Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Wherefore Investigating Company
by

Lois Waisbrooker

This novel was published serially in the following issues of Foundation Principles:
V4 N1, Jul 1893
V4 N2, Aug 1893
V4 V3, Sep 1893
V4 N4, Oct 1893
V4 N5, Nov 1893
V4 N6, Dec 1 1893
V4 N7, Dec 15 1893
V4 N8, Jan 1894
V4 N9, Feb 1 1894
V4 N10, Feb 21 1894
V4 N11, Mar 1894
V4 N12, Apr 1894

TOPEKA, KANSAS.
LOIS WAISBROOKER, EDITOR.

The Wherefore Investigating Company

————

CHAPTER I.

JOHN WHEREFORE.

"There comes John Wherefore," said one boy to another, pointing down the street.

"I wonder what brings John out to-day," remarked one of the men standing on the hotel steps.

"You wonder why he comes, why to find out the wherefore of things; you know there is to be political speechifying to-day," laughingly replied another.

"Yes, I know, but I didn't suppose that John took any interest in politics."

"Interest in politics or not he has some wherefore to hunt out or he wouldn't be true to his name."

In the mean time the man they called Wherefore passed around the corner of the hotel, up the side stairs into the reception room, and crossing it took a seat just inside the door. He moved so noiselessly that the two young men sitting with their backs toward him upon the porch outside had not heard him. He was hardly seated when one of them said to the other:

"There's game for you, Dick," drawing attention to a young girl who had just crossed the street and seemed to be looking for some one. Wherefore looked too, and saw one who with the advantage of dress would have been called beautiful, but her whole appearance indicated poverty.

"Game for me, why not try for yourself?" said the one called Dick, scanning the girl's form and features. She, at that moment looked up, and the bold stare fixed upon her sent the blood to her face and neck tinging them with scarlet.

"She is not my style, I like opposites," was the reply.

"True, she is too much like you, Golder; the same blue eyes and golden hair, to say nothing of the lily complection. Really, Fred, I shouldn't be surprised if she were your half sister. Do you know anything of the governor's larks?"

"My father's life belongs to himself," replied Golder in a tone of annoyance.

"Well, there's no harm in the asking, and I should like to sip nectar from those lips," said Dick carelessly.

Fred Golder had drawn Richard Lawrence's attention to the girl because of the latter's known proclivities more than from any genuine sympathy with the same. There was a something which attracted the young men to each other but they were as unlike in character as they were in person, Richard having dark hair and eyes and a very dark complection. Golder had a sort of companionable sympathy with Richard's kind of life but did not care to make it his own, so when Richard made the remark about sipping nectar from lips, there came before his mind the vision of a ruined life, and he said:

"And when you have done with her, what then, Dick?"

"Oh, some one will take her off my hands, I do not care who."

"You seem very certain that you can win her," continued Fred.

"I have never failed yet, and what is she here for if not to meet her destiny?" and Richard Lawrence rose to his feet and straightened himself to his full height with an air which said: "What woman can resist me?"

"But the city, the city hath bought her,
It hath doled her piecemeal to students and rats"—

they turned to meet the wrathful eyes of John Wherefore.

"Are you students or rats?" he asked, looking from one to the other.

Lawrence was the first to recover his speech. "You had better mind your own business or I'll make a rat of you."

"Suppose I have none," was the cool rejoinder.

"Then we will give you some," said Golder.

"Thanks, when I need it I will let you know," replied Wherefore and turning, he went quickly down the back way and out upon the street.

"Who is that man?" asked Lawrence of Golder.

"They call him John Wherefore."

"Well, he had better keep out of the wherefore of my business, but you say 'they call him that,' isn't it his name?"

"No, the boys began calling him that because he says so much about the wherefore of things, till now every one calls him so and many people think it his name."

"Do you know what his true name is, Fred?"

"I used to know but I can't think now, Will, something."

"Is it Wildermere?"

"Yes, that's it, what do you know about him, Dick?"

"Not very much, but enough to owe him a grudge. It is sometime since we met, and then only for a moment but I thought I knew that face; I will tell you all about it some other time."

"Look there, will you," said Golder, pointing down the street.

Lawrence looked in the direction indicated and saw Wherefore talking with the girl of whom their previous remarks had been made.

"You will never win her now, Dick, so you might as well give up the idea," continued Golder.

"We shall see," was the careless reply.

"You'll waste your time if you try it; Wherefore's no fool if he is queer. You'll be sharp if you outwit him, and he'll make that girl his especial care."

"I don't care how sharp he is, I'll have the girl if for no other reason than to beat him; I'm not quite an imbecile."

"We shall see," said Golder, repeating Lawrence's words.

The man they called Wherefore had passed quickly around the house and coming up within a few feet of where the girl stood had watched her without seeming to do so. Presently she turned away with a disappointed air.

"For whom are you looking, my child," he then asked.

She started, but seeing only a middle aged man with a kindly look she replied:

"For grandfather, but how did you know I was looking for any one?"

"I am in the habit of studying people and your manner showed me that you were."

"My manner," she repeated, and then, as if a new idea had come to her she added: "I wonder if that is what grandfather means when he says I have such a telltale face?"

"Perhaps it is, what is your grandfather's name?"

"Russell, Edward Russell, do you know him?"

"Yes, I know him well, but I didn't suppose him able to be out since his fall."

"He isn't, but he said he must go to-day if he had to crawl, and I'm so afraid he'll get hurt."

"Well, I will help you find him, and I think we both can take care of him, but please tell me your name."

"Alice."

"Alice Russell?"

"Yes, sir."

"And people call me John Wherefore."

"Oh, I've heard grandfather talk of you," she exclaimed, her face lighting up as if she had found an old friend.

"Well, Miss Alice," continued John with a smile, "now that we are properly introduced we will look for your grandfather."

"Introduced?" she said, looking up with a puzzled air.

"Yes, introduced, didn't I tell you my name, and didn't you tell me yours?"

"Yes, but"——

"Couldn't we introduce ourselves?"

She thought a moment:—"Of course we could, how stupid I am, but come, please, I must find grandfather, for if"—— she stopped and colored.

Wherefore understood that she feared he would get to drinking but he took no notice of her hesitation as turning into a less frequented street he started to take her where she would be most likely to find the one she sought. Just as they came to the crossing of the next street, Judge Wendover and Col. Boyle, speakers for the day, passed in an open carriage. Both Wherefore and the girl stopped quite still and continued to look after the retreating vehicle till it could no longer be seen. The girl then drew a long breath and said: "That man looks so much like grandfather!"

"Yes, he does, very much indeed," replied John, and he then and there resolved to learn the why of that likeness.

"Who do you think it is, Mr. Wherefore?"

"One of the speakers perhaps, if we keep watch we may find out, but here comes your grandfather now."

Alice started forward and grasping his hand exclaimed:

"Grandfather, did you see that man!"

"What man, and what are you here for, didn't I tell you you shouldn't come?"

"You said I shouldn't come with you," replied the girl deprecatingly.

"That's the way you get out if it, but what of the man?"

"One who looks so like you I thought it was you at first, all dressed up and riding in a carriage."

The old man frowned: "It is Col. Boyle I suppose," he said, "and that is why I was determined to come here to-day. When I was younger and not so infernally poor but I had a good suit of clothes, I used to go to the city sometimes and I have been mistaken for Ed Boyle more than once. I have never seen him, so when I heard he was to be here to-day I vowed I'd come if I had to crawl."

"I don't wonder you wanted to come and I hope you'll be none the worse for it, but you are really too lame to be out alone in such a crowd," said Wherefore.

"Yes, I know it's risky but I guess I can stand it."

"I will go with you if you will accept my company."

"Glad of the chance, John; Alice, you run home and when we've seen the Col. I'll bring Mr. Wherefore home with me, so get us a good dinner, child."

Alice looked at her grandfather and then at Wherefore, and the latter smiled and nodded. Her look said: "Don't let him have anything to drink," and his said: "All right, I'll take care of him."

Mr. Russell was not what is called a drunkard but sometimes he took too much, and since a fall which had disabled him for some weeks, thus giving him time to brood over the injustice which had sent Alice to him worse than orphaned he seemed inclined to take more than usual, hence the girl's anxiety. Wherefore kept his silent promise and though one of the two men who looked so alike was, well, next door to being very drunk it was not Edward Russell.

Alice, after her silent request of Wherefore turned and walked slowly away but she did not seem quite satisfied. The old gentleman looked after her a moment and then said:

"Alice would like to stay too; I'm half a notion to call her back; shan't I, John?"

"I do not think it best, Mr. Russell."

"Why not?"

Wherefore replied by quoting:

"Another begetteth a daughter, white and gold,
She looketh into the meadow land water, and the wold
Knoweth her no more. They have sought her field and fold—
The city, the city hath bought her—it hath doled her,
Piecemeal, to students, rats, and reek of the graveyard's mould."

"Come, come, John, none of your poetic craze; what has that to do with my question?" said Russell impatiently.

"Is she not 'white and gold?' is not her complection like the lily's, and is not her hair a crown of golden glory?"

"She's white enough and has yellow hair, but that's nothing; you talk like a love sick fool, John."

"Softly, softly, now; don't you know, friend Russell, that there are those who watch for such as her only to destroy?"

"I'm told they do in cities, but in a place like this if a girl uses common sense there's little danger."

"Such as she are in danger everywhere if the sons of the rich once get their eyes upon them," and then he repeated what he had heard not an hour before.

"Why didn't you tell me this at once, John, instead of sweeping off into poetry; had the child staid at home as I told her they would not have seen her."

"Not now, but sometime when I wasn't around."

"That's so, John; perhaps it is best as it is, for I shall watch them now, but we must go or we'll not get a seat."

As Russell and Wildermere, alias Wherefore, made their way through the crowd more than one pair of eyes were turned from Russell to the platform, for difference in dress and position could not hide the remarkable likeness between the two men. They were hardly seated before Frederick Golder and Richard Lawrence came and took seats directly in front of them. They did not notice Wherefore but he saw them and drew his companion's attention to them.

"Golder and his friend from the city," replied Russell.

"And the ones who made the remarks about Alice," responded John.

Russell gave a perceptible start but made no comment.

The young men had been seated but a few minutes when Lawrence, looking over the crowd, remarked:

"I do not see your daisy here, Fred."

"My daisy," responded Golder interrogatively.

"Yes, yours by the right of discovery."

"If we were to claim all that we chanced to discover we should have some queer possessions, but really, I do not understand you, Dick."

"Well, you are stupid, have you so soon forgotten the golden head you pointed out to me from the hotel porch?"

"Yes, I had forgotten; not my style you know, but the fact that you remember shows that you are interested."

"I am interested enough to show Wildermere that I can outwit his meddling; I wonder if he is here."

"Did you particularly wish to see him?" said a voice so near that it brought them both round face to face with Russell and Wherefore.

"Speak of the devil and he's always on hand," growled Lawrence.

"Doled her piecemeal to students and rats,"

responded Wherefore.

"This is insufferable, Fred, let us find seats elsewhere," said Lawrence rising to his feet. As they made their way to another part of the ground followed be the questioning looks of those who had heard a part of what had been said, Wherefore yawned and Russell remarked:

"I never saw such a crowd in Mandaville before."

"Do you not know wherefore it is here?" asked John.

"The wherefore it is here: you are the only Wherefore I see here," replied Russell.

"I mean do you know what has brought them here?"

"Their feet I suppose, those who couldn't ride."

Wherefore made no reply to this and presently Russell asked: "Well, what did bring them?"

"The desire to see the Judge and the Col. I presume, they are both noted men you know."

"But what brought the Col. and the Judge here, none of the big guns have ever come before?"

"Now you have come to the point; it is because they have never needed us before."

"Have never needed needed us, John, what do you mean?"

"I mean just this: the dominant party has been so strong in this state it did not need to send its best speakers into the smaller places, but now it is different; they want votes and have come here after them."

"I can't see how Mandaville can be of so much more importance than usual, each man will vote for his own party."

"Perhaps, but there is always a class that are swayed, more or less by good magnetic speakers, and Golder will plan to control his mill hands without seeming to do so; they are the new element here."

"Yes, but I presume they are about equally divided in their politics."

"They'll all vote one way though."

"All vote one way, what makes you think that?"

"Because winter is coming on and places are not as plenty as men. A man doesn't like to see his family going cold and hungry; that's the wherefore of it."

"A free country this," said Russell as he slowly rose to his feet and looked about him as if seeking a way out.

"What is it?" asked Wherefore.

"I've seen the elephant and I'm going home."

"Don't you want to hear the speaking?"

"No, I don't. If they've come here only because they need us they'll wait till hell freezes over before they get my vote. You can stay if you wish but I'm not going to listen to their lies."

"If you go I shall, you know you promised Alice you'd take me home with you."

"Yes, and I know what made her so anxious but I shall drink nothing stronger than coffee to-day if I ever do again; I must keep my senses about me to take care of her. I'll show them whose daisy she is, come if you're going."

As Russell and Wherefore were leaving the ground Col. Boyle got a full view of Russell's face. "Who is that man?" he asked of the chairman in a startled tone.

"Which man?"

"The elder of the two who are leaving?"

"Oh, that is old Russell."

Boyle said no more, and presently the chairman arose and announced him as the speaker of the hour.

The Col. stepped forward, bowed, and commenced his address, but his manner was hesitating and what he said lacked force.

"What is the matter with the Colonel?" said the elder Golder to Judge Wendover, "I never knew him to do so poorly."

"I presume he thought he had seen his own ghost," said Wherefore when he heard of it.

That the remarkable likeness between himself and Russell had disturbed him was true, and that, with the consciousness that he had not done as well as usual induced him to drink beyond the point of discretion, and altogether, his visit to Mandaville was a disastrous one, so much so that it engendered a bitter hatred toward the innocent cause thereof, the man who was so like him.

————

CHAPTER II.

THE INVALID.

"Myrtle, Myrtle—oh dear, she's never here when she's wanted," and the wearied, nervous old man settled himself back in his invalid chair with a sigh. Waiting a few moments, he called again:—"Myrtle."

The door opened and a pleasant faced mulatto girl of perhaps twenty summers, looked in:

"Were you not as deaf as a post or where you have no business to be you would know that I did."

"What is it you wish?"

"These pillows haven't been shaken up in an age and the fire needs fixing; oh dear, how hard it is to be helpless."

Without manifesting the least annoyance the girl proceeded to do what he wished and then asked:

"Can I do anything more for you?"

"Not now, yes, is it cold out?"

"Not very cold, sir, but colder than it would be good for you to be out," she replied as she turned to leave the room.

"Wait, please, Myrtle; it is so bright, and I get so tired sitting here, can't you take me out for just a few minutes?

"I should like to, sir, but I fear the mistress would not like it; you might take cold you know."

"Well, then, get something and read to me; I'm so lonesome and so tired."

The girl looked the pity she felt but made no reply; she turned instead, walked out upon the porch and stood there a few minutes looking toward the village.

"Are they coming?" asked the old man when she came in.

"They are not in sight, and really, it seems quite warm in the sun; I will wrap you up good and take you out just ten minutes by the clock."

"Oh, thanks; I will remember you in my will, Miss Myrtle," he exclaimed, as she proceeded to do as she had said.

"When will you make your will, grandpa?" asked the girl pleasantly.

"Time enough yet; I shall get over this and be about again when warm weather comes."

Myrtle made no reply to this but wheeled him carefully out upon the porch.

"Don't you think so?" he asked.

"Think what?"

"That I'll get about again when warm weather comes."

"Possibly," she replied in an absent sort of way.

"Possibly," repeated the invalid, starting up and almost throwing from his shoulders that which had been put so carefully about them: "possibly" he repeated, "that means I am not likely to live till spring. I don't believe it; my father lived till he was past ninety and I am not yet eighty-two, and better than he was at that age."

"Don't get excited, sir, or you will take cold and I shall wish I had not brought you out," carefully wrapping him up again.

"Stop saying things to startle me then, but it is not so; I shall not die till"——he stopped short looking as if he had nearly said more than he had intended.

"Till what, Mr. Boyle?"

"Nothing, you may take me in, I've been out here quite long enough."

The girl wheeled him back again, as pleasantly as she had wheeled him out, and then after finding that he wished nothing more, she stepped into the next room thus leaving to himself, and presently he was asleep. He had slept perhaps twenty minutes when the roll of carriage wheels was heard and soon after a pleasant faced lady came into the room. She looked down upon the sleeping man with an expression of mingled pity and affection for a few moments and then turned to go, when he started up and murmured: "I shall see him yet."

The sound of his own voice fully awakened him. "When did you come, Sarah?" he asked.

"I have just come in, have you had a good sleep, father?"

"O, just lost myself."

"What were you dreaming about?"

"Dreaming, I haven't been asleep long enough to dream."

"I think you must have slept longer than you suppose; you were not only dreaming but talking in your sleep."

"What did I say, Sarah?"

"Something about seeing somebody."

"Likely enough; I can't remember," he replied in a tone of annoyance. Just then the bell rang.

Myrtle went to the door and after exchanging a few words with some one, she returned and said:

"There is a man at the door, a stranger, who would like to see Mr. Boyle."

"Why didn't you bring him in then?" asked the invalid.

"I was not sure that you would like to see him, or," glancing at the lady, "that it would be best."

"Very thoughtful of you, bring him along," persisted the old gentleman.

"Yes, Myrtle, bring him in," said the daughter.

Thus assured, Myrtle returned to where the stranger was standing: "Yes, he will see you, please come this way."

While she was gone the lady said: "I must caution you, father, not to talk too much, you know you are not strong."

"And never shall be if I must always see the same faces and hear the same voices, what is it you want?"

"We want to keep you with us as long as we can," was the gentle reply. The sick man was about to respond but a low "hush" prevented. Myrtle was bringing the stranger in. "This is Mr. Boyle," she said.

The stranger bowed. "Excuse me sir, for troubling you, but I have just returned, or rather, am returning from a visit up in Varmont, and I found so many people there who used to know you, sir, that I thought I must stop and see you, sir; or rather, they made me promise to stop, and then to write and tell them all about you, sir; I am sorry to find you sick, sir."

"Oh I shall be all right when warm weather comes, the winters are always hard on me. It was just so with my father and he lived to be several years older than I am" said the old gentleman, straitening himself up and looking at least ten years younger than he had ten minutes before.

"Glad to hear it, sir, my name is Brown, Jedediah Brown, the first is a good scripter name if not a hansom one; Jed, I'm generally called; I've never been among great folks much and I told the folks I didn't like to introod, but they said you wasn't a bit stuck up if you had been Major and your son Colonel."

"I am glad to have the good opinion of my old friends, my daughter, Mrs. Wendover, Mr. Brown."

"How do you do, ma'am; the Judge's wife I s'pose: I saw them both jest before election, him and the Colonel I mean, and fine looking men they are; you look like your brother, ma'am."

Mrs. Wendover smiled at this adroit piece of flattery, and turning to the girl she said:

"Take Mr. Brown's coat and hat, Myrtle, he'll stay with a day or two I hope, for father will have so much to talk about, more than he can think of all at once."

"Thanks, ma'am, you are only too kind," said Brown, as he handed the girl his hat and then proceeded to divest himself of his overcoat. "Not so cold as farther north," he continued, "but cold enough to make the fire very pleasant," glancing at the glowing grate.

"It has been quite pleasant this afternoon," remarked Mrs. Wendover.

"Yes, it looked so bright I coaxed Myrtle to take me out upon the porch awhile, but I didn't stay long, it looked pleasanter than it was," added the Major.

"Why Myrtle," said Mrs. Wendover reproachfully.

"Indeed, ma'am, I wrapped him up so well he couldn't have taken cold had he tried," then, shaking her finger at the old gentleman, "if you tell tales and get me scolded I shall not take you out again."

There was a general smile at this and then Mrs. Wendover said: "Come, Myrtle, we will leave father and Mr. Brown to visit till tea is ready."

Left alone with the stranger, the old man turned his eyes eagerly toward him.

"Well, now," said Brown, "I'm real glad I stopped, you all seem so homelike and kind; but I have so menny thing to say I don't know jest where to begin; do you remember Elias Frost?"

"Remember him, I guess I do! Ely we used to call him, he's just six months older than I am; is he smart yet?"

"As smart as a cricket, sir; I tell you sir, those old Varmonters are a mighty tough set."

"That they are, Mr. Brown. I consider myself good for several years yet; as I told you, I shall get better of this lameness when warm weather comes."

"I hope you will sir, but rheumatiz is a mighty bad thing to stick. I've a fust rate medicin for't to hum, and I'll send you the resate for't when I get there."

"Thanks, so Eli stays right there on the old place does he?" continued the Major, more anxious to hear about his old friends than to talk of recipes for rheumatism.

"Yes, sir; he, his children, and his grandchildren with their families all live within a day's drive of one another, all but one son; he went west."

"Which one?"

"The youngest; his mother got terribly restless before he was born and kept teasing Elias to sell out and go somewhere else. She said she was tired of always living in one place, and they do say she marked that boy for he never would stay at home."

"His mother was Myra Sherwood, and a smart girl she was; is she living yet?"

"Laws, no. She kind a drooped after Eli was born, they called him in part for his father, and before he was a year old she died. The old man has been married twice since."

"Well, what of the young Eli, the boy who went west, Mr. Brown?"

"I think it was Iowa, sir, where he went, and he made his fortune; he's worth more than all the others now."

"Bought land I suppose; there's nothing like land to make one rich, Mr. Brown. I could take half a million dollars for what I got for a mere song forty years ago."

"Half a million! whew, but you are rich, and not a bit proud either," said Brown, looking admiringly upon the old man lying there so helpless in his invalid chair.

"I've enough to last me and leave my children rich," was the smiling reply.

"If I was you, Major, I'd have my son run for Guvner or President, you're rich enough."

"You don't suppose I'd spend my money to buy votes, Mr. Brown!"

"No; you wouldn't have to, sir. The folks who don't get rich look up to the ones who do. People'll vote for a rich man quicker'n they will for a poor man."

