last wishes. When he shall have obeyed me, you will announce my death, and the heirs’ farce will begin. God grant that these monsters do not ill-treat you!”

“Yes, godfather.”

The postmaster did not listen to the rest of the scene; he scampered away on tiptoe, remembering that the study lock was on the side of the library. He had been present at the time of the discussion between the architect and the locksmith, who declared that, if anyone were to get into the house by the window looking on to the river, it would be more prudent to put the lock on the side of the library, the study being intended as one of the pleasure-rooms in summer. Dazzled by self-interest and with the blood tingling in his ears, Minoret unscrewed the lock with a knife with all a thief’s smartness. He entered the study, took the packet of papers without stopping to unseal it, re-screwed the lock, restored things in place, and went to sit down in the dining-room, waiting until La Bougival should have taken up the poultice before he left the house. He managed his flight all the more easily, as poor Ursule thought it more


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 important to see the poultice applied than to obey her godfather’s orders.

“The letter! the letter!” cried the old man in dying tones, “obey me, here is the key. I want to see the letter in your hand.”

These words accompanied such an agonized look, that La Bougival said to Ursule:

“But do what your godfather wishes, or you will kill him.”

She kissed him on the forehead, took the key and went down; but, soon recalled by La Bougival’s piercing cries, she rushed back. The old man took her in at a glance, saw her empty hands, sat up, tried to speak, and died with a last terrible gasp, his eyes wild with terror. The poor little one, who had never seen death before, fell on her knees and burst into tears. La Bougival closed the old man’s eyes and arranged him in his bed. When, according to her expression, she had dressed the dead, the old nurse ran to tell Monsieur Savinien; but the heirs, who were at the end of the street, surrounded by on-lookers, just like crows waiting for the burial of a horse to come and scratch the earth and dig it out with their claws and beaks, ran up with the rapidity of birds of prey.

During these events, the postmaster had gone home to find out the contents of the mysterious package.

This is what he found:


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Rh

“Nemours, January 15, 1830.

“MY LITTLE ANGEL,

“My paternal affection, which you have so thoroughly justified, has had as principle not only the vow I made your poor father to replace him; but still further your likeness to Ursule Mirouët, my wife, of whose grace, mind, sincerity and charm, you have incessantly reminded me. Your position as daughter of my father-in-law’s natural son may render any testamentary arrangement made in your favor subject to dispute—

“The old scoundrel!” cried the postmaster.

“Your adoption would have been the cause of a lawsuit. Finally, I have always shrunk from the idea of marrying you to transmit my fortune to you; for I might have lived a long time and disturbed your future happiness, which is only delayed by Madame de Portenduère’s life. These difficulties being thoroughly weighed, and wishing to leave you the fortune necessary to a happy life—

“The rascal, he has thought of everything!”

“Without injuring my heirs in any way—

“The Jesuit! as if he did not owe us all his fortune!”

“I have reserved for you the fruits of my savings of eighteen years, which I have constantly put out at interest through the care of my notary, with a view to making you as happy as is possible through riches. Without money


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 your education and your lofty ideas would cause you misfortune. Besides, you owe a handsome dowry to the charming young man who loves you. So you will find—in the middle of the third volume of the Pandects, in folio, bound in red morocco, which is the last volume in the. first row, above the tablet of the library, in the last division on the salon side, three bonds of the three per cents, to bearer, of twelve thousand francs each—

“What depth of villainy!” cried the postmaster. “Ah! God will not allow me to be so defrauded.”

“Take them at once, as well as the small arrears of savings up to the time of my death, and which will be in the preceding volume. Remember, my adored child, that you ought to blindly obey a thought which has formed the happiness of my whole life, and which will oblige me to ask the help of God, if you disobey me. But, in anticipation of any scruple of your dear conscience, which I know to be ingenious at self-torture, you will find herewith a will in due form of these bonds for the benefit of Monsieur Savinien de Portenduère. And so, whether you yourself possess them, or whether they come to you from him whom you love, they will be your lawful property.

“Your godfather,

“DENIS MlNORET.”

“To this was subjoined, on a square piece of stamped paper, the following document:

“I, Denis Minoret, doctor of medicine, residing at Nemours, of sound mind and body, as is shown by the date of this will, do bequeath my soul to God, praying him to pardon my long errors in favor of my sincere repentance. Then, knowing


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 "People of our figure, Wendy!"

"But it is only among our own progeny."

"True, true."

So they were told they could dance, but they must put on their nighties first.