"The most of people are fools anyhow, but what about young Frost, how did he manage?" said the old man impatiently for he did not quite relish Brown's remarks about rich men and voting.

"Oh, he went west when land was cheap, and for years worked very hard. They do say his children had to stay away from school winters because he couldn't get'm shoes, but about ten years ago a railroad was built along the longest way of his three-hundred and twenty acres of land, and a depot right across the track"——

"And that made it valuable, of course! Well, well, he was luckey! That pays him for all his trouble, Mr. Brown. His children when they handle his money, will not care if they did have to go barefoot in winter."

"Yes sir, but suppose the railroad hadn't come there, what then?"

"He would have had his land all the same, and sure to grow valuable as the country grew older; I am so glad you stopped Mr. Brown, it does me so much good to see one who has been back among those hills; you have relatives there I think you said."

"Not exactly relatives, but all I have ever known. My father was accidentally killed and it gave my mother such a shock that she died when I was born, which was about a week after, and a young married couple living near took me and brought me up as their own."

"How fortunate for you, and they live there yet?"

"Father lives there with one of his sons, mother died several years ago. That is, father lives on the opposite side of the mountain, but one of his daughters lives in Granlock and when I visited her I got acquainted with your folks, as she married a grandson of one of your cousins.

"We are somewhat connected, Mr. Brown, said the Major, with a laugh.

"Don't mention it, Mr. Boyle, I wouldn't presume to count on so small a thing; but its a long road around and over the mountain, and where I first landed I finished my visit before going anywhere else."

"At what point on the other side of the mountain did you go, Mr. Brown?"

"Oh, please, call me Jed, Mr. Boyle; that has been my name ever since I was knee high to a hop toad, and it sounds nateral. Then, I've been mistered so much up there among the folks that I've got kind o'tired on't; what point did you say? Its not a point but a nice little village called Fairview."

"Did you hear of any one there by the name of——"

"Tea is ready, Mr. Brown; father, shall I wheel you out so you can eat with your friend, or shall I bring yours here?"

"Send Myrtle in with enough for both of us, Sarah; I shall like that better."

"Very well."

"Who was it you was asking about, sir?" said Brown as soon as Mrs. Wendover had gone to give the order for their suppers.

"Who was I asking about, oh, I remember now, did you hear of any one by the name of Shelton?"

"Shelton, Shelton, I've heard that name somewhere, Shelton," he stopped, scratched his head, shook it, "no, I can't think where, but 'twill come to me, sir; sure to, for it kind o' haunts me, and when a thing haunts me I allers get it in the end."

"Well, never mind, here comes the supper; we can discuss that awhile."

"Discuss it?" said Brown, looking up with a puzzled air.

"Yes, with our teeth."

"Oh, you mean eat it; well, I'm agreeable for I am a leetle hungry, but ai'nt it wonderful how nateral they can make teeth look; now yours, sir, look just as if they growed."

"Yes, they are the best that could be had, but they are not like one's own. I didn't want them, but Sarah would have me get them and now I am used to them I find they are much better than none."

And so they chatted on, the octogenarian and and the younger man, both seeming as pleased as children, and when the others returned from the dining room they had not more than half finished their suppers.

"I think you two must enjoy talking more than you do eating," remarked Mrs. Wendover.

"Oh, no, ma'am, the vittles is extra, but then the old gent has so many things to ask about and it does him so much good, I like to tell him all I can. We don't get any too much happiness in our lives, ma'am, and its a pity to let any of it slip."

The only response to this was a smile, and the rest of their meal was eaten in silence.

There was no more talk about "folks in Varmont" that night but Brown staid on day after day, spending a portion of his time with the invalid and the balance out of doors looking over the place. His quaint ways, his genuine good sense and his unfailing good nature made him liked by them all, and when he talked about leaving, the old gentleman would beg so hard for him to stay longer, Jed would say:

"Well, I'll stay jest another day." Finally he said:

"Look here, folks: I've nothing in perticiler to hinder, and if you want me to, I'll go and fix things to hum, and then cum back and stay all winter."

The proposition was agreed to and Jed left promising to be back in "jest a week."

————

CHAPTER III.

PUZZLED CURIOSITY.

"I wonder what has become of Wherefore, I haven't seen him about for some time; do you know where he is, uncle Ed?" said the postmaster to Mr. Russell one day as he met him on the street.

"How should I know?" was the curt reply.

"There's a letter for you at the office; and I thought it looked like John's hand writing; that is why I asked."

"A letter for me, Mr. Garner?"

"Yes, it came last night; it is postmarked Glenwood, have you friends there?"

"Not that I know of, and I shouldn't know Wherefore's handwriting from a sheet of Dutch, but I'll go and get the letter; I suppose I'll know who it's from when I open it."

"Col. Boyle lives near Glenwood, doesn't he?"

"Somewhere up that way, I never asked where, but what has that to do with my letter?"

"I don't know as anything, Mr. Russell, but as John is always looking into the wherefore of things, I didn't know but he had found out the wherefore of you and the Col. looking so much alike."

"If he has I know nothing of it," replied Russell a little impatiently.

The postmaster passed on without further remark, and Russell, as he looked after him, muttered: "Mighty inquisitive: I wonder what business it is of his where John goes or what he does," and then, "I hadn't thought of such a thing but it would be just like John—I'll go and get the letter and see what that says."

In pursuance of this thought he turned and walked toward the postoffice, but as he did so the thought of the postmaster's inquisitiveness continued to annoy him. "I wonder if he would dare question squire Golder about his letters," he said to himself, "not much he wouldn't, but us, poor devils, it makes no difference; well, I didn't tell him anything, wouldn't if I could, and as it happens, I couldn't."

Thus talking to himself, and almost audibly, he passed the postoffice before he was aware of it and had to retrace his steps. Presently Garner's son, who staid in the office while his father went to dinner, was startled out of a whispered consultation with another boy by hearing some one say,

"The letter for Edward Russell, if you please."

"Edward Russell, I don't think there's one for that name," replied the boy.

Russell's eyes flashed. "You don't think; its your business to look."

"Easy, easy now, old man, if such a letter had come I should remember it."

"Very well, I will wait till your father comes and see if he has lied to me, young sir."

"Oh, did my father tell you there was one? well, perhaps I am mistaken," said the now alarmed boy, as he hurriedly ran over the R's, anxious that Russell should leave before his father returned.

"Yes, here is a letter, I am sorry I did not look at first."

Russell took it, cast a contemptuous look at the now crestfallen lad, and walked out.

"Zounds, who'd a thought of old Russell's getting a letter, but I'd like to have a peep inside of it though," said the young hopeful, to his companion, and then: "Willie, you must go outside now, father will be here presently."

Meanwhile, Russell was hurrying home, and not once did he look at the missive he held tightly in his hand. Even when he reached home he proceeded to lock the door before he opened his letter. He could not have told himself why he did so, but he felt somehow as though his destiny was wrapped up in it, and that he must not let it slip from him.

Alice looked on in wonder, but she said nothing. She had learned that what her grandfather wished her to know, he would tell her, and if he did not, it was of no use to question him. He read the letter carefully; laid it down upon his knee, thought awhile; took it up and read it again, examined the check for fifty dollars that it contained, to see if it was all right, and finally said to the wondering girl:

"Alice would you like to take a ride on the cars?"

"I should like it so much, grandfather, but I have no good dress."

"We'll see about that, child; how long will it take you to get ready?"

"If I had the cloth, and Hannah Freed to help me, not more than two days, perhaps in a day and a half.

"You will want some other things too," he said, glancing down at her patched shoes, "we will get what is needed this afternoon, and get ready as soon as we can; I suppose I shall have to get some new things too."

"Oh, grandfather, you will look so nice if you have some good clothes!" exclaimed Alice, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

"I suppose I should look as well as most of men, if this accursed rheumatism would let go so I could straighten up as I once was," he replied in an indifferent tone, but it did not need a very close observer to see that he was pleased by the remark.

"But you have not said where we are going," continued Alice.

"I have a friend who wants me to visit Glenwood, and he says I must take you with me."

"Oh, I'm so glad, but I must get you some dinner before we go out," and suiting the action to the word, she started to her feet——

"Hush, child, and step back out of sight."

His quick eye had caught sight of some one passing the back window. He thrust the letter into his pocket with one hand and unlocked the door with the other leaving it to swing open just a little, as Frederick Golder and Richard Lawrence came around the corner of the house.

"How do you do, grandpap," said Golder, "I presume you have forgotten the little rascal who used to steal your watermelons, but I haven't forgotten you. I have been away to school and have not been back long, but thought I must come around and confess my naughtiness; this is my friend, Mr. Lawrence."

The old man looked at the young man, but did not speak and Golder, thinking that his boyish pranks were neither forgiven nor forgotten, continued:

"Indeed grandpap, I am sorry I used to plague you so" then, catching a glimpse of Alice, he added, "I heard you had a granddaughter come to live with you"—the next minute his face turned scarlet. He had recognized in Alice the girl who had been the object of their comments on the day of the speaking.

"Alice, leave the room," said the old man with startling emphasis, then confronting the young men with blazing eyes, he said:

"My name is Russell, gentlemen, and my grandchild is no daisy for such as you; leave my place, and never show your faces here again."

"Come," said Lawrence, "don't stop to parley with the old fool, We have honored him too much already."

Russell paid no attention to this remark, but kept his finger pointed toward the street, to which they hastened without further words. He then called Alice and bade her look after them.

"I want you to remember them as persons with whom you must never be friendly," he said.

Alice had put the door between herself and those from whose presence she had so peremptorily been sent, but she had heard every word. She went quickly to the window, when her grandfather called her, and as she looked out Lawrence looked back. She had a fair view of his face and she never forgot the look of hate and defiance, that changed quickly to a smile that was like triumph as he saw her looking after him.

"That's the one who needs the most watching," said Russell, as he saw the young man look back.

She looked up at him with an expression which said: "What does it all mean?" but she did not speak. He hesitated a little and then said: "Yes, I will tell you; you are old enough to understand."

He then related what Wherefore had overheard at the hotel on the day of the political speech making, and also what he had heard after they went to the public square.

"And remember, child, it was not for honorable marriage that he planned to win you, but as 'game;' as a plaything to pet till tired of you, and then to cast you aside as a degraded thing that any wretch could claim and abuse. My God! I would rather kill you with my own hands than have you live for such a fate!"

Alice listened wonderingly, till the meaning of what he was saying began to dawn upon her; then both neck and face became flooded with the blood that indignant and outraged modesty sent leaping through her veins, and when he concluded as he did, she fairly screamed with terror, she had become so agitated, and it took some minutes to quiet her.

————

"That's some of Wildermere's doings," said Lawrence, when once fairly away from the house.

"Together with what you said to me when he and Russell sat behind us; we should be careful of our words when in a crowd," replied Golder.

"What I said, what did I say?"

"You said you didn't see my daisy there, and we had some further talk, I don't remember it all."

"Did you know she was old Russell's granddaughter, Fred."

"Not till to-day, Dick, but Wherefore heard what we said at the hotel, and of course, told the old man, then when he saw us afterward, could point us out to him."

"D—n it, Fred, you give a fellow cold comfort, and when I cross Wildermere's track, luck seems to be against me; but it's a long road that has no turn. Did you see the girl looking after us? I'll win her yet."

"Looked after us, did she? What for do you suppose?"

"Why, girlish curiosity of course, and admiration for our fine forms."

"Don't be a fool, Dick, that was the old man's doings."

"The old man's doings, what do you mean?"

"He wants her to remember us; I have no doubt he is telling her the whole story now."

"Well, I bide my time," said Lawrence sullenly, and then they walked on in silence for a time. Presently Lawrence broke out with:

"His name was Russell, of course it was. Grandpap was too familiar; we're getting big, we are, I tell you Fred if we don't hang a few of those communists and other agitators, no gentlemen will be able to live in this country."

"We must emigrate, then, for hanging will make the matter worse," was Golder's quiet reply, and Lawrence again relapsed into silence.

————

The little town of Mandaville was in a fever of excitement when it became known that old man Russell had had a letter, that he had had a fifty dollar check cashed, and that he and Alice were going away, but all attempts to fathom the mystery were vain. John G. Saxe says:

"Where'er six chimney stacks go up
Contiguous to a steeple,
Are those who can't associate,
With common country people."

Mandaville had more chimney stacks than that, but not a great many more—that is, Mandaville proper had not. Golder's men lived at the mills, but they were nearly a mile away, besides, they were new comers and felt no interest in the curiosity and gossip which stirred the village.

True, Mandaville boasted a bank, but then it was the center of a farming community which had only stage connection with the railroad, so a bank was a sort of necessity. And as bankers do not object to taking farm mortgages as security on the money they like to lend, so one or more would be likely to gravitate to a place of the kind, Then there was the hotel on one side of the public square; and on the other side were stores, groceries, a blacksmith shop, and saloons enough to meet the demand of the community.

There was also the inevitable lawyer, and the real estate agent, who, together with the banker, the landlord, the merchants and the minister, yes and the school teacher, these with their families, were the aristocracy.

These did not stoop to trouble their heads about "old Russell's" affairs. But the about three dozen families of common people, were for weeks nearly bursting with curiosity. And what added fuel to the flame was the fact that Wherefore came back the same day that Russell left.

They had gotten the idea from the postmaster (he in this case, was a connecting link between the aristocracy and the common people) that Wherefore was in some way connected with that letter, and that it was to him that Alice and her grandfather were going, but John's coming home as he did upset their calculations, and they were at a loss what to think.

They were doomed to wait the slow march of events however, for all attempts, as before said, to fathom the mystery proved entirely fruitless. John Wherefore showed no disposition to solve their why's and wherefores, if he did follow up his own with such pertinacity. They felt very sure that he knew if any one did, but whether he knew or not, they could not learn from anything that he said, and they finally gave it up.

There was one thing, however, that was rather strange. When the time came that everybody knew what it all meant nearly everybody said: "I thought it was something of that kind." It seemed that they had been very successful, however, in keeping their thoughts to themselves.

————

CHAPTER IV.

HIDDEN THINGS REVEALED.

One day, about a week after Brown's return from going home "to fix up things" as he sat talking with the Major, he started up with:

"Oh, I remember now where I heard the name, Shelton. I knew I should get it; it was in a story the man who married my youngest sister, told me; it was about his grandmother."

"What about her?" asked the Major, in an interested tone.

"It's a pretty tough story, sir, and as it's about none of your folks, I shouldn't think you'd care to hear it; howsomever, I'll tell it if you want me to."

"Tough, how, what do you mean?"

"Why, the fellow was such a deceivin, wicked cuss."

"In what way?"

"Well, you see, Bob Renshaw's grandmother's name was Bond, Cora Bond——"

"Cora what!" exclaimed the old man, in a tone that startled Jed.

"Cora Bond, but what's the matter, is the rheumatiz a yankin at your foot? you look pale."

"I am in some pain, but go on, please."

"Well, as I was going to say, Cora was one of the purtiest girls in the whole county, and more'n one fellow wanted her; but there came to the place a man by the name of Shelton, Edward Shelton, I think his name was——"

The old man groaned, and Brown said, "your foot must be hurtin you bad, I guess I'd better wait till another time."

"No, go on, it will be better soon."

"Well about this man, Shelton, after he came, Cora wouldn't look at any of the others. She seemed to have eyes for no one but him. Her folks were kind 'o set agin him because he was a stranger—told her he might be calling himself by a wrong name for all she knew—that such things had been done—that she didn't know but he might turn out to be a thief, or a gambler, but it was all of no use, she would marry him. It was a real, bonafide marriage too, no mistake about that. He seemed to think the world an all of her, and stayed with her till about a month before her boy was born, and then claimed to be called home to see his father. He never came back."

"But she heard from him," said the old man in a tone of voice that made Jed again propose to wait "till that durn foot got better."

"Didn't she hear from him?" persisted the Major, paying no attention to Jed's proposition.

"Never a word. She got a slip cut from some newspaper, saying he was dead, but some of the folks east of the mountains saw him after that; it was in a crowd of people. They didn't get to speak to him; but they knew him; and by inquiring, found that the woman who was with him was his wife, and would you believe it, he was going by another name. Mebbe it wa'n't him at all, that the papers meant, but some other man by the name of Shelton."

As the old man remained silent, Brown added: "I fear I have tired you, sir."

"No, I was thinking," he replied, trying to speak naturally, but his face was drawn and haggard. Presently he asked: "Wasn't one of the young men who wanted Miss Bond a printer?"

"Cora, do you mean?"

"Yes, of course."

"I don't know, perhaps."

"It must have been so, I can't see any other way."

"You can't see?" said Brown, inquiringly.

"I can't see how the news of Shelton's death could have got into print in any other way, for there has been either a terrible mistake or a willful lie somewhere. I wonder if the report of her death was false too?"

"No, she didn't die, but she came mighty near it; she had a cousin that did, though: there were two of those fellows, cousins they called themselves, but what—do you know anything about it, sir?"

The old man did not reply immediately but he seemed to be considering the matter. At last he said: "I knew Edward Shelton."

"You did!" exclaimed Brown "and his cousin too?"

"Yes, I knew them both. Shelton was not their true name but Edward never meant to deceive Cora——"

"Why then did he marry her under a false name?" interrupted Jed.

"Because he did not know when he could resume his own if ever. He had been accused of a crime of which he was not guilty, and he was waiting till the real criminal could be discovered."

"But he ought to have told his wife, sir!"

"Perhaps he had, but a man shrinks from being known as a suspected criminal by the woman he loves, even though she believes him innocent."

"Well I suppose it's nateral, was the other one accused too?"

"No, he only went for company, and he married Cora's cousin Corrinne, Crinne she was called for short, but he got killed, poor fellow."

"Well, I can't quite understand how that printer, if there was a printer who loved Miss Cora—I can't understand how he could deceive her so, in the way of a newspaper slip."

"Well, there was a printer whose name was Russell, but Ed thought it was Crinne he wanted; Ed received a printed slip too, telling him Cora was dead."

"Did he, Major? but you don't tell how the printer could have fixed it."

"He could set it up in type just what he wanted to say, print it on a proof press, and then send a copy to him and one to her."

"Jerusalem, who'd a thought it!"

"It must have been done that way, for the people there would know if their paper published a false report, and I know that Edward Shelton loved his wife, for the news nearly killed him."

"Strange," muttered Brown, half to himself.

"What is strange? Jed."

"The whole thing seems strange, sir."

"Yes, but you had some particular thing in your mind." persisted the Major.

"Did Shelton get that letter, the one with the printed slip in it, was it directed to him in his own name or as Shelton?"

"It was directed to him in his own name, and that is what made him think she got the letter he sent her."

"So he told her what his name was did he?" said Jed.

"Yes, when his name was cleared, which was just before he got home."

"That printer must have stolen his letter then, Major Boyle."

"That must have been the way, for Ed wrote to his wife as soon as he reached his home and told her all about it, and that as soon as he could leave his father, he would go to her again, so when he got the slip telling of her death, he supposed it was sent by one of the family, and that in time they would write and give him the particulars."

"And they never did because she did not die, Major."

"It seems so."

"I should have thought Shelton would have gone there again any how, and found out whether his child lived or died," said Brown, musingly.

"When he heard nothing further, he believed himself repudiated by the family, and he shrank from crowding himself on them, he believed too that the child would be better with its mother's people than with any one else."

"Mebbe he was right in that, shouldn't wonder if he was, but what became of him, Mr. Boyle, is he living yet?"

"He married again, and left there a great many years ago." The Major now sank back upon his pillow as if weary, and Brown turned to the window and watched the passers by. Presently Boyle started up and said:

"That man who married your adopted sister—his father must have been Shelton's son."

"No sir, he was the son of her second marriage."

"She married again, did she," said the old man in an irritated tone.

"Yes, why not? did you not say that Shelton married again?"

"True, he did, and she had the same right; Renshaw I think you said his name was; I ought to have known he couldn't be Shelton's grandson. Do you know what became of Shelton's boy?"

"Soon after her marriage with Renshaw, Russell, who had tried to get her and failed, disappeared, and two days afterward, the child was missing, and neither of them have been heard from since. Russell had been heard to vow revenge, and he no doubt stole the boy."

"The audacious villain, I would like to strangle him," exclaimed the old man, starting up and clasping his hands together in a convulsive grip.

"It was a villainous trick and hanging would have been too good for him; but you take it too much to heart, sir, such things will happen, and we can't help it."

"Too much to heart! if——" he closed his lips tightly and said no more.

Brown waited awhile and then said; "I know a man down at Mandaville by the name of Russell, a man about sixty years of age, yes, I think I heard he was sixty last August. It can't be possible that he is Shelton's boy, can it? Russell would be likely to call the boy by his own name, wouldn't he, Mr. Boyle?"

"It may be," replied the Major in a trembling voice, but there was an eager, hungry look upon his face like that of a famished man who smells food, and then: "Mr. Brown, can I trust you?"

"Trust me! you don't think I'd steal?"

"No, no, that is not what I mean, can I trust you with a secret?"

"Try me, sir."

"Yes, I think I can; I am Edward Shelton."

"You sir!"

"I am, and I would give half my fortune to find my boy. Neither the Col. nor Sarah have the least idea that——"

Brown held up a warning finger. He had caught the sound of approaching footsteps. The next minute Judge Wendover entered the room and taking a seat near Brown said; "I haven't seen much of father lately, so I thought I would come and visit a little, how are you getting along, both of you?"

"Oh, I'm always well," replied Jed, "the old gentleman there can speak for himself."

"I am as well, yes, better than I was last winter at this time," replied the Major.

"I am glad to hear it; I wish it was warm enough for you to be out; it must be so tiresome to stay in one's room all the time."

"It is, Judge, but Mr. Brown here, or Jed, as he insists upon my calling him, is such good company, that I don't mind it as much as I did before he came."

The Judge looked approvingly at "Jed" and sat talking nearly an hour, his father-in-law wishing every minute that he would leave. Judge Wendover was a man who read character pretty well when he undertook to do so, and he kept an eye on Jed, while talking with the old gentleman. He had been absent most of the time since Brown came, and had paid but little attention to "father's chum," as he called Jed; but to-day he thought he would look the man over a little. Brown was conscious of being watched, and played his part well, but the Judge was not wholly satisfied.

"I hope you will not be sorry for taking Brown in, but I'm no judge of physiognomy, or he is not what he seems." he said to his wife afterward.

When Wendover left the room, Jed waited till he was out of hearing, and then stepping close to the Major's chair, he said: "Be careful what you say, and when you say it; that son-in-law of yours is on the watch."

"Oh, if I could only know if that was my boy!" was the reply.

"Well, Major Boyle, I believe you are right, and now I have a secret to tell. I am not Jedediah Brown, but Henry Morse, the detective, and I have been making it my business to look this matter up. There is not the least doubt in my mind, but Edward Russell, as he is called, is your son, and the evidence is nearly or quite complete by which it can be proven that he is."

"What, how!" and again the old gentleman sat erect.

"Don't get excited, sir; if ever you had reason to keep clear headed and cool, it is now."

"But who set you to looking this matter up? Does he suspect who he is?"

"No, he knows nothing of it. There is a man in Mandaville whom the people have nicknamed Wherefore; his true name is Wildermere. He is thought to be poor, but he is not, and when anything puzzles him, or seems mysterious, he never stops till he has searched it out. On the day of which I have spoken, I was sitting near the platform watching some suspicious characters and heard the Col. ask: 'Who is that man?' and following his eye, I saw his almost exact image making his way through the crowd. I had never seen the man before, but I knew Wherefore. As we were leaving the ground, Wherefore said: 'Come and see me to-night, Morse, I want you,' so I went. 'There is a reason for those two men looking so alike,' he said, 'and I want you Morse, to look the matter up, for I want to know the wherefore of it.' Because he uses the word, 'wherefore,' so much and in so odd a way, people have taken to calling him that."

"And you've been at work on the case ever since?" questioned the Major.

"Yes, sir; Wherefore and I talked till after midnight. The next day I happened around at Russells and learned all I could there then Wherefore came here to Glennwood, and I went to Vermont as soon as he found out where you were from and sent me word. He is here now at the hotel and registered as J. Wildermere from New York City."

"And you think the proof complete that this Russell is my son?"

"As complete as it can be till"—he paused, and the old man asked; "Till what?"

"Till I find a link of which we will not speak now."

"And must I wait till you find it?"

"No, I will see Wildermere to-night, and he will write to Russell, but Major Boyle, Mr. Russell is poor and will need some money to make himself presentable."

"Please bring me that little tin box on the secretary, Jed," said the Major with a smile.

Morse laughed at hearing the Major call him Jed, as before, but did as he requested. The Major took a key from his neck, unlocked the box, touched a spring and opened a secret drawer. From this he took some bank checks, filled out one and handed it to the detective. "And now," said he, "the Col. and Sarah must know about this."

"Not yet," replied Brown, or Morse, "don't say a word yet; there are several things to be done first."

"But how long must I wait? if he comes from Mandaville right away, I shall want to see him right away."

"Yes, but we must move cautiously; your children here will not want to give up their inheritance."

"Give up their inheritance? why should they do that? I surely have enough for them all."

"Why don't you see, Major, if this man proves to be your son, and you should die without a will, he inherits everything."

"I don't see how that can be, Jed."

"You had a living wife when you married the mother of these children, and the law makes them illegitimate," replied Morse, with a slow and emphatic intonation.

"Illegitimate, my God! I never thought of that! The one who so deceived me deserved hanging; but I can make a will."

"Yes, you can, and it ought to be done immediately;"

"Why, Mr. Brown—I mean——"

"No, don't change it; call me just what you have been calling me, Major Boyle."

"But what difference can a few days make?"

"It might make all the difference; you are not so young as you once were, and there will be a good deal of excitement connected with this matter. We hope and believe that you may live years yet, but we may overrate your strength; it is best to be on the safe side."

"Perhaps it is," said the Major, slowly as if unwilling to admit the possibility that an immediate will would provide against. He was going to add something more, but Morse held up a warning finger, then turned and stepped to the window, and when Mrs. Wendovor entered the room he stood looking out upon the street.

————

CHAPTER V.

A HALF BROKEN LINK.

"Work well done is twice done.
Work half done, is not done at all."

The Emancipation Proclamation only half did its work. The law links which makes the child follow the condition of the mother, were only half broken. But the following story, a heart history linked with other heart histories, will illustrate the above better than mere assertion can do it, and logic is sometimes tiresome.

When Henry Lawrence, the father of Richard Lawrence, married the beautiful heiress, Helen DeLand, he was the envied of his circle of gentleman acquaintance. Mr. DeLand, her father, was a French gentleman of wealth. His daughter had from childhood, attended the best schools in France. When her education was finished, including English as well as other tongues, she desired to visit the new world and her indulgent and only living parent was ready to grant her request. So they came to New York, and bringing letters of introduction to several good families, they went at once into society.

The dark beauty became the rage. The tint of cheek, as it blended with the rich young blood was pronounced perfect, and the sons of the best, as well as of the richest families were ready to offer hand and fortune. Henry Lawrence was the favored one. Mr. DeLand talked of going south on business, but when he saw how matters were shaping, he waited till Henry and Helen were declared lovers; and then when the marriage was set for the October following he decided to remain till after the wedding. He said:

"I shall feel better to leave her in a home of her own. True, I have a sister in the South to whom I might take Helen and let Henry go for her, but my sister is so bitterly opposed to my anti-slavery views it wouldn't be pleasant."

"You have been in the South before." said the elder Lawrence in reply.

"Yes, Helen was born near Savannah but when her mother died I took her and went back to France. I have a large tract of land there that I must look after; it will a fine property for Helen's children."

"How is it that you and your sister differ so on the slavery question," continued Mr. Lawrence.

DeLand shrugged his shoulders. "Personal interest is a powerful factor in moulding belief," he replied, "and when I tell you that her husband was a slave owner, it will not seem so strange. I never owned but one and I bought her to save her from a worse fate."

After making this statement nothing was needed to make the DeLands popular with those who were trying to break the law-links which held human beings in bondage, while the readiness with which Mr. DeLand gave his money to aid them in their work, added to the esteem in which he was held.

That which is here related occurred just before the Emancipation Proclamation made the slaves free, and of course, the anti-slavery sentiment was at its height. As Mr. DeLand decided not to go south till after his daughter's marriage, they with Henry Lawrence and a dozen others, mostly members of the Lawrence family, went rusticating among the hills of New England, thus escaping the heat of the summer months in the city.

They had ample time for their trip and returned about the time the bride's trousseau came from Paris. His daughter married, a fine residence secured and furnished ready for the young couple's occupancy on their return from their wedding tour, then Mr. DeLand was ready for his southern trip.

He did call on his sister and she invited him to stay to dinner, but when she asked him if he had gotten over his fanatical abolition ideas, he replied: "No, Maria, I have not and I never shall."

"I'd be consistent, then, and give up the property that was made by the sale of slaves," she retorted.

"To whom shall I give it up?" he asked. "The slaves that were sold cannot be bought back; if they could, I would buy them and set them free, and it is not my fault that uncle willed his property to me. Had you not married wealth I should have divided with you, but——"

"I married a man who had wealth but not the wealth, sir."

"I stand corrected," he said with a smile that seemed to exasperate the woman, and she snapped out:

"If the property had been in slaves instead of in land and money, you would have talked differently; what have you done with"——

"That will do, Maria."

The woman saw a look in her brother's face that made her decide to say no more in that line.

From the date of his daughter's marriage till his death, Mr. DeLand divided his time between his daughter's home and France, with an occasional trip south, but though calling upon them when there, he held no correspondence with his relatives, and they knew of his whereabouts only as they saw him.

A few days after Richard Lawrence had been so summarily dismissed from Russell's, he was summoned home because of his grandfather's serious illness, an illness that ended in death some three months later. Once during the time the conversation turned upon making wills, when the sick man remarked "I do not need to make a will now."

"No need to make a will now, what did father mean?" repeated Mrs. Lawrence to herself as she thought of it afterward.

The next day she asked him why there had ever been any need for a will. "I didn't say there ever was," he replied evasively, kissing her fondly as she bent over him to adjust the covering. She said no more but she could not forget; the words seemed to haunt her.

About a month after Mr. DeLand's death an agent was sent to Georgia to take possession of the estate in the name of his daughter and only child. What was the gentleman's surprise when he was coolly told by Mrs. Marston, Mr. DeLand's sister, that if there was no will she was the next kin and heir.

"You, madam, the next kin when he left a daughter!"

"He had no daughter that the law recognizes," was the rejoinder.

"But, but"——

He was interupted with: "An illegitimate child can't inherit property from the father. My brother loved the niggers so much I have no doubt he'd a married her mother but the law did not allow that. The girl was born a slave, and but for the so-called proclamation that robbed us poor, she too would have belonged to us."

"Then that proclamation only half did its work; children thus recognized by the father should have been made legitimate," exclaimed the man indignantly, as he looked at the hard, unlady like woman before him and thought of Mrs. Lawrence.

"Indeed, and then finished up by making us servants," sneered Mrs. Marston. The emancipacion act had freed their negroes, thus leaving them poor and she felt very bitter toward the Northerners, so she was not very choice in her language.

"You people love niggers, so it is no trouble for you to make associates of them but that wench hadn't better come here to push her claim," she continued.

"She wouldn't lower herself enough to claim relationship with you," was what he came very near saying in reply, but instead, he shut his lips tightly and turned away. "I bid you good day, madam," he managed to say as he left.

Mrs. Marston gave a triumphant little laugh as the door closed behind him, then turning to her husband who had stood just out of sight in the next room, she said:

"We shall not hear from him again."

"You managed better than I could have done, Maria, but he'll not take your word for it, he'll make further inquiry," he replied.

"Let him inquire, the more the better; he will only find that I have told him the truth."

That night, learning that Mrs. Marston had indeed told him the truth, the agent wrote Henry Lawrence the facts of the case. The letter was delivered at the up town office on Saturday evening just as Mr. Lawrence was shutting up to go home. He was going earlier than usual because of an entertainment to which he proposed to take his family that evening, so he thrust the letter into his pocket without opening it. Seeing the postmark he knew who it was from, and thought he would give it to his wife to read first.

Richard was in his mother's room when he reached home, but the other children were in another part of the house. He tossed the letter into her lap with:

"This is from Ford, read it Helen, and see what he says," then stepped into another room.

Mrs. Lawrence picked up the letter, opened it and began to read. Richard was looking at his mother as she did so, and presently he saw a frightened expression come over her face.

"What is it, mother, let me see," reaching to take the letter from her hands, but she held on to it and continued to read; the next minute she fell back in a dead faint.

The word "father" spoken sharply brought Mr. Lawrence to his wife's side while Richard picked up the letter and thrust it into his pocket. Mrs. Lawrence went from one fainting fit into another till exhausted nature could bear no more and she sank into a restless slumber. Richard, who had managed to read the letter, now handed it to his father.

Mr. DeLand had indeed educated with all the love and care that his heart could bestow the child of his slave, his child and hers. He was a careless bachelor when he first saw Helen's mother, a beautful girl and the child of an octaroon by a white father; but her mother was a slave and the child follows the condition of the mother. She was to be sold in order that an estate might be settled, and what was left after the debts were paid, given to the heirs. A very high price was set upon her, and if she would not bring it at private sale, she must go upon the auction block. DeLand had just inherited by will, a large fortune from an uncle. The girl pleased him, and feeling rich enough to buy her, he did so.

She was his slave; she had no right to resist his will, and she soon learned to love him as he did her. He had serious thoughts of giving her free papers, as he did not believe slavery was right, but he also had an innate dislike to the idea of one person conferring freedom upon another. He felt that Isadore was by the law of nature, as free as he was, and he chafed under the chain that made it necessary to give her what was rightfully her own.

He finally decided that he would go to France in time to be there when her child was born, but she fell sick and was unable to travel, and she died a few weeks after Helen was born. As soon as she was buried, the bereaved man took his child and its nurse and went back to his native land, and he afterwards regretted that he had not embalmed Isadoras body and taken that also, that he might have had the satisfaction of knowing that it rested in free soil.

When after many years, he brought Helen back to this country, he was careful not to take her south, nor to let any one know if she were living or dead. He sometimes thought of making a will, but his natural dislike to the forms of law led him to defer it from time to time. When slavery was abolished he knew that that act had broken the link which made her a slave, and she was his child; why then should the law step in and say that she could not have what was his unless he willed it to her.

So things went on till about three months before his last sickness; then the fact of Helen's illegitimacy under man-made statute came upon him so forcibly that he made a will but the family knew nothing of it, for he knew it would seem strange to them that he should make a will at all, so he kept it a secret from all but his lawyer and the witnesses. The lawyer was not in the city at the time of his death and did not return till after Ford's unlucky trip south.

When he did return the will was produced, and Mrs. Marston found that she was not the heir, but she vented her spite by making it known, among Helen's friends that she had "nigger blood" in her veins.

When Richard Lawrence went to his room after reading the letter that seemed to blast his very soul, he felt like cursing everything, and particularly his kind old grandfather. "What business had he to mix his blood with that of an accursed race," he said in his wrath, "and then to hide the fact from my father, and trap him into marriage with the fruit of such a union! I wish I could take his wretched carcass from the grave and kick it."

And thus he raved hour after hour; his father, on the contrary, watched till he saw that his wife was conscious, and then bending over and pressing a kiss upon her lips, said:

"Dear wife, this is terrible for you, but it makes no difference in my love for you, and never will. It matters not what blood may be in your veins, it is yourself that I want and you have not changed."

"Why should father and son feel so differently?" it will be asked.

The law of heredity. Henry Lawrence had no ancestry who had been wronged and degraded till all the bitterness which human hearts are capable of feeling had boiled and fermented in the hearts of the mothers thereof, but his son had. The bitterness was a part of his make up and it needed only the occasion to call it into action. The occasion had come. Not that he had inherited this from his immediate ancestry, but streams often disappear in desert soil, and reappear when least expected.

Mrs. Lawrence was a sensible woman; it was the suddenness of the news coupled with the fact that she had not been strong for a time, which had overcome her. As soon as she recovered from the shock sufficiently to talk the matter over calmly Mr. Lawrence said:

"Let the woman have the land, wife, if she wants it; the money your father had, is deposited in the bank in your name, so they can't touch that."

She drew a deep sigh and laid her head upon his shoulder, as she said:

"Never fear, I shall soon rally from this; I understand many things now that have always seemed strange to me. Poor father, how good and kind he was, but I cannot see why he said there is no need for a will now; a will would certainly have saved this land to us."

"Did he say that?"

"He did, not a week before he died."

Mr. Lawrence thought a moment: "No need of a will now," he repeated, "it is possible, wife, that he had made a will; I will see Mr. Hawksley when he returns and ask him. Hawksley always did his business and will know if there is one."

"Is Hawksley out of the city?" she asked.

"He is, has been ever since before your father was taken sick, but he is expected home any day now."

Even while he was speaking, the bell rang and in a few moments Mr. Hawksley was announced. He had brought the will. When Hawksley left, Lawrence and his wife commenced talking of chattel slavery.

"Father was always opposed to it," she said, "I can remember hearing him, when I was very young, calling it a cursed institution."

"And well he might call it so, my dear, for if slavery had not been abolished, and he had failed to give you your free papers, you would now be a slave."

"Oh, Henry!"

"True," continued Mr. Lawrence, "his bringing you into a free state would have freed you, had you known who your mother was, and claimed your freedom; but not knowing, you could easily have been induced to go to Georgia on business connected with that land, and once there nothing could have saved you."

"And that is law!" she said as a shudder ran through her frame.

"That is law." he replied.

"Well, I shall never have any respect for law after this."

"Why Helen, you are turning anarchist I fear," he said playfully.

"Anarchist or not it makes no difference; a code in which such a law could be, find a place and remain there till washed out by blood, cannot be a righteous one in any of its parts. Why, such a law would blacken the character of the devil in hell; as to anarchism, I don't know what its advocates teach, but nothing worse than that I am certain; I had much rather be blown to pieces by dynamite than to be a slave."

And so the love between husband and wife remained unbroken; but the knowledge of antecedents tried the "dear five hundred friends" who had been so ready to pay court to the Lawrences. When they learned the facts, a large proportion of them elevated their noses considerably when they happened to meet "the beautiful Mrs. Lawrence," but the better portion of society stood by them because of their real worth.

"It is true," said. Mr. Lawrence when questioned about the report, "and because my wife's father dealt justly by his own child the hatred of those who uphold slavery follows him even to his grave. If they can afford it I can. His doing as he did has given me one of the best of wives and I see no cause for blushing because there happens to be one thirty-second part of black blood in her veins. I would rather it would be half that, than that she were as silly as are many of our society women."

Such was the effect upon the husband, and he and his wife were still respected by those whose respect was worth retaining. The effect upon Richard was quite different, as time too plainly showed.*

————

[*This story has been criticised because I make the grandmother of Mrs. Lawrence an octaroon, the claim being that the two races will not mix beyond that point. This may be generally, but it certainly is not universally true, as there can be evidence brought to show. It is claimed to be a settled fact of physiology that the mule is the limit of the mixing between the horse and the ass but I have in my possession the picture of a mule with her colt taking its nourishment, the property of Mr. Timothy Dyer of Wyoming. The Agriculturist from which this statement is taken, says there are two other well authenticated cases. Coming back to the human, Foote's Monthly gives an account of a case where unmistakable evidence of black blood appeared in a child where both its grandparents and its great grandparents were known, and no hint of such a thing in the looks or manners of any one of them. How far back the mixture began which thus showed itself in the child they had no means of knowing; neither had the mother been thrown in contact with colored people, so it could not have been a mark.]

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CHAPTER VI

LOST AS SOON AS FOUND.

Brown, or Morse, as we may now call him, got no opportunity to speak to the old gentleman again that night, and he, all excited as he was, could not think very clearly.

"What is the matter, father, that you seem so nervous, are you not as well as usual?" asked his daughter.

"I don't know but what I am," he replied, closing his eyes to avoid further questioning.

Morse went out and saw Wildermere, as he had said, and the letter was sent to Russell. "How long before you can get him here?" asked Morse.

"Let me see, this is Monday; the letter will go by to-night's stage, and be distributed the first thing in the morning. If he gets it to-morrow, and I think he will, he will be here on Friday at the latest. he will bring his granddaughter with him, and it will take them a day or two to get ready," said Wildermere in reply.

"I wish he could come sooner," said Morse impatiently. "The Major is in such a state of excitement, I fear his taking off before this business is finished."

The next day there was little opportunity to talk as some one of the family was in the room nearly all the time, or lingering around so near that conversation not intended for other ears was impossible. The Major was so restless that his daughter tried two or three times to learn the cause–tried till he grew impatient and wished he "could have a minute's peace," but soon after, as if to atone for having spoken crossly, he said:

"To-morrow is your birtnday, isn't it, Sarah?"

"Yes sir, to-morrow will be my fifty-fourth birthday, and my Lillian will be thirty-five the next day."

"And how old is her oldest child?"

"She will be sixteen next month."

The Major turned to Brown with a smile, saying: "If I live to be as old as father was I shall be great, great grandfather," and then, "how many of us are there, Sarah, children and grandchildren, yours and the Col.'s?"

"It will not take long to count us father; you, Edward and myself make three, then I have three children and Edward four, he has five grandchildren and I six, so you see we are just twenty-one."

"No more than that, well, we have been smarter in the property than in the propagation line," and the old gentleman laughed at his own witticism.

"Where are your children, ma'am, if its not presuming to ask?" said Jed.

"My girl lives in Omaha, and the boys are in San Francisco," she replied with a smile at his quaintness.

"My, but's a long way off that your children are ma'am."

"Please wheel me to the secretary, Sarah, I want to do some writing," said the Major.

She did as he requested, put whatever he needed within his reach, then took a book and went to reading. Her father then took some keys from his neck, unlocked the secretary, and taking from it a tin box, unlocked that and selecting some blank checks, filled out one for five hundred dollars and handed it to his daughter, saying:

"Here Sarah, is a birthday present for you." He then filled out another for the same amount saying as he did so, "That's a present for Ed when his birthday comes."

He next filled out four checks for five thousand dollars each, and then wrote as follows:

"To the President and Directors of the First National Bank of Glennwood N. Y.

"Gentlemen:—You will please pay, as per checks, the sum of twenty thousand dollars of my money now in your possession to Edward Russell, a resident of Mandaville, N. Y. with interest on the same to this date.

"Yours, EDWARD BOYLE SENIOR."

Under this he wrote: "This certifies that I witnessed the writing and signing of the above," then he called: "Jed, please come here," and handing him what he had written, said: "Will you be kind enough to read, and sign that?"

Jed signed his true name as the Major expected him to do, and Mrs. Wendover asked: "What now, father?"

"A little surprise for some one; you'll know in time," he replied, and she said no more.

He put the check he filled out for the Col. back into the box with some other papers that he had taken out, locked it and restored the key to its place, but a shrewd observer would have seen that the other checks, together with the paper that Jed had signed, were folded closely and held in his left hand.

Presently Mrs. Wendover laid down her book and went out; then the old gentleman extended his hand to Morse, saying, "Take them and have him collect the money before he comes here."

"What is your idea in doing this?" asked Morse as he thrust the papers into his pocket.

"A freak if you choose to call it so; I don't want him to come here a poor man, and I must be doing something or I shall die."

The warning finger was raised, and when Mrs. Wendover returned Jed sat in the same position as when she left. He sat awhile, seemingly absorbed in watching the people who were passing, making occasional quaint remarks about some one of them. Finally he arose, stretched himself, yawned, and said:

"This is lazy business for a workin' man; I think I'll go down town," and taking his hat from its accustomed place and his overcoat on his arm, he sauntered down to the gate; looked first up street and then down, then he slowly drew on his overcoat, and went as slowly toward town.