"Ah, old lady," Peter said aside to Wendy, warming himself by the fire and looking down at her as she sat turning a heel, "there is nothing more pleasant of an evening for you and me when the day's toil is over than to rest by the fire with the little ones near by."

"It is sweet, Peter, isn't it?" Wendy said, frightfully gratified. "Peter, I think Curly has your nose."

"Michael takes after you."

She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Dear Peter," she said, "with such a large family, of course, I have now passed my best, but you don't want to change me, do you?"

"No, Wendy."

Certainly he did not want a change, but he looked at her uncomfortably, blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he was awake or asleep.

"Peter, what is it?"

"I was just thinking," he said, a little scared. "It is only make-believe, isn't it, that I am their father?"

"Oh yes," Wendy said primly. Rh

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 that Monsieur le Vicomte Savinien de Portenduère has a genuine affection for me, I leave him thirty-six thousand francs in bonds of the three per cents, to be taken out of my inheritance, in preference to all my heirs.

“Made and written from beginning to end by my hand, at Nemours, the 11th January, 1831.

“DENIS MINORET.”

Without hesitation, the postmaster who, in order to be quite alone, had shut himself into his wife’s room, looked for the tinder box, and received two warnings from Heaven by the extinction of two matches that successively refused to strike. The third caught fire. He burnt the letter and the will in the fireplace. With unnecessary caution, he buried the remains of the paper and wax in the ashes. Then, tempted by the idea of possessing the thirty-six thousand francs unknown to his wife, he returned at double quick speed to his uncle’s house, goaded by the only idea, a simple, clear idea, that could penetrate his thick skull. Seeing his uncle’s house invaded by the three families who had at last made themselves masters of the place, he trembled lest he should be unable to accomplish a plan about which he did not allow himself time to reflect, whilst only thinking of the obstacles.

“What are you doing here?” he said to Massin and Crémière. “Do you think we are going to leave the house and valuables to be plundered? We are three inheritors, we cannot encamp here! Crémière, do hurry to Dionis and tell him to come and


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 testify to the decease. Although deputy-mayor, I cannot draw up my uncle’s certificate of death.—You, Massin, go and ask old Bongrand to affix the seals.—And you, mesdames, keep Ursule company,” he said to his wife, to Mesdames Massin and Crémière. “In this way nothing will be lost. Above all, shut the gate so that no one can go out!”

The women, who felt the propriety of this hint, ran to Ursule’s room and found this noble creature, already so cruelly suspected, on her knees praying to God, her face streaming with tears. Minoret, guessing that the three heiresses would not stay long with Ursule, and fearing the suspicion of his co-heirs, went into the library, found the book, opened it, took the three bonds and found thirty bank notes in the other. In spite of his coarse nature, the giant fancied he could hear a peal of bells in each ear, and the blood hissed in his temples as he accomplished this theft. In spite of the severity of the season, his shirt clung to his back; at last his legs trembled to such an extent that he sank upon one of the salon sofas, as if a club had struck him on the head.

“Ah! how an inheritance loosens the great Minoret’s tongue!” Massin said, as he rushed about the town. “Did you hear him?” he said to Crémière. “‘Go here! go there!’ as if he were drilling!”

“Yes, for a great big fool, he had a certain look—”

“Why,” said Massin, alarmed, “his wife is there, they are two too many! You do the commissions, I am going back.”


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 And so just as the postmaster was sitting down, he saw appearing at the gate the excited face of the justice’s clerk, who was returning with all a weasel’s speed to the dead man’s house.

“Well, what is the matter?” asked the postmaster, going to let in his co-heir.

“Nothing; I have come back for the seals,” replied Massin, darting the look of a wildcat at him.

“I wish they were already fixed, and we could all go home,” rejoined Minoret.

“Faith! we will place a watchman over the seals,” said the clerk. “La Bougival is capable of anything in the interests of the little humbug. We will get Goupil.”

“Goupil?” said the postmaster. “He will take the money-box and we shall see nothing of it.”

“Let me see!” rejoined Massin. “To-night, they will watch the dead, and we shall have finished affixing the seals in an hour’s time; and so our wives will themselves guard them. To-morrow, at midday we shall have the funeral. We cannot proceed to the inventory for eight days.”

“But,” said the giant, smiling, “we will make the little humbug pack off, and we will put the mayor’s drummer in charge of the seals and the house.”

“Very well,” cried the justice’s clerk, “you must undertake this expedition, you are head of the Minorets.”

“Mesdames, mesdames,” said Minoret, “will you all please remain in the salon; it is not a question


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 of going to dinner, but of proceeding to the setting of the seals for the preservation of everybody’s interests.”