Mrs. Wendover had been watching his movements, and when he passed out of sight she said: "How lazy Brown is getting; he acts as if he didn't care to move."

"I presume he is getting lazy; I guess I made a mistake in keeping him so far as he is concerned. It don't do to make too much of these working people, but I like his company," was the reply.

"Why not send him away then if you think his staying here is injuring him?"

"That's just like you, Sarah, always, thinking of some one else's good. I tell you I like his company, and I think I am able to make up to him any loss he may sustain."

Mrs. Wendover said no more for when her father spoke in that tone it was time to stop.

Brown, or Morse went directly to Wildermere with the note to the bank and the checks; and told him of the Major's wish that Russell should draw the money before he came to the house.

"I do not see the necessity for that," said Wildermere.

"But I do," replied Morse. "I fear the effect of this excitement upon Major Boyle. He may, is likely to die at any moment, and even if he lives the Col. and the Judge will stop at nothing to prevent Russell coming in as the heir, even to the spiriting of the old man away to an insane asylum. As soon as they learn what is coming there will be an injunction put upon everything till the law can decide the question. I'm not inclined to be superstitious but it seems to me there is a providence in this. Russell must draw the money as soon as possible and have it put where it will be safe and then if he has to fight for his rights he will have something to do it with."

"I think you are right, Morse, but why do you say 'the heir,' instead of an heir?"

"I say so because unless the old man has a chance to make his will the law will give the others nothing as they are illegitimate. They must depend upon Russell's generosity and they are too proud to accept anything that way."

"Illegitimate!" exclaimed Wildermere, opening his eyes very wide.

Morse laughed heartily. "You are a pretty Wherefore," he said, "not to have discovered the wherefore of that; was not Boyle's first wife living when he married the mother of these children?"

"True, I had not thought of that; does the old gentleman know of it?"

"He does, and wants to make a will, but I have had no opportunity to talk with him about it since he said so. If the fools keep on as they are doing they will knock themselves out of everything I fear."

"Wants to make his will, does he?" Wildermere thought about two minutes, and then added: "See here, Morse, this thing must be finished up just as soon as possible or the power of wealth will keep Russell out of his rights. Instead of defeating themselves I fear they will defeat us unless that will is made and left for record before Russell and his father meets; do you—wait, I will write what I wish to say," and taking his pen he dashed off the following note:

"MAJOR BOYLE,

"Dear Sir:—Please write out such bequests as you wish to make outside of what goes to your children, and give the same to Jed, and he will get a good lawyer to draw up a will, which he will bring to you to read and have such changes made as you may wish. It will worry you less than to have it all written at your room. Please give this back to Jed when you have read it, and give him a schedule of your wishes as soon as possible.

"Respectfully yours, J. WILDERMERE."

Handing this to Morse, he asked: "Will that do?"

"Yes, that's well thought of, now how much time have we in which to work?"

"To-day is Wednesday; I think Russell will be here on the two o'clock stage on Friday. You can hardly get the schedule to Blake before to-morrow. Russell will be here before the bank closes and can draw his money. If you can get that will business fixed he can go and see his father on Saturday. I shall not stay to meet him but take the stage to Rivers to-morrow evening and go to Mandaville next day. If this thing gets into the courts there will be a charge of conspiracy and I can do more if I am not included."

"Will they not include you now? I have been here to see you several times you know," said Morse, (Jed) laughing.

"They must find Wildermere the gentleman, first. In Mandaville I am only the old codger, Wherefore."

"And I think it will puzzle them to find Jed, but I must go now," replied Morse.

He hastened back to Wendover's and for a wonder found the Major alone, and immediately gave him the note that Wherefore had written. The old man after reading it, asked to be moved to the secretary. He then wrote out in a few words the substance of what he wanted, handed the same to Jed and was wheeled back to his place.

"And now, Major Boyle, I must ask you to excuse me for few days," said Jed. "I have a letter that requires me to be elsewhere for a time."

"Going away!" exclaimed the Major in alarm.

"Yes, sir; Jed Brown must go." The comical expression on his face reassured the old man and he said:

"I suppose I shall have to spare you but isn't this rather sudden?"

"Rather, but"—— Myrtle came in just then and he finished with: "Miss Myrtle, Jed's got to go away, so you must take good care of the Major," looking so sorry as he said it that she was sorry too, from pure sympathy.

"Going away Mr. Brown! I'm very sorry, but isn't it rather sudden?"

"Just what the Major asked me, yes, it is; I didn't think of such a thing this mornin', but I got a letter when I was down town, and I must pack my carpet bag this minit or I shall lose the train," and he hurried up to his room as if his life depended upon the quickness of his movements.

The inevitable satchel, which he called a carpet bag, was soon ready; Mrs. Wendover came in; good byes were said, and Jed was off. "Say good bye to the Judge for me," he called back as he went out of the door.

Mrs. Wendover felt relieved, she could not have told why, and Myrtle said: "What a strange man."

Brown, to-wit, Morse, went immediately to lawyer Blake's office, gave him the Major's schedule for a will, told him of the son by a former wife, gave such other information as would assist the man of law to write up what was wanted and asked him to have all ready to go to Judge Wendover's as soon as possible.

"I cannot go before Friday," said Blake, "but I will be there as early in the day as possible, though I fear that will not be till after dinner."

"Well, don't fail to be there then," and the veritable, the irrepressible Jed hurried away, reaching the depot just in time to catch the train. He went to a little village about ten miles distant and stopped for the night. Securing a room at a hotel he paid for it in advance, saying that he must take the early stage for Illia. Supper over, and safe in his room, an entire transformation took place, and Jedediah Brown was no more.

In the morning when the stage was ready it was about five o'clock and quite dark. The hotel clerk rapped at the stranger's door. "There in a minute," was the response. When all was ready for starting the clerk rapped again.

"Yes, yes, I'll be right down," but he delayed till the driver swore if the other passenger wasn't there in ten seconds he would go without him. Just as he raised his whip to execute his threat the tardy passenger came tearing down stairs and leaped into the stage, the driver cursing him the while for keeping the horses standing so long in the cold.

Lawyer Blake, as was stipulated, called at Wendover's on Friday Between two and three o'clock. The Judge and his wife were both sitting in the Major's room; they were a little surprised but too polite to show it. After a few minute's chat, the lawyer drew a folded paper from his pocket and laying it down before the old gentleman, said:

"Please read that and see if its all right," then turning to the astonished daughter and son-in-law, he continued, "Your father sent to me to draw up his will, sending at the same time a synopsis of what he wished, so I have prepared one and brought it for him to read."

"Who did he send by?" asked the Judge, glancing at his wife.

"I sent by Jed and I wanted him for one of the witnesses but he had to leave," said the Major in reply.

"But what put it into your head to make a will, father?" asked Mrs. Wendover.

"Oh, I've been thinking about it for some time, and finally concluded it was time it was done," he replied as he continued to read the document before him. When he had given it one good reading and looked it all over carefully the second time, he said:

"Yes, that's all right," took up his pen, dipped it in the ink and turned to sign it, when there was a noise at the door. He paused to learn what it was, and when Col. Boyle's voice was heard in the hall he laid down the pen and waited to greet his son.

The moment the Col. entered the room it was evident he had been drinking. The fact was too patent to be denied, and the Major, speaking in a severe tone said:

"Edward Boyle, you insult me by coming into my presence in this condition."

"Major Boyle," was the reply, "if you have any unowned children around the world I wish you would pension them and send them out of my sight. I do not like to be continually insulted by having them pointed out as looking so much like me. I just came up from Illia and right in front of me sat a man who looked like my second self. I saw the same man in Mandaville last fall; now there is some damned mystery here and I want to know what it is," he paused for lack of breath, reeled, steadied himself again and continued:

"Detective Morse was with him, and I know there is some deviltry somewhere."

"You saw him; did you," said the old man, "well I will tell you; he is my son, but he is as well born as you are. His mother was my first wife; he was stolen when a child; I have but recently learned that he still lives and where he is, and that is why I am making my will. I don't want any trouble about the matter when I am gone."

The mention of the will set the Col. in a rage. He had too much liquor down him to listen to reason. "Its a lie," he exclaimed, making an effort to snatch the paper lying before his father, but Blake was too quick for him and transferred the document to his own pocket.

"Its a lie," repeated the infuriated man, "and no son of a strumpet shall come here to rob me of my rights."

"Be quiet, Ed," said the Judge, laying a hand on his shoulder, "there's some one at the door."

"I don't care if there is," was the response, but he sat down. Morse and Russell had left Alice at the hotel and then gone directly to the bank. Morse was so well known Russell had no difficulty in collecting the money, and in answer to the looks of surprise bent upon him because of his likeness to Col. Boyle, Morse said in an aside:

"A son of the Major's by a previous marriage."

The money safe, instead of waiting till the next day they decided to go directly to the Judge's residence and the Col. was hardly seated before they were ushered in by Myrtle, Morse so changed that it would have taken sharp eyes to have recognized him as Jed.

When the old man saw Russell he stretched out his arms and cried: "My son, my son," but as Russell went to meet his father's clasp, the Col. sprang between with:

"No, you don't come any of that game here."

"Oh Edward," cried the old man in piteous tones, and sank back on his pillow with a gasp; then, as though realizing what was coming, he sprang to an erect position, seized the pen, glancing at Blake as did so. Blake answered his look by placing the unsigned will before him. He tried to sign it, failed, sank back on his pillow, gasped some two or three times; then ceased to breathe.

This sobered the Col. and he sank into a chair while Russell went forward, and kissing the lips that had so lately called him son, said:

"Oh father, it is hard to find you and lose you in the same moment."

Mrs. Wendover went up to him, extended her hand and said: "Brother; I know you are my brother from your looks and from what father said before you came, but I don't understand it."

Russell took the proffered hand and stooping, kissed the kindly face, but the Judge frowned, and glancing at the fast stiffening form said; "We have something to do new besides greeting newly found relatives." Lawyer Blake had in the mean time bowed himself out, taking the unsigned will with him.

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CHAPTER VII.

OFF TO THE WEST.

"Go west, young man, go west and grow up with the country."

About three years previous to the time that Russell learned his parentage, three men and their wives were discussing the problem of the future. The men were Charles Russell, his cousin, Daniel Smith, and his brother-in-law, Burton Reid.

"We can never get a start here," said Russell, "and I have half a mind to go west."

"I've been thinking the same, Charles, but Gertrude does not like to hear me talk about it; she says if she goes so far away she shall never see any of her people again." replied Reid.

"And that's just what Anna says," was Smith's comment, "but our people cannot support us, particularly if they can hardly take care of themselves."

"That's the reason I don't want to go and leave father and mother," replied Anna, "the other children are all away and I know the time is coming when they will need me."

"It is a credit to your heart to feel so, Mrs. Smith," remarked Russell, "but one's duty is to one's own family first; you are a mother as well as a daughter and those boys of yours will need some land by and by."

Mrs. Smith made no reply to this, but Reid turned to Russell's wife and asked; "What do you say, Lucy?"

"I say that I will go anywhere, and do anything that is right if in our old age we can have a place of our own."

"Bravo," "That's right," "Good grit," were the comments of the men. Gertrude and Anna did not like to be behind in the estimation of the others, so they said they wouldn't mind it so much if they could all go together and settle where they could be near each other.

"Well, why not? I can see nothing to hinder our doing so," said Smith.

"Neither do I, what do you say, Russell?" responded Reid, glad that his wife had consented thus far.

"It certainly can be done; there is a tract of government land just thrown open in western Iowa, forfeited railroad lands; and people are flocking to it."

"Yes," added Smith, "Reid and I were reading about that yesterday and wishing we could go."

[I cannot go on without a comment. Remember please, that these are not idle fancies but facts—that hundreds of families did go on to those lands with all the confidence in "our government" that children have in parents, and then remember how shamefully their confidence was betrayed—driven off by English aristocrats who used American officers as their bull dogs—this while "our government" looked idly on or looked the other way. Read Cleveland's reply to General Weaver, as given farther on, and then ask yourselves what government does for the poor man other than to rob him? Mothers, my heart is hot within me as I put these lines in type and I want you to feel with me, to investigate with me, to ask with me, "what of children born under such conditions?" And permit me say here that in portraying the hardships of pioneer life, as I do further along in the story, I am not drawing upon fancy but take facts—L. W.]

"If we go together we can assist each other," said Russell, "five years will soon pass away, then the land will be ours, and in the mean time we shall have no rent to pay.

"No, we shall not have to pay rent but taxes cannot be evaded," remarked Gertrude.

"We must pay taxes on what personal property we have more than the law exempts, but not on the land till it is ours, Mrs. Reid."

"But what about the crops, Mr. Russell?"

"Yes, what about the crops?" added Reid, "If our harvest can be taxed it amounts to taxing the land."

"I do not know how that would be, but I hardly think they would tax our crops, for a time, at least."

"I should say that corn and wheat on hand was personal property, the tax on that is very high," said Mrs. Smith. "I have a friend living in Clinton, Iowa who paid $2.70 tax on personal property that was assessed at but $50.

"But that was in a city, Anna, there will be no such rates as that in the country," said her husband.

"Well, taxes or no taxes," said Russell, "we, working men, have them all to pay in the end, if not directly, none the less certainly, and we can't escape it as things now are; so I, for one, want some land that I can call my own."

"And I," "And I," responded the other two men.

Gertrude and Anna said nothing, and though looking as if they would like to cry, they tried to be cheerful.

Before they parted it was agreed that as soon as things could be got ready they would start for the land of promise. That night Gertrude and Anna wept more than they slept and as brave as Lucy was, she was not altogether tearless when she remembered all that she must part with, but her husband never knew it, and after that first night the others put aside tears and worked with a will to help carry out what had been decided upon.

Having made up their minds to go, the next question was: how should they go? Should they sell off everything but such household stuff as they must have and go by railroad, or should they take their teams and a cow each and go by land?

Here Lucy, with her practicality, did good service. Her first question was: "Can you sell teams and cows here for what you would have to pay there?"

"Not the teams for they are worth much more to us than they would bring in the market," was her husband's reply.

"But we can do very little without teams when we are there, so if we sell we must buy again," said Reid.

"And you expect to have to go back from the railroad some distance, do you not? continued Lucy.

"Yes, certainly," responded Smith.

"Then, if we go on the cars, we must have some place to stay till you can select your land, and must hire a conveyance, and it all costs money."

"True, Lucy, and I am told they know how to put on a price for such work, in a new country."

"And when we get there, Charles, as Burt says, very little can be done without teams, and if you sell, you must pay more for poorer animals than you will be likely to get for these, and sell you must, if we go by railroad, for it would not pay to put them through on the cars."

"No, it would not; with so little money as we shall have, it is a difficult job, the best way we can fix it, but others go, and so can we," said Russell.

"Now let's look at the other side of the question. It will take us two or three months to go, and it will cost considerable to feed the teams as well as ourselves, but will it cost more than it will to pay our fare on the cars?"

"You mean counting everything till we get to our land?" said Smith.

"Yes, certainly."

"No, I do not believe it will cost as much. We can take some provisions to start with, and as we can cook it ourselves, it will not be like paying hotel bills, you know."

"Dan Smith and hotel bills don't correspond," laughed his wife.

"I suppose not, Anna, but our hotels will be our wagons if we take our teams, and when we get there we can stay in them till we get something built to live in."

"We shall have to live in sod houses I presume, for a while, Smith," said Reid.

"What! burrow in the ground like rabbits!" exclaimed Anna.

"Only for a time, wife; when we have eighty acres of land all our own, we can in the end put up a fine residence."

"Eighty acres! I thought government gave twice that number for a homestead," remarked Gertrude.

"That depends upon whether we are inside a railroad grant or not, Mrs. Reid."

"What has that to do with it, Mr. Russell?"

"Uncle Sam, in order to help men build railroads, gives them one half the land for a distance back, on both sides of the road, and doubles the price of what is left."

"Uncle Sam is a fool or a knave; he makes us pay for the roads and yet we do not own them," said Lucy, and so indignantly it made the others laugh.

"We build them?" repeated Smith.

"Yes, we, the people, those who homestead or purchase the land; eighty acres from each family of us if we do not go beyond the prescribed line, Mr. Smith."

"Lucy is right" said Russell, "but how are we going to help this and the many other wrongs which are done us?"

"Were I a man, Charles, and could make all working men see things as I see them, we would find a way to help it."

"There is but one thing, Lucy, that prevents my wishing you were a man."

"And what is that?"

"You could not be my wife."

Lucy blushed with pleasure at the implied praise, and the others laughed.

"But we have not decided yet how we are to go," said Gertrude, beginning to enter into the spirit of the campaign as she called it.

"We will vote on the question," said Russell, "each one of us can write our preference on a slip of paper and drop it into my hat which I will place here on the table; if it should come out a tie we should have to argue the case all over, or submit it to Alice here," he said, referring to his only living child, a girl in her fourteenth year.

The Russells had been very unfortunate with their children. Three had died with scarlet fever, and one was drowned, leaving only their oldest one.

"If I have to vote," said Alice, "I shall vote to have grandfather go with us."

"Father wouldn't go," said Russell, "but we must have him here to make us a long visit before we go."

"And if anything happens out in that new country, I shall come back and live with him, papa."

"And so you shall, child, but give us the ballots."

When they were cast and read they were all found to be in favor of what Lucy called the "overland trip," that is, private conveyance. There was some surprise expressed at this, Russell declaring that it was all due to his wife's "winning tongue."

Gertrude said in reply: "We knew you four would vote to go that way, so it was of no use for us to be on the other side, as you are a majority any how, and though we expect to get very tired, it will be jolly after all."

"Speak for yourself," said Anna, "I should have voted as I did if I had known that all the others would have voted the other way. I always did like to tramp over the hills and through the valleys."

"You will have some tramping that will be neither hills nor valleys, but long stretches of prairie," said Reid.

"Then I will ride, if I wish to."

"You will not have to unless you do, we shall not insist upon any one's riding when they prefer to walk," said Reid, laughing.

From that time on, the all-absorbing work was getting ready. Every thing was done that could be, to make things comfortable and convenient. They started the last week of April. Grandfather Russell was there to see them off, and the last thing Alice said to him, as she tried to laugh through her tears, was: "Now remember, grandpa, that you are not to go and get married, for I shall come back after awhile and keep house for you." They were prophetic words but no one thought them so then.

Of course, friends and neighbors gathered to see them take their departure from the scene, that they had known, some of them, from childhood. There were hand shakes and tears. Several of their neighbors said:

We should be glad to go with you if we could, but we have only our hands, and it takes all we can earn to take us through the year, so we must live and die with no hope for ever having a home of our own. We can only have such temporary staying-places as we can pay the owners for the use of until they choose to turn us out, and then we must find some other place upon the same terms.

Such words made a deep impression upon our little company of emigrants, and they were the subject of many a talk as they wended their way westward. One of the first things that they noticed, even before the second day had passed, was the tracts of unoccupied land. The women spoke of this first, and wondered why people must go so far to get land when there was so much that was unused, so near home.

They were told that somebody owned it all, and then they wondered why people were allowed to hold land unused when so many needed it.

"That is one of the mysteries of property and government, is one of the chains that the law forges to keep the people poor and in subjection," said Reid.

They found the same thing all the way to their journey's end—vacant land, great wealth, and the homeless poor and the more abundant the wealth, the greater the number of the helpless and dependent.

They directed their course toward northwestern Iowa and in July they reached a point where lands were open for pre-emption or for homesteads. Their first business was to go to the nearest United States land office, and get an authorized plot of the land not yet taken. Russell did this and finding a section of which none had been taken he went back to see what the advantages of it were, good or otherwise. It was inside the forfeited railroad claims—still being forfeited, they could homestead their one hundred and sixty acres each, and they located their houses, or sod cabins, within half a mile of each other. Though they had not ten dollars left amongst the whole of them when their land fees were paid, and but a small stock of provisions, they were full of hope, for the thought of possessing those broad acres, was of itself an exhilaration.

At first they only used their wagon covers as a sort of tent, and lived out of doors, as there was money to be raised before they could even build sod houses, for they must have lumber for a door and window in each, and they must have poles for the roof; that is, the poles must be placed upon the top of the walls and straw or grass spread over them, and then sods, and of course, the poles must be strong enough to support the weight of the rods.

All this took both labor and money, so the men took turns, one of them staying with the families and looking after them all, while the other two took each a team and going out in the settlements did such work as they could find to do. The one staying behind had enough to busy himself with; rods were to be cut and drawn to their place; walls were to be laid; grass was to be found, cut and gathered for the cattle during the winter, and some kind of a shelter made for them.

The women and children aided all they could, for were they not going to have homes of their own! to be sure they were and after a time there would be great fields of corn and wheat, of potatoes and everything else good and fresh from the bosom of the earth. They would have pigs and chickens, sheep and cows, and they would have yards in which should be pinks and roses and all sorts of beautiful flowers. It was thus they anticipated the future, as they cheerfully worked in the present.

[Were this fiction, tears would be out of place but they start even as I write, for I am portraying facts. When I think of the hundreds of families who went onto that land to be so cruelly disappointed, and all because of a dishonest railroad corporation, a worse than dishonest Congress, and aristocrats across the sea—when I think of it all my heart's cry goes out to all mothers sayings: "Don't be submissive! Rebel against every encroachment upon your personal rights, and inspire your children with such a spirit of rebellion as will lift those who sit in high places and oppress the people, out their seats of power and stand them upon their feet, one with the people." Mothers, awake, arouse all your energies, or see your children slaves.—L. W.]

Winter found them in their warm if not elegant "burrows," as Lucy called them, and their first winter on the "broad prairie," was not unhappily passed. Spring came, seed was sown, and crops began to spring up, and though the women were lonely at times, and homesick for old scenes, they drove all such feelings away as soon as was possible, and their letters to their friends east spoke only of cheerful hearts and fair prospects ahead. Such was the effect of their letters, that more than one of their old neighbors began to cast about for ways and means to go west also.

Before the summer was over there were some set-backs which dampened their ardor somewhat, but still they were not discouraged, and the next winter found them well provisioned, and with high hopes for the coming year. There are many hardships attendant upon pioneer life, almost without exception, but their success, so far, had been such that they had nothing of which to complain.

————

CHAPTER VIII.

PEACE OR WAR?

Of course the news flew like wildfire—that of the newly found son, and of Major Boyle's sudden death, and though the attendance at the house was limited to invited guests, the cemetery containing the family vault was filled with those who were more eager to get sight of the new heir than to honor the departed.

Russell had been invited to remain at Wendover's till after the funeral, which invitation of course included Alice. Not that their presence was desired, but from motives of policy. They would be less observed, would cause less remark than if they remained at the hotel. But while Mrs. Wendover was inclined to be kind, the others were so coldly polite that but little was seen of Alice and her grandfather except at meals.

Morse returned to his boarding place in town, but he called at Wendover's on Saturday and had a long talk with Russell upon the situation.

"I am satisfied that they intend to contest your claim, and we must be prepared for it," he said.

"I do not see how they can with any hope of success," replied Russell.

"Neither do I, or should not, did I not know the power of wealth, and the determined character of Col. Boyle," said Morse.

"Who has the unsigned will?" was Russell's next question.

"Blake has it. I saw him this morning and he gave it to me to read. If there was no property in the case no one would dispute the evidence there given. It is full and complete, so far as the fact of a previous marriage is concerned, and of the birth of a child. Your mother's name is given, and the dates, together with the name under which he married her, and which he says he, for private reasons, assumed. He calls you Edward Bond Boyle, now known as Edward Russell."

"Is it in father's handwriting?"

"It is not, but he had read it, assented to it, and taken up his pen to sign it, when he was interrupted by the arrival of the Col."

"Who gave Blake the data from which he drew up the will?" continued Russell, or Bond Boyle.

"Blake says your father sent it to him by a fellow by the name of Brown, who has been staying there for awhile back, but left the other day."

"In his own handwriting, or did Brown give the information verbally?"

"It is in the Major's handwriting, which is proof that Brown did not concoct the story," said Morse, with a queer sort of smile.

"And why should they think that?"

"Oh, I think that they think he was a fictitious sort of character," and again that queer smile, but Bond Boyle was too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice it. Receiving no reply, Morse continued:

"If they attempt to fight your claim, Mr. Boyle, they will assert that because of your father's wealth, and your likeness to the family, there is a conspiracy to obtain, a portion of it."

Russell started as if he had received an electric shock upon being called Mr. Boyle, and then smiled as he realized the situation.

"It's your name, sir, and it is time we commenced calling you by it," said Morse, noticing the start.

"What did you say had become of Brown?" was the next question.

"I said he had gone away, but I think he can be found when wanted."

Russell was silent for some minutes; at length he remarked: "Law is a queer thing."

"Law is a complicated piece of machinery, Mr. Boyle, but it is the only channel through which you can get your rights if they are contested."

After another silence, Russell, or Boyle, said: "I had about as soon take what I have and go away as to attempt to get my rights by law."

"You may not have to appeal to the law, sir; we will hope for the best, even while preparing for the worst, but you are not the only one to be considered," said Morse earnestly, "you have children and grandchildren, and they have rights, even if you do not care on your own account."

"That is true, Mr. Morse, and for their sakes I shall not yield, unless I must." He spoke firmly for he remembered the privations that poverty had inflicted upon himself and family, even till his wife, worn out with the struggle, had sunk into the grave. And there were things of later date, too late to be forgotten, that added to the intensity of his feelings, things of which the reader will be informed further on.

Morse sat awhile longer but finding that Russell did not seem inclined to talk further, left with a promise to call on Monday, the day after the funeral.

"And bring lawyer Blake with you," said Russell.

"I shall be sure to do that," was the reply.

On Monday morning about ten o'clock, as Col. Boyle and his wife, and Judge, and Mrs. Wendover were in the back parlor discussing the situation, there was a ring at the door, and presently Myrtle ushered in lawyer Blake and detective Morse.

"Show the gentlemen this way," said the Judge divining their purpose, and desiring to prevent their having any talk with their unwelcome guest first.

"Thanks, but we will see Mr. Bond Boyle first," said Morse, as they proceeded to that gentleman's room.

" 'Mr. Bond Boyle,' we will see about that," said the Judge, and the Col. actually shook with rage.

"Control yourself, Edward, or you will say something that had better be left unsaid," said his sister warningly.

"You see that you don't say something that had better be left unsaid," was the curt retort, and then: "We shall doubtless learn now what are the contents of that precious will."

"And I hope its provisions will be carried out the same as if it had been signed, I can never forget father's look when he found he could not complete his work," said Mrs. Wendover.

"You women know how to play the fool; give up to a beggar one-third of an estate worth over a million, never," growled the angry man.

"Oh, Edward, don't; father hardly cold in his grave and we regardless of his last wishes, you surely do not mean it."

"You will find that I do mean it, madam."

"Hush, they are coming," said Mrs. Boyle, or Mrs. Col. Boyle, as she was called by the obsequious toadies of society.

Judge Wendover politely bowed the three gentlemen in and gave them seats, and after an exchange of remarks upon the weather Mr. Blake said:

"Friends, it is customary in cases like this, where a will has been made, to read it to the assembled relatives, after the funeral of the deceased, and though in this instance death stepped in and prevented the completion of the work, I presume that you have no objection to hearing what the wishes of your late father were."

"Certainly not, please proceed," said the Judge.

Blake read the document slowly, slightly emphasizing that portion which explained the Major's first marriage, and the birth of his eldest son, also the statement, after making a few trifling bequests, that the balance of his estate should be divided between his three children, Edward Bond Boyle, Edward French Boyle, and Sarah Boyle Wendover.

"Who wrote that will?" asked the Col.

"I did, sir."

"Upon what authority?"

"The authority of your father's written request, sir."

"Can we see the same?"

"I have an exact copy of it here, as impressed on copying paper; the original can be produced, if it becomes necessary," and taking a folded paper from his pocket, he handed it to his questioner.

The Col. took it, looked it over, and handed it to the Judge, who also read it and was about to return it to Blake when his wife reached her hand for it.

"I think I have some interest in this matter," she remarked, as she scanned the paper closely.

"You certainly recognize your father's handwriting," said Blake.

"I do, sir," she replied.

Could either her brother or her husband have annihilated her with a look it would have been done just then.

"You will please remember, Mrs. Wendover, that you are not on the witness stand," said the Col. in a tone that expressed as much wrath as controlled effort could give.

"And shall never be called there in connection with this matter, if my father's wishes can be carried out," she replied with a smile.

"The question to be decided is: are you willing that the provisions of that will shall be carried out, the same as if it had been signed," said Bond Boyle, speaking for the first time.

"Had the will been signed we should still require proof that you are the Edward Bond Boyle spoken of in the will. The fact that you look like the family does not satisfy us," said the Judge, while the Col. remained silent.

"You mean to say that this question shall be tested in the courts?"

They both bowed.

"Very well; then you have only yourselves to blame if I insist on my rights in full; come, gentlemen, let us go."

"Your rights in full, what do you mean by that!" exclaimed the Col., starting to his feet.

"Wait a moment," said Morse, "perhaps it will be better if they understand the situation fully."

"As you will, sir; I am entirely willing to carry out my father's wishes, but if they will not, it takes the responsibility from my shoulders." Morse then turned to the others and said:

"Pardon me, please, for what I have to say, but I have been looking up this case for some time, and—"

"Under whose pay?" asked the Judge.

"I am not on the witness stand, sir, but I am fully satisfied that this gentleman is Edward Bond Boyle, your father's eldest son. There is also evidence to show that being falsely informed, but fully believing that the information was true, Major Boyle married his second wife while the first was yet living, and that complicates the case, you know."

"You mean to tell us that my sister and myself are not lawful heirs," said the Col., "well, this is cool, what shall be done, Judge, with such a pair of lunatics?"

"The first thing to be done is to ask them to leave my house and never enter it again," replied the Judge, stepping to the door and throwing it open, "Mr. Blake, will you please remain, I wish to have some conversation with you."

"I am sorry, but you will please excuse me, I have business elsewhere, now; some other time I shall be at your service," and he bowed himself out with the others.

As the door closed upon the occupants of the parlor they looked at each other as if to ask: "What next?"

"This is astounding," the Judge finally remarked.

"Better to have carried out father's wishes, there is enough for us all," said his wife.

"Oh, you know very well that your father has been in his dotage for years; its all nonsense, this sentimental bosh about carrying out his wishes," was the impatient reply.

"You are troubling yourselves about nothing," said the Col., "can't you see that if they were sure of proving what they claim, they would not have offered to abide by the unsigned will. Trust a beggar not to accept a part when he knows he can have the whole, and you will find yourselves mistaken. I am satisfied that the whole thing is a conspiracy; the man may be my father's son, but not by marriage."

"Would you advise that they be arrested for conspiracy?"

"Not now, Judge; I would watch and wait. Let him, or them, show their hands; Russell is not alone in this matter; he never would have thought of such a thing, had he not been prompted by some wiser head."

The Judge pondered awhile, and then said: "You may be right, but this thing of the will looks queer."

"Oh, that can be handled if we manage rightly; I for one, shall spare neither time nor money to defeat their game."

"I should like to know who that Brown was," continued the Judge; "he certainly knew, or knew of many of the old man's old acquaintances, and I believe it is through his being here that all this has come about."

"Well, keep cool, and in time you will find out."

"You seem to have gotten over your excitement, Col.," said his wife.

"Big things always cool me off, Mrs. Boyle; it is the little things which irritate; but why don't you say 'Edward French Boyle?' " imitating the lawyer's tone and manner.

"I am glad you have settled down to work, Ed, and I hope you will keep a cool head all the way through," said the Judge.

"I shall keep cool enough to manage this affair, you can rest assured; there is more than one way to carry one's point."

When he said this; the expression upon his face was such that his sister shuddered, but the Judge laughed and said:

"You look so savage, Ed, you frighten the women."

The next day they were legally notified that Edward Bond Boyle, formerly known as Edward Russell, as the son, and only legal heir of the late Major Edward Boyle, claimed the estate of his father, and that, they were requested to deliver up the same to said Edward Bond Boyle, to have and to hold as his own, or to show sufficient cause for not so doing.

"We will show cause, never fear," said the Judge, who had been in consultation with his brother-in-law nearly the whole night.

They were both very angry when they learned of the withdrawal of the money from the bank, but there was no help for it. The bank officers held the order for so doing in the Major's own handwriting, and it was useless for them to even pretend to say that he was not competent to manage his own business, when he had done so till the very last without protest from them.

Mrs. Wendover said nothing, but she secretly rejoiced that her newly found brother had secured even that much.

————

CHAPTER IX.

GOVERNMENT MAKING ANARCHISTS.

When our trust is betrayed by the highest power in the land; when government fails to stand by its pledges to its citizens, not political parties, but the government itself, how long can confidence in its institutions be retained?

Two years had passed since Charles Russell and his two neighbors had begun to talk of going to Iowa; all was in good shape for the coming winter, and their hopes for the future were high, when there began to be ugly rumors of an English claimant to their land.

The men laughed at first. "The idea," they said, "that an Englishman's claim would be good against United States' papers."

True, they had not their patents yet, but they had papers which entitled them to patents, when they had fulfilled the conditions, and which they were doing as fast as possible—surely, there was no danger.

It was thus they reasoned, but still, they could not feel quite so cheerful as though the report had not gone abroad. During the long winter evenings following, many a discussion was held in the houses of those who were interested in this question, and there were hundreds of such.

"How came the Englishman by his claim?"

"Bought it of the railroad company."

"But how came the Company by it?"

"A grant from the United States for building a road."

"Where is the road?"

"They never built it."

"Then what was the grant worth? nothing of course."

"Well, they sold their claim to this Englishman, it seems."

"And much good will it do him; the land has been declared open for settlement, and a pretty government it would be that would give us papers that it wouldn't back!"

And so they talked, and talked, and kept up their courage, but still, there was a heart sinking that they could not quite overcome. At length winter was over; the birds began to sing, the grass grew green, the flowers opened their eyes to look at the sun, and the whole landscape was a thing of beauty, while in the home of Charles Russell still brighter hopes were upspringing. Death had taken all of their children but Alice, but now Life had promised to bring them another.

All the love and tenderness that both Alice and her father had to bestow were now centered upon Lucy, and everything possible was done for her comfort and happiness.

The ugly rumors died away, and the work of subduing the earth went prosperously on. Summer had come; the harvest was plentiful, but with it came the order to leave their homes.

"Leave! never!" such were the feelings of the hundreds who were making themselves homes there. "They had paid their fees to the United States government, and held its pledges, and surely, it was strong enough to protect them," so they kept at work and paid no attention to the imperious mandate.

Still another order, and still they remained, but sent word to the proper officers asking for protection. "Had it been a capitalist asking for soldiers to shoot down rebellious workmen, the 'blue coats' would have been sent in double quick time, but as it was only honest toilers asking to be protected against an English nabob, no attention was paid to their request," said an eyewitness while relating the outrages which occurred.

Soon the officers came, came armed with legal papers, and backed by shooting irons, and out of the homes their toil had made, off from the lands that their hands had cultivated, into the highway, homeless and shelterless, were driven two hundred and twenty families of American citizens, driven from what the United States had declared to be the people's lands, and for titles to which they had all received government assurance, and for which they had paid the required fees to United States officers.

"Surely, the whole country will rise in arms. The church north, which claims the credit of destroying chattel slavery, will speak out in unmistakable tones of condemnation. The eighty thousand ministers of our country will send in an echoing cry through the entire land; listen! Not a sound. Is the nation dead?"

Such, we might imagine to have been the feelings of the men, as with their wives and children, they fled before the American spaniels of England's power.

"Not true," do you say? It is a matter of history that scores of living witnesses can verify. Listen to what one of them says:

"Men were run down with horses, hand-cuffed, and with their families, dragged off their lands. Women within a few days of confinement, have been, in the absence of their husbands, left in the midst of their household goods, farming implements, etc., sitting in the highway."

"Where were the ministers?" ask the innocent, the trusting ones who believe that they denounce all wrong.

Some of them were petitioning the governor of Illinois not to prevent the hanging of the men who had been telling the people of too many such outrages, to make it very safe to continue them if the mouths of such men were not closed.

But we are so constituted that we cannot take in and realize such vast suffering enmasse; it stuns, benumbs the cords of feeling till they refuse to act; so we come back to our friends, Russell, Reid and Smith.

We have listened to their plans before leaving their friends in the east; we have followed them on their journey, and have seen them settled in their new homes; we have watched their efforts to conquer the difficulties of the situation, and have rejoiced in their success; and now, alas! we must see them put into the street by "the strong arm of the law." Law! what mockery! and yet, we are a law abiding people, and, "that's what's the matter." The links of law bind Justice hand and foot, and we are too servile, too apathetic, to set her free.

Our boys could not be made to believe that the government would not sustain its pledges, and so, with the others, paid no attention to the warnings sent, but kept right on with their work till the evicting process had actually commenced. Lucy's delicate situation had caused them all to say as little as possible of anything of the kind in her presence. She had not been told of the warnings sent. It was a mistaken kindness, for, had she known sooner, she would have rallied to meet the emergency.

But a few days before her expected confinement, word came that a few miles away people were being put out of their houses, some of which were good buildings, and they too, had each added a room built of boards to the sod rooms they had first erected. The invaders were bearing down in that direction and would soon be there, and what was to be done?

Lucy must be told; it could be put off no longer. Charles went to his home with this intent, but when he entered the room that had been built for her sake, and saw it so neatly arranged, saw the evidences of her taste in every part, and thought of what they were expecting, man that he was, he sank into the nearest chair and burst into tears.

"Oh, Charles, what is the matter!" she exclaimed, dropping the bit of dainty work she held, and springing to his side, "have you had bad news, are some of our friends dead?"

"Yes, I have had bad news, wife," he said, controlling his voice as well as he could, "and we must bear it as best we can, but our hope of having a home is gone!"

She looked at him with wide open eyes, unable to take in his meaning.

"The Englishman is stronger than the United States," he continued, "he claims this land and we must give it up."

"Give it up," she repeated.

"Yes, we are to be turned out upon the street, they have already commenced putting families out at the other end of the settlement."

She gave one quick glance about the room, and the next instant sank in a dead faint at his feet.

"Now God curse this English ridden government!" he exclaimed, as he gathered her in his arms and laid her upon the bed.

Alice, who was out upon the prairie gathering flowers, saw her father go to the house, and wondering what had brought him home at that time of day, came running home. She reached the door just as her father laid her mother upon the bed, and seeing her so white and still, believed her dead, and began to scream.

"Hush, child, or you will kill your mother," said he, as he hastened to apply restoratives.

"Then she isn't dead," said the girl with a hysterical sob.

"No, she isn't dead, but she will die if we are not very careful."

This steadied Alice, and she was, from then on, as thoughtful and careful as a woman of years and experience. Mr. Russell worked faithfully for some minutes before his wife showed signs of consciousness, but she only came to herself to sink away again, and for more than two hours she hung between life and death. Finally the fainting spells ceased, but she lay as helpless as a child, and as white as death.

Reid came in a few minutes after, and seeing Lucy's white face, divined the cause of her condition. "She knows it, then," he said.

"Yes, I came home as soon as I heard, and it has nearly killed her," replied Russell, in low tones.

"Well, we are in the street, and they have gone to Smith's; they will be here next."

"So soon," was Russell's only response, glancing toward the bed.

"Yes, it will not be long; Gertrude feared you hadn't heard, and she made me come up to look after Lucy."

"They will not put her into the street," said he, looking toward his wife.

"They will do anything, yes, if she were a corpse, they would not stop; they say we have had time enough, and now they shall make clean work of it."

Russell set his teeth and clenched his fists, but said not a word, while Reid continued: "We must stay out of doors to-night, all of us, and we must find some place where we can camp together, and we will make her as comfortable as we can."

Here a word from the bed called their attention. It was the single word: "Charles," he was by her side in a moment.

"What is it, Lucy?"

"Have they put the others out?"

"Gertrude and the children are out, and the men have now gone to Smith's."

"Are the horses in the stable?"

"They are."

"Then take me to Gertrude, I cannot stay here and meet them."

The men looked at each other: "It will be better," said Reid, and so the horses were harnessed as quickly as possible, a bed was put into the wagon, and Lucy carefully lifted on to it, but before they had time to make all ready they saw the home despoilers coming.

"Take her away Reid, before they get here," said Russell, hastily gathering up a few things from her room and putting them into the wagon, "go, Alice, with your mother, I will stay and meet the devils."

"Do nothing rashly, Charles," said Reid, as he picked up another bundle and sprang into the wagon.

"Not while she lives," was the reply.

Alice, in the meantime had seated herself where she could take her mother's head upon her lap. Reid put his bundle on the seat besde him and they were off, but he dared not drive fast because of Lucy's condition, and they were not out of hearing when the work at the house commenced.

Lucy heard the sounds, but she only clasped Alice's hands the more tightly, and said not a word.

In about three hours' time the three families, with what was left to them, were together, but forgetting their own trouble in their anxiety for Lucy, for it was too evident that she would never recover from the shock she had received. There was no sleep that night amongst that anxious group, and ere the morning light, the dead mother lay with her dead babe upon her arm.

The man across the ocean, who had an abundance; had used the arm of our civil (?) government to drive honest American citizens from land of which he had no need, but the British lion was satisfied, and what matter if the wings of the American eagle drooped.

For hours after Lucy had ceased to breathe Russell sat with his face in his hands, while Alice had hers covered against his shoulder. Quietly the women arrayed the body for burial, and when they had finished the morning had come.

After a whispered consultation with his wife, Smith approached and touched Alice upon the shoulder. She looked up. "My wife wants you," he said, pointing to where Anna stood just outside the temporarily prepared tent.

Alice arose and started to go to Mrs. Smith, but reeled and would have fallen, had not Smith supported her with his arm. Mrs. Smith brought a chair and said:

"Sit here, dear, till I bring you water and towel, and when you have washed you will feel better, then we will go back to your house and get some flowers from the yard for mother."

The girl did as she was told, and the thoughts of the flowers for mother, set her mind to acting in a more healthy way, and bursting into tears, she took Anna's arm and started back toward the home from which they had been driven.

The next move was to rouse Russell. Reid went to him and said: "Charlie, will you go with me back to what was my house? there are some things in the field that I forgot, and it doesn't seem as if I could stand it to go alone."

"What did you leave?" asked Russell, looking up.

"The shovel and hoe are at the back end of the garden, and the pitchfork and rake are down where I was cutting grass."

"Yes, I will go," but he said it with an effort and Reid had to help him to his feet, but the paralysis of grief was thus broken. When they returned Gertrude met them at the door. "Come and see her," she said. Alice and Anna had come back laden with flowers, a beautiful boquet of which had been placed in the pulseless hands, and another lay beside the calm face on the pillow, while the babe was literally covered with them.

Alice went to her father's side, and together they stood contemplating the loved features when they were startled by hearing a rough voice say; "You can't stop here; you are still on Sir Henry's land."

Reid put aside the door of the tent and said in reply: "Will you please come in?"

The man looked surprised at being addressed in so mild a tone, hesitated, then dismounted and stepped inside. Reid pointed to the silent form while Gertrude moved the flowers sufficiently to show the babe.

The man actually turned pale at the sight, and stood as if half paralyzed as he looked first at the body of the dead woman and then at the different members of the group. Not a word was spoken for several minutes; at last he burst out with:

"Curse the whole infernal business, I wish I had never accepted the office; what do I care for Sir Henry or his land, but I'm like a chained dog, I must obey or be beaten; when the papers are put into my hands I must see them executed. We may seem needlessly hard but we have to harden ourselves to go through with it and when we meet with resistance it makes us angry.