Then he took his wife aside to acquaint her with Massin’s ideas in relation to Ursule. The women, whose hearts were full of revenge and who were longing to turn the tables on the little humbug, at once welcomed with enthusiasm the plan of expelling her.

Bongrand appeared and was indignant at the proposal made him by Zélie and Madame Massin that, in his character of the deceased man’s friend, he should ask Ursule to leave the house.

“Go yourselves and turn her out of her father’s, her godfather’s, her uncle’s, her benefactor’s, her guardian’s house! Go, you who only owe your inheritance to her nobleness of mind, take her by the shoulders and thrust her into the street, in front of the whole town! You believe her capable of robbing you? Well then, place a guard over the seals, you will be within your rights. But first know that I will not fix seals on her room; she is in her own home, all that is in it is her own property; I shall inform her of her rights, and shall tell her to there collect all that belongs to her—Oh! in your presence!” he added, hearing growls from the heirs.

“Heyday!” said the tax-collector to the postmaster and to the women, who were stupefied at Bongrand’s choleric speech.

“There’s a magistrate!” cried the postmaster.

Seated on a small sofa, half fainting, her head


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 thrown back her plaits undone, was Ursule, sobbing from time to time. Her eyes were dim, her lids swollen, in short, she was a prey to a moral and physical prostration which would have touched the most ferocious beings, except heirs.

“Ah! Monsieur Bongrand, after my birthday comes death and mourning!” she said, with the natural poetry of a beautiful mind. “You know what he was: for twenty years he never spoke a single impatient word to me! I thought he would live a hundred years! He has been a mother to me,” she cried, “and a good mother!”

These few uttered thoughts brought on floods of tears, broken by sobs; then she subsided into a heap.

“My child,” rejoined the justice of the peace, hearing the heirs on the staircase, “you have all your life before you for crying, and you have only a moment for your affairs; collect in your room all that belongs to you in this house. The heirs are forcing me to put seals—”

“Ah! the heirs can take everything,” cried Ursule standing up in a fit of savage indignation. “All that is most precious I have here,” she said, striking her bosom.

“And what is that?” asked the postmaster, who, with Massin, showed his dreadful face.

“The memory of his virtues, his life, of all his words, an image of his heavenly soul,” she said, her eyes and face flashing, while she raised her hand with a magnificent gesture.


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 “And you have also a key!” cried Massin, creeping like a cat and seizing a key which Ursule’s movement had dislodged from the folds of her bodice.

“That,” she said, reddening, “is the key of his study, he was sending me there at the moment he died.”

After having exchanged hideous smiles, the two heirs looked at the justice of the peace expressive of withering suspicion. Ursule, observing and guessing the meaning of this look, calculated with the postmaster, involuntary on the part of Massin, stood up on her feet, and turned as pale as if the blood were leaving her; her eyes darted that lightning which, it may be, only flashes at the cost of life, and she said, in a choking voice:

“Ah! Monsieur Bongrand, all that is in this room comes to me from my godfather’s kindness, they may take all, I have only the clothes upon me, I will go out and never re-enter it again.”

She went to her guardian’s room, from which no entreaties could move her, for the heirs were a little ashamed of their behavior. She told La Bougival to engage two rooms for her at the inn of La Vieille-Poste, until she should have found some lodging in town where they could both live. She went back to her room to fetch her prayer-book, and remained all night with the curé, the curate and Savinien, praying and weeping. The nobleman came after his mother had gone to bed, and knelt down without a word beside Ursule, who gave him the saddest


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Rh "You see," he continued apologetically, "it would make me seem so old to be their real father."

"But they are ours, Peter, yours and mine."

"But not really, Wendy?" he asked anxiously.

"Not if you don't wish it," she replied; and she distinctly heard his sigh of relief. "Peter," she asked, trying to speak firmly, "what are your exact feelings to me?"

"Those of a devoted son, Wendy."

"I thought so," she said, and went and sat by herself at the extreme end of the room.

"You are so queer," he said, frankly puzzled, "and Tiger Lily is just the same. There is something she wants to be to me, but she says it is not my mother."

"No, indeed, it is not," Wendy replied with frightful emphasis. Now we know why she was prejudiced against the redskins.

"Then what is it?"

"It isn't for a lady to tell."

"Oh, very well," Peter said, a little nettled. "Perhaps Tinker Bell will tell me."

"Oh yes, Tinker Bell will tell you," Wendy retorted scornfully. "She is an abandoned little creature."

Here Tink, who was in her bedroom, eavesdropping, squeaked out something impudent.

"She says she glories in being abandoned," Peter interpreted. Rh

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