"No," he continued, "we are not brutes by nature but are made such"——

"By law," interrupted Smith.

"Yes, that's it, by law, and it is harder than was Pharaoh's heart, but I cannot stay here," and remounting his horse he galloped away as if anxious to get beyond the sight of those to whom he had been the instrument of so much wrong.

"If the law makes brutes of its officers the less we have of both the better," said Reid when the limb of law had gone.

Russell still stood looking upon what he had lost, but now he turned and with startling emphasis said:

"If the government does not do something toward righting this wrong, I, from henceforth, have no country, and if the Christian ministry does not denounce this outrage in tones that the world can hear, I, from henceforth, have no religion."

For several minutes, after this outburst no one spoke; finally Reid asked: "Where shall we put her?"

Again there was silence. At length Russell said:

"Underneath where our bed used to stand in the sod room. Dig her a grave there and we will leave no trace of the fact; then her dust will hold possession of that of which we have been robbed."

"Oh papa, then we can never go to her grave!" exclaimed Alice.

"True, we are robbed of even that, but she will live in our hearts, my child."

It was a singular request, but as the thought seemed a satisfaction to the bereaved man it was done as he wished. The next question was where should they go and what should they do?

"I shall send Alice to father and wait here till I know if government will give us redress or not, and that will decide my future course." said Russell.

"It is useless to wait for that," said the others, "for the courts will have to decide the matter; Congress will thus shift the responsibility from its own shoulders, and we have no money to fee lawyers."

"That may all be true, but I shall wait and see," was the firm reply, and they could not move him from his decision.

It seemed an almost hopeless task to try again, but it was the only way to get a home so Smith and Reid decided to go to Nebraska. With bitterness in the hearts of the men and tears from the women they took leave of Alice and her father and started to go they knew not whither.

A few days afterward, as soon as he could raise the money by selling his cow and some other things, Russell went with Alice and bought her a through ticket to a point near Mandaville. There her grandfather met her, took her home and, as she had said, she became his housekeeper; alas, the sorrow that had made her words come true!

The way that government made reparation may be learned by reading the following letter from the President, its Representative Head.

Executive Mansion,
Washington, D. C. Oct. 29, 1887.

"HON. J. B. WEAVER:—

"MY DEAR SIR:—Your letter of the 25th inst., regarding the eviction by proceedings in the state courts, of certain parties, in O'Brien county, has excited my interest and sympathy. Such results are sure to bring distress oftentimes on those entirely innocent, and who have settled upon lands in good faith. I very much fear there will be much of this consequent upon the loose and wasteful manner in which our public domain has heretofore been managed.

"I find upon consultation with the secretary of the interior and the attorney general that the cases to which you refer were sometime since considered by them, and they concluded that the United States could not interfere in those controversies, because, in any event, its title to the land is gone, and I am obliged to concur with them in their opinion that under the circumstances, the United States would have no standing in the contest and could demand no redress for itself. I think, with reflection, you will see the difficulty.

"I am afraid the claimants in these cases must fight out their respective rights in the state courts; but I suppose the determination there may be submitted to the supreme court of the United States for final adjudication. If any legal way can be suggested by which the general government can aid in the settlement of the question involving so much hardship and vexation, it will be considered. Yours truly,

"GROVER CLEVELAND."

When the above letter was published Charles Russell read it over very carefully. When he read, "in any event, its title to the land is gone," he said:

"What right had the United States to open land for settlement to which it had no title?"

He read on, commenting as he read till he came to, "If any legal way can be suggested," here he took his pencil and drew a line under the word legal, saying as he did so, "Law is God; justice has no show," then, throwing the letter aside, he rose to his feet, and clasping his hands above his head, gave utterance to the following:

"The poor have no protection from government, but if they say it too loudly they are hung for it. Chicago is waiting the hour to strangle its victims. From henceforth I repudiate both the government and the church. There is no more help in one than the other."

A few days afterward his father received a letter, saying: "If ever the time comes that I can serve the cause of human liberty advertise in —— for —— and I will respond; till then I am dead to the world. I go to forge thunderbolts for the day of reckoning.

"Your son, CHARLES."

————

CHAPTER X.

SENSATION IN HIGH LIFE

The inevitable reporter is a nuisance to those who object to notoriety in matters of a personal or family nature, but the great public cares not for that. The Col. and the Judge had influence enough to keep the fact of the accused illegitimacy out of the local papers, but a hungry news gatherer who happened to be in the place, but who was not known as such, got hold of the gist of the matter and made thereof a sensational article with the above heading and then the news spread like fire in dry grass.

The idea that any one who stood high before the public had dared to be born under conditions that were not law-proof was a scandal of the first water, pure coin in the world of gossip. Society, though as full of eyes as were the beasts of scripture differs from them in that they worshipped God; our modern beast worships law regardless of right.

John Wherefore heard the news; of course he did; and when told was seemingly innocent of any previous knowledge of the matter. But John pondered much over this question of legitimacy. "Wherefore is it so? Those people supposed they were born according to law; they certainly would have been had they been consulted in the matter; it is not their fault, and why should the law punish them by disinheriting them?

"Yes, they must suffer for it though they did not do it they must lose the wealth that their unlawful father intended for their use. Law is inexorable; there is no escape from its edicts unless"——

"Unless what?"

John was thinking aloud, not supposing that any one was near; but the young man who had heard his "unless" and so startled him by repeating it, passed right on and left Wherefore to his own reflections again.

"In this case," he mused, "the question turns upon a certain woman being dead or alive at a certain time. If she was dead, then these people had a right to be born, but if she was alive then they had no such right. Queer, isn't it? Let the law be obeyed though wrong is done; how is that? Oh, I see, it is legal, and not moral right which rules. This should not be; wherefore is it?"

Such, as nearly as can be put into words, were the musings of John Wherefore as he thought upon the comments of the people in reference to the case of Boyle vs. Boyle as to the heirship of Major Boyle's vast estate. As he pondered the matter more deeply, he at length said to himself:

"Really, John, I think that this is a pretty big wherefore. It looks as if the question of capital and labor, of property rights and human rights was regulated by legal statute and not by natural justice. Natural justice would give to labor what it produces. Natural justice would give those children an equal share of their father's estate. It really looks as if the law so binds the people that they cannot be just. What can be done to remedy this?

"Yes, the whole question lies right here. They are very particular about the legality of birth because of property rights, for property in the hands of individuals controls labor. The question is who shall control the men who are deprived of a home because the law gave Major Boyle the right (?) to hold thousands of acres of land?

"Why, the lawfully born of course. Great is law, and the wherefore of its power is a big question; I wonder if I shall ever get to the bottom of it."

A queer John, but he is not the only one who is puzzled over this problem of legal injustice. It will be solved some day. Earnest thought will bring the answer.

As this last query passed through his mind John found himself at his own door. He now dismissed the subject and set about preparing his dinner: a few minutes after some one rapped. "Come in" he called out not taking the trouble to go to the door. He looked up inquiringly as Harry Golder, an older brother of Fred's walked in, for he was not an accustomed visitor.

"How do you do, uncle John, heard the news?"

"What news, that you are courting a certain young lady with the intention of marriage?"

"Nonsense, that's all gossip, about old man Russell."

"What about him?"

"Is it possible that you haven't heard! well, read that." handing him a New York paper, pointing as he did so to the column headed; "Sensation in high life."

Wherefore took the paper, looked the article over, and then said: "I am not in the least surprised. Russell, or Edward Bond Boyle, as he is called here, looks so much like the Col. I have thought all the time there must be a close relationship, but is it not rather tough that Russell should claim the whole? it does not seem like him."

"It isn't his fault, John, as I have just learned from detective Morse."

"Is Morse in town?"

Wherefore very well knew that Morse was in town for they had talked till midnight the night before upon this very subject, but it suited his purpose to seem ignorant of the whole matter.

"No," continued Harry, thinking he was telling a piece of news, "Russell is not to blame," going on to relate the particulars of what the reader already knows, "you know how proud the Col. is and he said no adventurous beggar should have a third of the Boyle estate. Russell then said if he must appeal to the law he should claim his rights in full."

"He may claim all the law will give him if he can show that he is the only legally born child, but it is not right all the same."

"It is legally right, and the law is what we must abide by in such matters," said Harry. "If the question of legitimacy did not decide inheritance we should be at the mercy of any woman who chose to claim us as father to her child."

"Not if men were as tenacious of enforcing the law against the illegal association of the sexes as they are in seeing that property laws are enforced."

Harry looked at Wherefore a moment as if to take in the full meaning of his words, and then burst into a hearty laugh. "Men can never be held to that law," he said.

"If a just law cannot be enforced and an unjust one can what's the use of having laws, Harry? I for one say: 'Curse an unjust law,' and there is no justice whatever in making a child suffer because its parents made a mistake before it was born, and had I the power I would sweep such an infamous law from the statute book."

Harry looked very much surprised at this outburst. "Why John," he said, "I thought you were a law abiding citizen; what would become of the country if every one felt as you do?"

"What would become of the country! there would be no unjust laws upon our statute books, none enacted which violated one's natural sense of justice, or if there was, they would not be obeyed."

"If we had to depend upon the moral sense of the ignorant masses no one's property would be safe," replied Harry with warmth.

"You mean it wouldn't be safe for the rich to steal from the poor, do you take that paper?"

"No, a friend sent me this copy, a Mr. Lawrence. He was here in October last; I think you must have seen him; he and Fred were always together."

"The mulatto do you mean?"

"The mulatto?" repeated Harry, with a stare of astonishment.

"That black haired fellow," persisted Wherefore, "hasn't he some colored blood in his veins?"

"What nonsense! indeed he hasn't. He comes from one of the best families in the city; his mother is a highly educated French woman, and a perfect lady; and the Lawrences stand high."

"Well, no harm is done, no disrespect intended, but that is what some of the people here think."

"Indeed! they are complimentary."

"Oh, they did not think it strange he should visit at your house, as your father is such an abolitionist."

"The fools! they think we would as soon associate with niggers as white people, do they? can't understand that we can defend their right to themselves without making companions of them!" Harry's face was such a picture of indignant disgust that Wherefore laughed outright, while his disgusted guest picked up the paper and left.

"Hasn't learned all the news yet," said John as he turned to finish preparing his dinner.

After the excitement consequent upon the discovery of the lineage of Mrs. Lawrence had ceased, they were ignored by those to whom color was more than brains, or moral worth, and nothing further was said of the matter. The Golders and Lawrences had not then met, so the people of Mandaville were ignorant of the fact; but John knew, had learned it from his friends in the city, hence his remarks made on purpose to annoy Harry Golder. John could keep a close mouth when he chose; he had not told even Russell.

————

Glenwood, as might be expected, was in a fever of excitement; every one was talking to every one else about the new claimant to Major Boyle's estate. Blake was the best attorney in that part of the country, and that was why Judge Wendover desired him to stay when he so summarily dismissed Bond Boyle and Morse. They wished to retain him as counsel, but they were too late.

Russell, or Boyle, by the advice of Morse, secured another eminent lawyer to act with Blake, and when all the legal steps were taken that were necesary to bring the case to trial, he decided to leave the place till court sat.

"Where will you go, back to Mandaville?" asked Blake.

"I must go to Mandaville but not to stay; Morse went yesterday and he can do the curiosity for them, I want to be where I can think, and where I shall not be the subject of remark every time I step out of doors."

"What will you do with your granddaughter?"

"With Alice, I've been thinking about that; I have decided to take her to an aunt, a sister of her mother, and let her go to school. They have a good school; it will be a good place for me too. It is back in the hills of Pennsylvania and I don't think the Col. is known there. I want to go where my likeness to his honor will not attract attention."

"His honor may have to come down a peg," said Blake, noticing the bitter tone, "but there must be some disposal made of your money, sir, where it will be bringing you some return. They will put off the trial of your claim as long as they can, will get it postponed from one term of court to another, and if decided in your favor will appeal it, and it all takes money."

"Yes, I know, what would you advise?"

"I would advise that you put five thousand dollars where you can draw on it at any time, and the balance where it will bring you ten per cent interest and well secured."

"Can that be done, Mr. Blake? ten per cent seems to me very high interest."

"It's higher than it will bring here, but out west they rush business. There it is more likely to bring twelve than ten. I am not afraid to take it and invest it for you and take what I can get over ten per cent for my trouble, and that will leave you fifteen hundred dollars annual income."

"You forget that the agent there will have to be paid for his trouble."

"I forget nothing; the agent will get his pay from the man who borrows your money. It will be loaned in sums of from two hundred to two thousand dollars. On all sums under five hundred dollars, the agent, for looking up the validity of the security, making out the papers, etc., will get five per cent which will be taken out of the money borrowed. On larger sums the rate will be something less."

"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Blake, that the man who borrows five hundred dollars of my money will get but four hundred and seventy-five and yet must pay interest on the five hundred?"

"That is just what I do mean to tell you, Mr. Boyle."

"My God, what a cut throat system we have! I do not wonder the poor get poorer all the time," and he got up and walked the floor to walk off his excitement.

Blake said not a word till Boyle resumed his seat, then he remarked: "It will not do, sir, to let your mind rest on things like that now. If you win that estate, then you can spend both time and money in investigating the causes that produce poverty, can study the labor problem, and work to remove the evils which prevail. But now, as I said, it will not do. You must hold your thought to the getting of the estate till that question is settled if you expect to win."

"You will acknowledge that the system is false?"

"Most certainly I will sir, but when one is so situated that he must either grind or be grist, what can be done?"

"True enough, what can be? Well, as I have been grist all my life so far, I suppose I must grind, regardless of results. Talk of free moral agency! we are a set of puppets."

"Not exactly, sir. True, we are measurably bound by conditions. People on a steamer out on the ocean, cannot with safety to themselves step off into the water, and even if they take a boat they are in great danger, but if they remain on board, and have a good steamer with an intelligent commander they will reach the harbor in time and then they will have the dry land to walk on."

"Do you mean to say, Mr. Blake, that our present economic system must be run ashore before we can deal justly by others without getting swamped ourselves?"

"Something like that, sir."

"Ha, ha, ha, a lawyer an economic philosopher; what is the world coming to?"

"It is coming to its senses I hope," was the quick retort.

"Well, I must stop listening to philosophy and tend to business I expect, but it struck me as rather funny that a lawyer should condemn the system that gives him his bread and butter," was Russell's—no, Boyle's rejoinder.

"If I may ask, what is your particular business just now?"

"I must plan to go to Mandaville so that no one will see me but Wherefore."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Notoriety. The change is too great from old Ed Russell to 'Mr. Bond Boyle, the Col.'s brother.' I think I will hire a horse and ride over instead of going in the stage."

————

That night about ten o'clock Wherefore heard the rap that with a sort of prescience he had been expecting. Together they went to Russell's cottage and after securing such papers as only Russell knew where to find, they talked till nearly morning, and then the man who had hitherto been known as Russell remounted his horse and rode away, and the people of the place were none the wiser for his having been there.

————

CHAPTER XI.

THE DELAYS OF LAW.

"That like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along," only the law wounds instead of being wounded, and winds itself about its victims as it drags.

Mrs. Wendover was a conscientious woman. And she possessed a brain capable of broad and deep reasoning, but occasion had not, as yet, called it into action in the sphere of causes, but the idea of right, of justice was paramount with her. She had not yet learned to separate the moral from the legal standard, so the law in its clearly defined intent, separated from legal quibbling, was to her an authoritative rule of action.

She believed also that to rightly honor one's parents their known wishes as to the disposal of what was theirs should be carried out; so as the time drew near when the question as to the inheritance was to be tried she became more and more dissatisfied with the course her husband and brother were taking, and urged earnestly that they should make an effort to have the suit withdrawn and the provisions of the unsigned will carried out. She said:

"I am satisfied that Mr. Russell and the Edward Bond Boyle spoken of in the will are one and the same person, and as my father's child he certainly has a right to his share, and till he was refused that he showed no wish to take more."

"Who cares whether he is or not," said the Judge with a tone and manner entirely foreign to his usual way of addressing his wife.

She looked at him reproachfully. "Well, hang it all, wife, you irritate me so, you know that Edward will never consent to what you propose."

"I think we both might persuade him, husband."

"I shall not try it, that's certain; what makes you act so silly, Sarah, are you losing your senses?"

"I did not suppose it was evidence of insanity to wish to do right," she replied with spirit.

"But Russell has sued for the whole estate, and he will not be very likely to compromise the matter now."

"That could be easily ascertained."

"But why are you so anxious to share this property with a stranger?"

"Because I believe him to to be my father's son. I loved my father, and now he is gone I want to honor him by doing what I know he wished to have done," she said with tearful earnestness.

"It will do him a great deal of honor to have it shown that he had two wives at once," said the Judge, forgetting in his anger that what she desired would prevent instead of securing further publicity.

"It was not his fault but his misfortune, and it need not have been made public if"——

"Yes, I know, but if you are so anxious to honor your father, what about your husband? Please remember that the bible commands the wife to obey as well as to honor; but Ed will be here to morrow and you can fight it out with him if you think it will do any good."

"And if he will not consent to do what is righ, I may conclude to let him fight it out alone."

"What do you mean?" asked the Judge, looking very much surprised.

"I mean just what I say, that I may so conclude, I have not yet decided that I will. Edward is one of the defendants and I am the other; suppose I refuse to defend?"

Never before in all her married life had Mrs. Wendover demurred from her husband's will or opinion in a matter of business, and to say that he was astounded that she should even think of refusing to defend the case, or to have him defend it for her, does not half express it; he was literally dazed. He opened his lips as if to speak, closed them again, wondered if he had heard aright, and looking into her eyes, saw that he had, and he finally gasped out: "What next!"

"You look as surprised, Ralph," she said, "as though you thought I had no individuality, no life that was not merged in yours. Is it so strange then, that in a matter where you two have used my name against my known wishes, as one of the defendants against a claim that would never have been made had you respected my father's wishes—is it then strange, that I wonder if I have any rights in the matter?"

"You and Ed for it; I have nothing further to say," and the dignified Judge took his hat and left the house.

The Col. came the next day as had been said, and again the subject came up for discussion, Mrs. Wendover pleading for the right, her brother stubbornly indignant, and her husband sullenly silent.

At length she said; "My conscience will not let me take half my father's estate; I should feel as if his spirit would haunt me. I dreamed last night that he came to me and said: 'Sarah, be firm, for you are in the right.' "

"You dreamed it, did you," said the Col. giving the Judge a peculiar look.

"I call it a dream, for I do not suppose I really saw him," she replied.

"Oh, I didn't know but you was turning medium."

"Well, medium or dreamer, I'm tired of this," said the Judge; "I've business elsewhere; will you go with me, Ed?"

"Certainly, and give Sarah a chance to dream again."

As soon as they were out of hearing the Col. said: "It's of no use, Ralph, we can't move her from her purpose. When she gets the idea of right and wrong in her head she is as firm as the hills, always was."

"What can we do then?"

"We must shut her up."

"Shut her up!" exclaimed the Judge.

"Yes, temporary insanity."

"Oh, Edward, I can't do that."

"It is our only hope; she will surely throw her influence against us if we do not, beside, she need suffer nothing but the loss of persual liberty. She can have every comfort that money can buy."

Judge Wendover covered his face with his hands and groaned aloud.

"Hush," said Boyle glancing uneasily around, "we can't be too careful in a matter of this kind; any unusual movements attract attention." There was no one in sight, still he did not seem satisfied, and rising to his feet he said:

"Let's go farther away; this seat is too near the road."

When they were again seated Boyle resumed his argument. The Judge listened awhile and then said: "I should think you and Sarah were born of different mothers instead of you and the other one, you are so unlike."

"We are not much alike, that's a fact. Perhaps your wife is a changeling,"said the Col. laughingly.

"I should imagine you to be the changling, Ed, but for your likeness to your father and to the other one."

"Well, perhaps I am, but what are we going to do, shut her up, or let her spoil everthing?"

The Judge was silent, but finally he said: "I cannot do it; I should betray myself."

"You need do nothing in the matter; you have only to acquiesce in what I do."

"How will you manage it?"

"There will be no trouble on that score. I have a friend who keeps a private retreat, and who will do anything I ask in the way of making her comfortable."

"Well, do as you will, I don't see any other way." The

Col. then commenced talking of other matters, and presently they were called to dinner.

At the table the Col. was cheerful and talkative, but the Judge was so silent and abstracted that his wife noticed it and asked him if he was sick.

"I am not feeling very well," he replied, and then seeing her anxious look, he added, "nothing serious, only a little headache." Had he said heartache he would have told the truth.

Presently the Col. remarked: "I am to meet a couple of business friends here to-morrow or Friday, can I bring them here to dinner, Sarah, or are your arrangements such that it will not be convenient?"

"Bring them here, certainly; I shall be pleased to entertain them," was the reply.

The unsuspecting woman was glad to please her brother, and happy that he seemed in such good humor. Little dreaming how he was plotting against her, she almost dared to hope that he would yet consent to her wishes in regard to their father's will. But the Judge understood, and he turned so pale that Boyle trod on his foot under the table to warn him that he must not betray himself.

After dinner they went out again. Indeed, the Col. dared not leave Wendover in the house, and the latter dared not stay. He felt as if he should smother.

Boyle was the first to speak after they left the house. "Ralph, do you think this a pleasant thing for me to do?" he asked.

"I do not know how you feel but I know how you seem," was the reply.

"If I do not seem to care it is because I have better control over myself than you have. If I could see my way out of this other than by conceding what she asks, I would gladly avail myself of it."

"Do you believe that Russell would withdraw the suit and accept the provisions of the will now, Ed?"

"I am certain I shall never ask him to do so, nor consent to its being done," was the emphatic reply.

"I begin to wish that we had consented to the will in the first place," continued the Judge.

"It might have better, but I do not think so, and you were as determined then as I was."

"That is true but I never dreamed she could be so persistent; the thought of shutting her up makes makes me sick," and the man dropped his face into his hands.

"It is hard, Ralph, and for me as well as for you, for I do not forget that she is my sister; but I think you have known of cases equally hard to the parties concerned, only they did not happen to be of your own family." He said this in a tone of significance that brought the blood to the Judge's cheek but he made no reply.

On Friday the Col. came again bringing with him the gentlemen of whom he had spoken. They went to the village, called at the courthouse, and altogether, seemed very busy. At dinner they spoke of the suit that was set for the following week and laughingly asked Mrs. Wendover what she thought of the fellow's pretentions.

She was surprised at such a question from a stranger and hesitated to reply. Her brother interposed:

"My sister is very much afraid of doing wrong," he said, "She believes what is expressed in that concocted but unsigned will to be a true statement of our father's wishes and insists that its provisions be carried out. She is urging us to ask this conspirator to take one third of the estate and withdraw the suit."

The two gentlemen, who had been introduced as Mr. Ford and Mr. Ashley, expressed so much surprise at this that Mrs. Wendover felt embarrassed and uucomfortable, but she defended her position.

As soon as she paused the Col. said: "I should feel as she does did I not believe that the whole thing is a plot gotten up because of this man Russell's likeness to myself, but sister here, is so afraid of doing wrong, she actually dreams that father comes to her and tells her she is right."

"Was it a dream or did you think you saw your father," asked Ashley.

"I call it a dream" she said, beginning to feel indignant at the pertinacity with which she was being questioned.

"You call it a dream because you are not willing to admit that it seemed a reality," said Ford.

She turned appealingly to her husband but he did not look up, and feeling that she must make some reply, she said with a sort of desperation: "It might have been real; there are cases on record where such things have occured when"——

"When what?" asked the Col.

"When a great wrong is about to be perpetrated," she continued, looking him full in the face.

The Judge here gave Boyle a look which said, I can bear no more, and the subject of conversation was then adroitly changed and Mrs. Wendover soon recovered her composure.

When dinner was over the Judge said: "You will please excuse me now, gentlemen; I have business that takes me from home a few days and I have some matters that I must attend to first."

"Going away!" exclaimed the Col. "I was thinking of asking you and Sarah to go with me to-morrow to see an old friend."

"Sarah can go if she likes, but I must be off, good day gentlemen." Boyle turned to his sister with:

"Will you go, Sarah?"

"If you wish it, what time do you start?"

"Oh about ten o'clock, come gentlemen, we must finish up that little busines we have on hand."

As soon as they were by themselves Boyle said: "You see how it is, gentlemen, now what's to be done?"

"No woman in her senses would take the position she does," said Ford.

"And what do you say, Dr.?" asked Boyle, turning to Ashley.

"That is also my opinion, sir."

"And you would not hesitate to pronounce her insane?"

"A temporary aberation only; the excitement produced by the scene attendant upon her father's death has so impressed itself upon her brain that it makes the one idea predominate over all others."

"But the approaching trial is intensifying that action," said Ford, "and it will be a severe strain upon her nervous system, one that she will not soon rally from."

"Then what would you advise under the circumstances," continued Boyle.

Ford turned to Ashley: "What do you think?"

"Temporary restraint in some quiet retreat might not be amiss," he said, after seeming hesitation.

"Dr. Vosburg has a superior place for such patients, and he uses tact in their management," remarked Ford.

"Yes, either there or at Matten's but Matten's is much farther away and you will want her where you can see or hear from her at any time, but how does the Judge feel about this, Col.?" was Ashley's response.

"He knows that something must be done but it hurts him so badly that he has planned to go away; he leaves it all to me. Yes we should prefer to have her near us."

"Does your sister know anything of either of these places?" asked Ford.

"No, she hasn't the least idea there is anything within a hundred miles."

"Such retreats are not made conspicuous," remarked Ashley, and then there was silence. Presently Boyle said: "Well, if it must be done the sooner it is over the better; gentlemen, will you reduce your opinion to writing."

————

Court was to convene on Tuesday. On Monday there appeared in the county paper the following item:

"Very Sad.

"We are informed that Mrs. Wendover has thought and worried over the circumstances attending her father's death, the appearance at the time of a man claiming to be the son of a former marriage, the unsigned will, etc., till her reason is threatened, and under the advice of physicians skilled in diseases of the mind it has been thought best to remove her from all excitement connected with the coming trial to where she can have such care and treatment as her case requires. It is to be hoped that she will soon be so restored as to be able to return to her afflicted family."

When the paper containing the above was handed to

Blake, Morse was present. The lawyer read the item and then handed the paper to the detective, remarking as he did so: "I wonder how much Tom Boston got for publishing that."

"That is Ed Boyle's handiwork," remarked Morse when he had read it.

"Yes, and the Judge is his tool; that man will stop at nothing that he thinks will aid him in accomplishing his ends, the scheming rascal."

"That's so, Blake, and if we could only prove"——

"He has money," interupted Blake.

"Yes, he has money, and our infernal property system makes so many paupers, and so many sneaks who are afraid of becoming paupers, a few dollars will buy them up like cattle. It is next to impossible to convict a rich man of crime." replied Morse in indignant tones.

"Hold on, don't get too wrathy with your bread and butter," said Blake, laughing.

" 'Bread and butter!' well this will put some of the needful to buy it into your pocket, Blake, for it will delay your case and add to your fee."

"I expect they will delay us as long as they can: that's what the insanity dodge means; Mrs. Wendover is no more insane than I am."

That night Edward Bond Boyle and attorney Logan came into town so as to be there the next day at the opening of the court. They called on Blake and found Morse there as they expected. Blake handed Bond Boyle the paper containing the article relating to Mrs. Wendover, and asked him what he thought of it. He read it and passed it to Logan without comment; neither did Logan comment upon that but asked:

"Who is this Jedediah Brown that I hear the people talking of as a witness that can't be found?"

Blake looked at Morse and laughed. Morse gave him a look which said, keep dark, and answered carelessly: "I think Wherefore knows."

"And I think he will have to be produced before this matter is settled," replied Logan.

"He can be found, no doubt, when he is really wanted," said Morse, and then commenced talking on another subject.

Russell saw that there was something connected with Brown that he did not understand but he asked no questions. Presently he went out but Logan remained.

"Is it possible, Morse," said Blake as soon as Russell left, "that Russell don't know you are Brown?"

"Not a word, and I don't want him to know yet. If the conspiracy dodge is to be played they shall not implicate Bond Boyle; the Col. would be only too glad to shut him up as he has his sister."

"But who put you up to that kind of detective work," asked Logan.

"Wherefore is at the bottom of it, or Wildermere his true name is; Mr. Logan, you ought to know that man."

"Is it John Wildermere?"

"The same, you are acquainted with him then?"

"I have met him a few times when in the city; his sister married a cousin of mine; a shrewd man."

"That he is, I'm glad you know him; how soon do you suppose our case will be called?"

"No telling, perhaps not till next week."

It was really reached the third day. A few minor matters were attended to in the morning but the first thing in the afternoon was the case of Boyle vs. Boyle and Wendover. The plaintiff's counsel were asked if they were ready for trial. "Ready, your honor," responed Blake, but when the same question was asked of defendants' counsel more time was desired.

Reasons given: one of the defendants was unable to be present and an important witness not yet found. Judge Wendover looked very sad and people whispered their sympathy one to another. After a few questions and a little deliberation the case was put over till the next term of court and both parties were at liberty to retire.

"With expenses and delays what chance would I have had but for my father's money?" said Bond Boyle as they left the court-room.

————

CHAPTER XII.

MEETS HIS FATE.

"Alas, my son! to see thee lying cold and still; but better thus than living on possessed of that dire madness which seeks, insanely seeks to drink the brightness out of other lives to minister to self."

Such, as nearly as can be put into words, were the feelings of Mrs. Lawrence as she gazed for the last time upon the face of her first born, but we anticipate.

Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence soon rallied from the effects of the shock caused by the discovery of her unfortunate parentage on her mother's side; but the effect upon Richard intensified with time while the very worst elements of his character were called into action by the bitterness thus engendered. He had from childhood manifested a disposition which gave his parents much anxiety as to his future, but now he seemed worse than ever.

Both his parents were generous in their natures, and thoughtful for the happiness of others. To those dependent upon them as well as to those in their own rank in life they were courteous and kind. Richard was scrupulously exact in rendering to those he considered his equals all that the rules of society required, but why was he so regardless of the rights of those who stood below him? why did he seem to regard them as servants of his will or objects of his pleasure? Their other children possessed no such disposition and why should he?

These were the questions the anxious parents often asked themselves and each other, but they found no satisfactory answer. After the experience that tested her friends Mrs. Lawrence did not go into general society as much as before. Though never thoughtless, her mind took a more inquiring turn, and she began to attend scientific lectures, and to frequent places where questions that are of widespread interest to the race were discussed by thinkers in the advance ranks of reform. One evening after having listened to a very intelligent speaker upon hereditary laws and tendencies, she said to her husband on her return:

"I know now why Richard is so different from us, and from the rest of the children; I wish you could have gone with me to-night, I know you would have been interested."

"I wish so, too; I always go with you when I can, my dear, but what particular thing did you learn to-night that throws light on this vexed question?"

"The disappearance of parental traits in one generation and their re-appearance at a later period. My white ancestry, with the exception of my father, were slave-holders who held the poor whites as even beneath their slaves.

"The surroundings of my mother before my birth, were such as tended to hold that element in check, but it re-appears in Richard. He has no more regard for those in his own station in life, than the slave-holder had for the rights of his slave, and as much contempt for the poor as the slaves were taught to feel for what they called 'poor white trash,' " then, dropping on her head on husband's breast, she wailed:

"Oh, my poor boy, it would have been well had you died at birth."

"I would not feel like that, Helen; Richard is no worse than scores of others," said Mr. Lawrence, soothing her tenderly.

"It is the fact that there are so many like him that makes me feel still worse. Oh, what would have been the fate of my poor mother and myself if my father had not been an honorable man! I tell you, Henry, Richard, with his disposition, and his attractiveness, when he chooses to please, will be the ruin of many a poor girl, and I had rather see him dead."

Her husband could not gainsay her, so he was silent.

————

John Wildermere, alias Wherefore, had relatives in the city who were as high upon the social ladder as were the Lawrences, but he had a feeling of contempt for what is called society, coupled with an intense desire to know the why of everything.

He was not a garbage gatherer; he did not peer into other people's business, nor seek for the facts of their lives, but when facts, or distorted reports of facts came to his knowledge, he sought the correct version in order to learn the "wherefore of such things."

There had come to him from New York glimpses of matters that appealed to his ruling trait of character, so, when Russell and Alice had gone to Pennsylvania, and nothing further could be done in that line till the spring term of court, he decided to pay his city relatives a visit.

The second day after his arrival there, Richard Lawrence was startled by hearing some one repeat in a low, but distinct tone:

"Piecemeal to students and rats."

Turning quickly, he found himself face with Wildermere. "Are you a rat catcher?" he asked.

"No, sir, but my dog is," was John's reply.

The next second he lay prostrate upon the pavement. Richard's motion was so quick there was not an instant in which to dodge the blow. He picked himself up as quickly as he had been knocked down, remarking as he did so: "That was Southern chivalry."

In saying this, John had no thought of the story connected with Mrs. Lawrence's birth, but Richard was so sensitive on this point, he understood it as a taunt because of that, and as quick as thought drew his pistol and fired, and but for the fact that his arm was knocked aside by a policeman who had seen the knock down, and hastened to the spot, would have shot John directly through the heart.

Richard was marched off to the police court, John and those who had been attracted hither by the sound of the pistol, following.

There happened to be no other business on hand just then, so the case was investigated at once. Richard would have given a false name, but he dare not with Wildermere's eye upon him, so he would have to devise some other method to keep the knowledge of his arrest from his parents.

The policeman testified as follows:

"I was standing on the corner, watching a man whose movements looked suspicious, when this man Lawrence, passed me, and right behind him this other man; they passed on a few steps, and the one behind said something, I did not hear, when the prisoner turned and said something, to which the other replied, and then the prisoner knocked the other man down. The man arose to his feet, made some remark, but no aggressive movement, then the prisoner snatched his pistol from his pocket and fired. I was near enough to knock his arm aside and the ball lodged in the lamp post."

"Prisoner at the bar, why did you strike this man?" asked the police judge.

"He insulted me, sir," was the crest-fallen reply.

"Will you please tell the court what he said."

"Your honor, the words of themselves did not constitute an insult; it was through their connection with other matters which I cannot well explain."

"With your permission, sir, I will tell you what I said."

"Your name, sir?"

"John Wildermere."

"Residence?"

"Mandaville, this state; I am at present staying at my sister's at ——, Blank street."

"We will now hear your statement."

"Well, your honor, I was repeating to myself a bit of poetry of which the words: 'Peacemeal to students and rats,' are a part. I have lived much by myself and have contracted the habit of thinking aloud, and I repeated those words just as I came up with the gentleman at the bar. He turned and asked me if I was a rat catcher; I replied I was not, but my dog was."

Wilderemere, while telling this, kept a perfectly sober face, but managed to assume such a comical expression as well as tone of voice, that the Judge himself could with difficulty repress a smile, while an audible titter among the crowd forced him to call for order.

"Was that all?" he asked when quiet was restored.

"All, your honor, till after he knocked me down; I remarked, when I had recovered my feet: 'That is Southern chivalry,' then he drew his pistol and fired."

A man who had stood by the lamp post as they passed, was next questioned: "Did you hear what was said," asked the Judge.

"I did not catch quite all the poetry, your honor, but the last word was rats; what the gentleman says of the conversation is correct, word for word," was the reply.

The Judge sat awhile as if in thought. He looked first at Richard and then at Wildermere. Judging from his countenance, he was saying to himself: "They are gentlemen; some old grudge I presume, and the young man has a quick temper; I must give him a talking to."

Finally putting this last thought into words, he said: "Mr. Lawrence, let this be a warning to you to control your temper. But for a fortunate interference, you would now be a murderer. Think of the sorrow it would have been to your friends, and of what would have been your own fate. As it is, you have broken the public peace, and must pay your fine as well as bearing the disgrace, but I hope never again to see you a prisoner in a police court."

Richard was then given the lowest fine that the law would allow, which was promptly paid, and he was free to go where he pleased. He did not, however, seem in any haste to leave, but when the crowd which always gathers in such places, had dispersed, he dropped a five dollar gold piece into the hands of the Judge, and another into the hands of the policeman.

"For my mother's sake," he said, and the report of that trial did not appear in the Police Gazette.

Richard walked a square with the enforcer of the public peace, and as he turned to leave, he remarked: "I would give as much more for the chance to knock that puppy down again." The policeman laughed and went his way.

Wildermere went about his business as serenely as if nothing had happened, but the more Richard thought of the matter the more angry he became. He felt that he would stop at nothing that promised revenge, and as he turned over various projects in his mind, he thought of Alice.

"I wonder where she is," he said to himself. "I will write to Golder and find out; no, I will go myself. I can learn from the postmaster where the old man is; she, no doubt is with him."

About two weeks after this, Wildermere was visiting at the house of a friend, when a young girl who lived in the next house, came in and remarked in his hearing:

"Lucy Perkins was at our house yesterday, and she says Richard Lawrence has left the city."

"Richard Lawrence, who is he?" was the response.

"Why, that young man whose mother is a nigger, and he is black enough, mercy knows."

"I think you mistake, Miss," remarked Wildermere.

"Mistake about what, sir?"

"About Mrs. Lawrence being a nigger."

"It was in all the papers, sir, and they wouldn't dare to publish such stuff if it wasn't true," she replied defiantly.

"It is true," said Wildermere, "that her grandmother was an octaroon and a slave, do you know what an octaroon is, Miss?"

The girl stared at him as if astonished, and he continued: "if you do, please tell me?"

"Octo means eight," she said at length, "but I don't see how it can apply to a person; octagon means eight sided, but octo, or eight-aroon is beyond me."

"It means one-eighth negro blood."

"Oh!"

"Mrs. Lawrence's grandmother was an octaroon, but her grandfather was a white man; that made her mother one-sixteenth negro blood. Mrs. Lawrence's father was a French gentleman of pure blood, and that makes her one-thirty-second part negro blood, and as Mr. Lawrence is a white man, that makes his son but one sixty-fourth part negro, do you think that spoils him?"

"Yes, sir, I do; I wouldn't marry him if only one drop in a thousand was negro blood."

"Of course you will not be compelled to do so, but did you learn where Richard Lawrence has gone?"

"Somewhere up the country, to someville, I can't remember the name."

"Was it Mandaville?"

"Yes, sir, that's the name."

"Thank you, Miss, but permit me to advise you to get the pedigree of all your gentlemen friends for at least ten generations back, or you might possibly make a mistake and marry the thousandth part of a negro."

The girl turned away with an angry toss of the head, and soon after she left the house; but as she went out, she confided to one of the family the information that that was the queerest man she ever did see.

"Gone to Mandaville, has he; bent on mischief, of course; I wonder if he is not trying to find Alice; I must look after this," such were Wildermere's cogitations upon returning to his sister's that night, and he decided to go home the next day, and if Richard had gone, his next move must be to go where Alice was and help to watch over her.

The next morning, before he was out of bed, he heard the news boys crying on the street: "Great sensation; attempted abduction and murder." He dressed and went down as soon as possible, for somehow, he felt that he had an interest in that sensation. Securing a paper, he read:

"Attempted abduction of a young girl; the abductor pursued and shot."

Such were the headlines of an article in the special news column, which stated that near the town of Goshen, Penn., a young girl named Alice Russell, had started to visit a friend a mile away, and that at a turn in the road she was seized, a cloth saturated with chloroform thrown over her face, taken to a carriage in waiting and driven rapidly away.

That the parties were seen by a young man on horse back who had just come to the crest of a hill in an opposite direction. Others joined in the chase; when they came up with the carriage the horses were seized by the bits. The driver jumped from his seat and fled, and upon forcing open the door, a young man had held the unconscious girl in front of him with one hand and presented a pistol with the other.

Both parties had fired, and simultaneously. One of the rescuers had been wounded in the shoulder and the shot which reached the young man's heart went through the girl's arm. The abducting party is not known.

"Doubly fortunate," remarked Wildermere when he had finished reading the account,

"What is doubly fortunate, John?" asked his sister.

"Read that" he replied, handing her the paper, "and say if it is not fortunate that the girl was rescued, and also fortunate that the man was killed, for he will never attempt to ruin another girl."

He then turned to the secretary, wrote a few lines, cut the article from the paper, and enclosed both in an envelope, directing the same, and as soon as breakfast was over, went out. About half an hour afterward a stranger stepped into Henry Lawrence's office and asked for Mr. Lawrence.

"I am Mr. Lawrence, what can I do for you?"

"You will please read this," and handing him a note, the man walked out.

Mr. Lawrence seemed a little surprised at the man's abrupt departure, but opened the note and read:

"Mr. Lawrence:

"DEAR SIR:—You will pardon me if I seem to intrude, but the enclosed reminds me of a conversation that was overheard in Mandaville some months since, in which a young man said of a young girl then residing there but who has since gone to Goshen, Penn.: 'I will have her yet; by fair means or foul she shall be mine.' That young girl's name is Alice Russell, and the young man's, Richard Lawrence. If the young man who attempted this abduction is not your son no harm is done by giving you this information, but if it should prove to be Richard, this will give you an opportunity to secure the body, and perhaps with less publicity than could otherwise be done.

"A FRIEND"

Upon reading this, Mr. Lawrence turned very pale and seemed about to fall. One of the clerks stepped forward to assist him but he waived the man back, and rallying somewhat from the shock he retired to his private office, and locking the door, went to his desk and wrote as follows:

"DEAR WIFE:

"I am called away on urgent business and the train leaves so soon I have no time to go home first. I will return soon and tell you all about it. Till then, good bye. HENRY."

This he gave to the office boy to deliver and then had barely time to catch the train. On reaching Goshen he found that his fears were but too true. When the sheet was turned back from the dead face his first words were: "Oh, Richard!" then, remembering there were others present, suppressd further signs of emotion, and after a few moment's contemplation of the inanimate features, he turned to give some directions about the body when, with a look of surprise he stepped toward a gentleman standing near and said: "Why Col. Boyle, I did not expect to meet you here."

"You mistake, sir, I am not Col. Boyle," was the reply.

"Not Col. Boyle?"

"No sir, I am his half brother."

"Oh, I remember hearing something of this, but I thought you lived in Mandaville."

"So I did, but I came here with my granddaughter to await the May term of court."

"And the name you have been known by?"

"Is Russell." Mr. Lawrence glanced at his son's body and nothing further was said.

Passing over the incidents connected with the bringing home of the body, the grief of the family, the sympathy of the few friends who were permitted to come to them in their awful sorrow,the next report of the matter as given to the public, was:

"The body of the young man who was shot near Goshen Penn., while attempting to abduct a young girl, has been identified, but for the sake of the family the name is withheld. The fact of the attempt was clearly proven; the man who shot the abductor was tried and discharged on the ground of justifiable homicide. It is said that the girl is very beautiful, and it was supposed at first that the abductor was the agent of some procuress, but further investigation shows that it was a personal matter, the young man having been heard to say months before that he would have her by fair means or foul."

The great public read this item, regretted that the name was not forthcoming, and then forgot all about the matter.

————

CHAPTER XIII.

A GILDED CAGE.

On the day that Col. Boyle took his sister to see "some friends" they stopped at a pleasant looking place and found the man and his wife pleasant people who expressed themselves delighted to meet the Col's sister. Mr. and Mrs. Vosburg were the names given, and Mrs. Wendover was happily entertained.

After dinner the two gentlemen went out and the ladies repaired to the parlor where, with music and conversation, two hours passed very quickly. At length Mrs. Wendover glanced at the clock and then asked:

"Where is my brother? It is time we were going home."

"Time enough yet," replied Mrs. Vosburg, but she got up and left the room, and when she returned her husband was with her.

Mrs. Wendover looked surprised and asked again:

"Where is my brother?"

"He spoke of some unfinished business and said: 'Dr., you must take care of my sister till morning.' "

"Till morning!" puting her hand to her head as if bewildered, then, looking from one to the other, she asked:

"What does this mean?"

"There now, don't get excited, Mrs. Wendover," said the Dr. in a soothing tone, "you will make yourself worse."

"Make myself worse! I'm not sick."

"Not in body, perhaps, but you have had so much sorrow and anxiety of late, there is danger of its affecting your brain, and your friends have thought it best that you stay with us awhile, where you can have rest and the very best care we can give you."

She had risen to her feet, and stood confronting the two. She turned so white at this announcement they thought she was going to faint, and the Dr. sprang forward to keep her from falling.

"Don't touch me," she said, "I understand it all now; I am in a private madhouse."

"Why no, dear lady, only a temporary retreat for overworked and over-worried brains."

She made no reply to this but turned and walked to the window. She stood looking out for some minutes, while the Dr. and his wife waited to see what she would do next. Presently she turned and said:

"You are a physician, Mr. Vosburg." He bowed his head in assent. "And yet you were not introduced to me as one."

To this indirect accusation he made no reply.

"Your caution was needless." she continued, "for nothing but the cruel truth plainly shown, could have made me believe that my brother and my husband——" her voice faltered upon the last word, and there was the quiver of unshed tears in its tone, but she controlled herself and added: "could have planned this dastardly outrage."

Again there was silence, till she at length remarked: "And Mr. Ford and Ashley were physicians too. Will you be kind enough to show me to my room?"

She was shown to a room comfortably, yes, elegantly furnished, but so situated that escape from it was impossible. "Here at the head of your bed is the bell," said Mrs. Vosburg; "you have only to press this button and some one will come and attend to your wants, and now my dear lady, do not misinterpret your friends, they really"——

"Madam, will you be kind enough to leave me?"

The lady did not wait to be asked the second time; there was something in the prisoner's tone too commanding to permit of that petty assumption of power so often shown in such cases.

When left to herself, the poor wronged woman looked around upon the rich appurtenances, and said to herself: "A gilded cage," and then sinking into the nearest chair she burst into tears.

"Carries a high hand," said Mrs. Vosburg, when she re-entered the room where her husband was, "ordered me to leave the room."

"Never mind her airs, wife; we must treat her kindly, we shall be well paid for it. Her brother was particularly careful to make me promise that no harshness should be used."

"Do you believe her insane?" was the next question.

The Dr. shrugged his shoulders: "I hold a certificate from Drs. Ford and Ashley to that effect, and that is my authority, and it makes no difference as to what I believe."

"But why have they sent her here?"

"A matter of property, and a too tender conscience, as I understand it. When the question at issue is decided she will be released."

About an hour afterward, there was a rap on Mrs. Wendover's door. "What is wanted?" she asked.

"Tea is ready, please come down?"

For a moment there was silence, and then: "If you will be kind enough to bring me up a cup of tea, I will try and drink it."

The tea was taken up, but the girl reported that the lady had to unlock the door to let her in.

"Indeed, well if she begins any of her tantrums the key of her room will be used on the outside; she will find herself locked in, instead of locking us out," remarked Mrs. Vosburg.

"Don't be too hard on her, wife; think how you would feel were you in her place," said the Dr.

"I think you would not find it a very safe thing to try and put me in her place," she retorted.

"Tut, tut, now; you would be just as helpless as she is, but I think too much of you to do such a thing."

Thus mollified, the frown left the lady's face, and she fell to wondering how Judge Wendover could do such a thing, or allow it to be done; but the Dr. did not enlighten her farther than he had done, if indeed he could, so she addressed herself to the good things before her, of which there was always an abundance, for it paid to keep the kind of patients that came under their care.

The next morning the bell connected with Mrs. Wendover's room was rung, and the girl went up to see what was wanted.

"Will you be kind enough to bring me my breakfast?" she said.

"I will see, Madame, but the ladies generally eat with the Dr. and Mrs. Vosburg."

When the request was preferred, Mrs. Vosburg looked at her husband inquiringly, and at the same time forbiddingly. "You can take her breakfast to her this morning," said the Doctor, "and we will see about it after this;" and then seeing the frown on his wife's face, he continued:

"We will talk with her after awhile, and make her see that it is best to take her trouble to heart as little as possible."

Mrs. Vosburg did not mean to be a bad woman; she was naturally kind hearted, but there was something in Mrs. Wendover's manner that had irritated her; a natural, involuntary atmosphere of superiority that had touched her pride; and beside, she had had so much trouble with patients that would not be reconciled; some slightly insane, and others not, but were in somebody's way, that she shrank from every new conflict, and wanted discipline from the first.

The breakfast was taken up, and the Dr. ordered that it be of the very best that the house could afford. Mrs. Wendover ate sparingly, and then waited the next move. In about an hour the Dr. went up and rapped on her door.

"Who is there?" she asked.

"Dr. Vosburg, will you please allow me a few minutes' conversation?"

Again there was the silence of hesitancy, but presently she opened the door, invited him in, and handed him a chair with all the politeness of a hostess, but she remained standing.

"Please sit Mrs. Wendover; I cannot remain sitting nor say what I wish, while you stand."

She complied with his request, but sat down at the far side of the room, and then looked up as if to ask: "Well, what have you to say?"

He hemmed, hawed, cleared his throat, and said: "Mrs. Wendover."

"Dr. Vosburg," she responded.

"Don't please, don't make it so hard to say what I wish."

"I am at your service, doctor."

"Mrs. Wendover, it is not my fault that you are here, and I hope you will make it no harder for us than is necessary," he managed to say at length.

She made no response, and he continued: "My business is a legitimate one, and when patients are brought to me by their friends, who also bring the needed certificates that warrant me in receiving them, it is no pleasant task that I undertake."

She was still silent.

"Will you believe me," he added, "when I say I had much rather you were at home, and could I do so, I would send you there, but you have been committed to my care upon the testimony of two physicians, and I am responsible for you. You would gain nothing, and you might fare worse if you were put elsewhere, than you will with us."

"Dr.," she said at length, "I will try to believe you, and for my own sake if not for yours, I will try to bear my imprisonment as best I can."

"Dear lady, do not call it by so harsh a name; I would rather be your friend than your jailor."

"Hard things may be called by soft names, but it makes them none the less hard, Doctor."

He ignored her last remark, and said: "We have two other ladies in the house who will leave us soon; will you not come down and take dinner with the family, and so make their acquaintance?"

She considered the situation awhile, and the Dr. patiently awaited her reply. Finally she said:

"Please do not ask it to-day. Give me the rest of this day and to-night to myself, and then I think I can so far command myself as to be able to meet the family at breakfast."

"It shall be as you wish, Mrs. Wendover; here are books, and there is a fine view from this window, make yourself as comfortable as possible; I promise you that you shall not be disturbed," and he left the room with the air of one who feels relieved after having performed a disagreeable task.

From that time forward, Mrs. Wendover gave no sign that she considered herself other than a guest or a boarder. She busied herself with reading, writing, walking in the grounds, and not even indicating that she saw the high wall which surrounded the place on all sides, and was surmounted by a double row of barbed wire. Sometimes she went alone, and sometimes the other patients went with her; and then again, the Dr. and his wife accompanied them, but as if by common consent, no reference was ever made to the fact that the patients (?) were not permitted to go outside the enclosure; neither did the so-called patients speak of their friends, or of outside affairs.

Weeks sped by, but still the same monotonous round continued. The enclosure surrounding about five acres of ground, consisted of two inch plank seven foot high, spiked top and bottom to plank two inches by eight. A four inch square timber was spiked on the top of this and all surmounted by two rows of barbed wire, the first four inches above the timber and the next the same distance above that, making the whole just eight foot high and resting on a stone foundation set two feet in the ground.

Of course the inmates could not get out as everything that might aid them was kept carefully out of reach, so the patients wandered at will in this garden.

One day, as Mrs. Wendover came dowm to take her accustomed walk the Dr. called her to come into the office. She went, wondering what was wanted.

"Please sit down, I have something for you," and when she was seated, he handed her a letter. She saw that the address was in her husband's handwriting and quietly said:

"Was you afraid I would faint that you asked me to sit down?"

"I thought you could write your reply right here, as the man who brought it waits for an answer," he replied.

"How thoughtful you are, Dr.," she said, with just a tinge of sarcasm, and opening her letter she read:

"My dear wife: My heart aches for your society, and as I know you have suffered, permit me to say that I have suffered as much as you can possibly have done. Why did I permit you to be decoyed away? because I was in your brother's power and could not well help myself; but the suit for the property has been deferred till another term of court, and if you will only pledge yourself to be reasonable, to give up your opposition, you shall not stay where you are another day. Your distressed husband,

"RALPH WENDOVER."

She read this note through twice, then reaching for a match, she set fire to it and watched till it was burned to ashes, When the last shred of it was consumed, she said:

"Pen, ink and paper, if you please," they were placed before her, and she wrote:

"Judge Ralph Wendover: Sir. When you, my protector, as the world counts protection, failed me in my sorest need; when like a coward cur you sneaked off and allowed my unnatural brother to bring me here under what you knew to be a false pretense, my love for you died so dead it can never be resurrected. I shall never enter your home again unless carried there by force. SARAH BOYLE."

Leaving it lying open upon the desk, she walked out into the garden to her accustomed seat.

Dr. Vosburg read what she had written, and in pity for the Judge who was sitting in the next room, folded it, before taking it to him. The Judge read it, covered his face with his hands and groaned aloud. To Dr. Vosburg, Mrs. Wendover was a profitable patient and he was in no haste to have her leave. He stood quietly by till the Judge had time to collect himself, and then asked:

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"Can I see my wife?" was the response.

"Certainly, sir; you will find her in the garden, but please remember that I hold a certificate pronouncing her insane, and she cannot be taken away informally."

"I'll look out for that," replied the Judge, as he hurried forward.

Mrs. Wendover saw him coming but sat entirely still. He came up to where she was sitting, but she looked so coldly on him, his courage for a moment failed him; he managed to say, however:

"Oh, Sarah, wife, unsay your cruel words, have you no heart!"

"I once had, but it is dead."

"Oh, don't look at me in that way, can it be that you are so changed! it was cruel, I know, but you do not know all that forced me into this; be pitiful!"

"I know you said you were in my brother's power, and if so, it is because of some wrong act, some crime that you fear to have known; I would as soon associate with the insane as with criminals, which both you and Edward are," she replied in the same quiet tone.

"Sarah, oh, Sarah, what has come over you to make you so cruel!"

"Perhaps I have gone mad," she said, mockingly.

"My God, I believe you have!" exclaimed the unhappy man. Dr. Vosburg now came up and said:

"My dear sir, this must end; you are exciting my patient too much."

Mrs. Wendover arose, and taking the Dr.'s arm, said: "Please take me in?" He looked at her in alarm; the tone frightened him.

She read his look and replied: "No, I am not losing my senses, but I want to lie down, and if you will give me something to make me sleep, I shall feel better afterward."

He led her into the house, gave her some quieting drops and called Mrs. Vosburg to go with her to her room. The husband followed them to the house looking as helpless as a child. When she had gone to her room the Dr. turned to the Judge with:

"I had no idea that it would affect her so much, or I should have prevented the interview. Another such a scene would kill her; she is on the verge of absolute madness."

The man trembled, and nearly fell into the nearest chair. "Don't take it so hard, my dear sir, I will do the best I can for her, but you must not see her again soon," and going to a cupboard, he took out a bottle of the best wine, and pouring out a glass, said: "Here, drink this."

The wine steadied the man somewhat, and bidding the Dr. good day, he got into his carriage and drove away, a sadder, if not a wiser man; his wife, in the meantime, was lying quietly upon her bed with an expression of suffering upon her face that made one's heart ache to see.

As soon as the Judge had gone, the Dr. went up stairs to see how she was.

"Do not be anxious, Dr.," she said, "I shall come through all right, but I shall be better alone."

With this hint, both he and Mrs. Vosburg left the room, and, as the quieting potion he had given her, began to take effect, she soon fell asleep. In the morning she came down as usual, though looking a little pale. She made no reference to the occurence of the day before, neither did the others.

Her strong will had triumphed. It was the same element that made her brother so persistent in his purpose, only, inheriting more conscientiousness, that became her directing force, while he was ruled by his self-love.

Wounded love in the lead, would have taken a different course, but her will went with her pride, and she believed her love to be dead. Her suffering ought to have taught her another lesson, would, had she listened to the voice which spoke through that suffering.

————

CHAPTER XIV.

GOVERNMENT TRAPS.

Like the Irishman who refused to be dead when there was whisky about, so John Wherefore, by the very law of his nature, sensed the discussing of questions involving the why and wherefore of things, and refused to be absent. He was standing just inside the postoffice looking through the window upon the street, when Frank Reid came in to get his mail.

A farmer standing near, said: "How are you, Frank, and how are you getting along?"

"I could get along well enough if I did not have to give half I earn to landlords," was the reply.

"Why don't you go west and get land of your own?" said the other, "you know you can pre-empt, homestead, and take a timber claim, if you wish, and are willing to exercise patience and take time enough."

"Government traps," responded Reid.

"What?"

"I said government traps, did not my brother find it so?"

"Oh, he was unfortunate in his selection; there are plenty of government lands outside of railroad claims, real or imaginary."

"Not that is easy of access, but aside from unfortunate selection, as you call it, the homestead, pre-emption and timber claims offered, are traps in their very nature."

"I cannot understand how you can say that, Mr. Reid; what other government makes it so easy to get land?"

" 'Easy,' Mr. Jones, 'easy,' I think if you had some of the hardships to endure that are incident to life in a new country, you would not find it so easy. Where the boys went first was an exceptionally good location, but they had it hard enough, and were just getting fairly started when they were driven out."

"But that might never happen again, Frank, and everybody expects to struggle for awhile, if they ever have anything; I think government makes splendid offers to those who are willing to work."

"They are government traps, all the same, Mr. Jones."

"I do not see how you can call what is especially intended to benefit the poor man, a trap."

"In the first place, sir, our really poor men never get any of that land. They cannot go where it is; they have no money, and many of them no work, and to such, an offer of a thousand acres of land in the moon would be just as valuable as the offer of a homestead in the United States.

"In the second place, the rich want those lands, and they know how to get a large proportion of them after they are put under cultivation. It is only by such offers as our government makes that the working men can be induced to go and prepare the way for the coming of the rich.

"As we have no serfs in this country, the toiler cannot be forced into this kind of work, and it would not do to give, or sell all the public land to home and foreign syndicates, so there are patches, alternate sections that are used to decoy small farmers, and thrifty wage-workers from their homes. The booming speculator does the same thing; he gives away alternate lots to such as can build upon them, but as the town grows, the price of property goes up, and in the end, his taxes for improvements cost him as much as did the rent of a house and lot before the place was boomed, so he is not a whit better off."

"But he has a home of his own, and cannot be turned out at the will of another, Mr. Reid."

"Yes, if he keeps his taxes up, Mr. Jones; if not he is sold out and left in a much worse condition than before, for he cannot rent a place in which to stay without paying twice the previous rates. I tell you, sir, the government trap and the boomer's trap are the same in fact."

This last illustration seemed to be understood by the crowd, as their demonstrations of approval testified, but Mr. Jones did not like to yield the point: "The poor man does not go to prepare the way for the rich man, but to make himself a home," he said.

"That is where the trap comes in," replied Reid. "If he succeeds in making a home, which he very often does not, he at the same time is making some absent landholder rich, and by his labor has so cleared away the causes of hardships, that comparatively rich men can come there and live comfortably. If he fails, loses what he has endured so much to obtain, the others are benefited all the same."

"You have made out a pretty good case, Mr. Reid, but I cannot see how the government is to blame."

"Let it take its grip from the throats of the landless, and there will be no such trouble, sir."

"Grip from the throats of the landless! what do you mean?"

"I mean that government protects people in holding vacant land, unused land. I mean that if a landless man should try to cultivate a portion of said land, government officers would prevent him from getting his food from mother earth; if that is not a grip upon the throats of the landless, I do not know what is."

"Oh, I see, you are for free land."

"Yes, Mr. Jones, I'm for free land. Think of children being born into this world without a right to a foot of its surface, with no place to stay unless their parents can pay some one for the privilege. Talk of God, of honoring Him! If anything can be blasphemy, it is the claim that an infinitely good and wise being sanctions the buying and selling of the land as it is done to-day. I can't see how Christians can look one another in the face and talk of such a thing."

Again those who were standing-around manifested their approbation. "Bravo, Frank, you ought to go out stump speaking." "You reason like a Judge," and similar remarks were made.

All but one man seemed pleased, and he said: "Such doctrines are dangerous, gentlemen, and carried into practice would ruin the country."

"How many quarter sections of vacant land have you, Mr. Holden?" asked one.

"Mr. Hold-on, you mean, for he always holds on to all he can get," said another.

"That's so, hit him again," cried a third.

"Gentlemen, I think your discussion can be better carried on elsewhere," said the postmaster.

"Government speaks and we must obey," remarked one of the party as he walked out. The others followed, with the exception of Reid.

Wherefore had continued looking out upon the street, and none but a close observer would have known from his manner that he had heard a word of what was being said. He turned to Reid when the others had left, and asked:

"What now, Frank?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I see that something has disturbed you more than usual."

"Yes, there has; I have just had a long letter from Burt, and they are seeing hard times, but I cannot talk about it here."

"Come home with me and take supper; I have some things on hand that will spoil if not eaten."

"Yes, John," laughed Frank, "the most of eatables would, but I'll go."

They walked quietly along till they reached John's home, for neither of them seemed inclined to talk. No woman need to have been ashamed of the well kept room into which Wherefore took his friend. Giving Reid a chair and a book, he then turned to prepare the evening meal.

"Just what I wanted," said Frank, as he saw the title, "how fast books on the labor question are multiplying." John smiled but made no remark. Supper over and things all washed and put away, Wherefore reached for his cigar box, handed Frank a cigar and lit one for himself.

"This," he said, as he put the weed between his lips, "ought not to be. It shouldn't be necessary to soothe the nerves with narcotics, but so long as there is so much injustice organized into the very framework of society, the elements in the mental and spiritual atmosphere rasp the spiritual senses, as the north wind does the physical. Some seek relief in one way and some in another, but give us a mental atmosphere filled with the elements of justice, and there would be no need for temperance societies."

"I never thought of the matter in that light, but there may be truth in what you say; what fine cigars."

"Truth, of course there is, Frank. Saloon keepers are not a desirable portion of society, but those who hold vacant land are doing the most harm; it is such as they who force men who want homes to go beyond the confines of civilization to secure them."

"I believe you, John; read that, will you."

He took the letter from Reid's extended hand and read:

"Dear brother Frank: It is now nearly ten months since we were evicted from our home in Iowa, as you already know, and though writing you that Smith and I had left for western Kansas, I have never given you the particulars of our wanderings and our experience here, neither can I now, for I am too sick to write much; have been quite sick for a month, and am sitting up in bed to write this. I am on the gain, or should be if I did not have so much to worry me.

"After leaving Iowa we traveled hundreds of miles before we could find any government land, and then we went outside of railroad claims, and decided to pre-empt instead of homesteading. We, Smith and I, took a quarter section each, which will cost us each two hundred dollars, beside some incidentals. We made our sod shanties as near together as possible, and each be on his own land, so that the women could be company for each other while we were away, and then we went to find work, for we must have bread. It was six miles to the nearest neighbor and ten miles to a postoffice. Sometimes we found something to do, and sometimes we couldn't. We have managed to get through the winter by selling our cow, but my sickness has put us back till, unless I can get some help, we can raise no crop this summer, for I have not a cent of money to buy seed, and not even to buy food. Smith divides as far as he can, but Anna has been sick and he is nearly as bad off as I am. If suffering was counted in dollars, this western land would be the dearest on earth. Sometime, if we live, we shall have trees about our homes, but now the wide prairie is desolately lonely. It is very different here from what it was in Iowa. If government was a protection to its native born citizens, we might have made us good homes there, but here—yes, we can do it here if we do not die in the trying. But I am weary and must close. Dear brother, I do not like to beg, but if you can send me a few dollars, it will keep us from going hungry. I could get well sooner if

I could have what my appetite craves, but even what I have will soon be gone, for Dan, with his sick wife, cannot take care of both families much longer.

"With love from Gertrude and myself to yourself and family. Your brother, BURTON REID."

When Wherefore had finished reading Burton's letter, he handed it back to Frank without a word, but turned and sat looking into the fire. When the silence became painful to him, Frank asked:

"John, what can I do? I have not a dollar to spare, must even go into debt to meet my own necessities."

"What can you?" was the response, and again there was silence.

Presently Frank burst forth with:

"A curse upon a government that misleads the poor, or looks coldly on and permits others to do so—a curse upon the law which forces men to travel past thousands of acres of unoccupied land held by paper parchments and protected by government guns, in order to find a home—a curse——"

"Hush, Frank; your curses will do no good. I will help in this particular case, and only wish I could help in all such cases. I"——

"Oh, bless you John," and the man sprang up and clasped both his friend's hands in his own. John turned his head away, and released his hands as soon as possible, for his nose needed wiping just then, but his handkerchief went up pretty close to his eyebrows. As soon as that little piece of business was attended to, he turned to Frank and said:

"I am going west to investigate this free land business. I want to learn the wherefore of several things that I don't understand now. If I knew how Russell's suit had been, or was to be decided, I would start to-morrow;" then, after a pause, he added, "I presume it will not be decided at this term of court; they will postpone it if they can."

"Did you hear that Mrs. Wendover had gone insane?"

"No, I have heard nothing of it," replied Wherefore.

"There is such a report out, I heard Harry Golder telling his father that it was in the county paper."

"Well, Russell will know, and I think he will be here to-night."

"He hasn't been here since he first went to Glenwood, has he?"

"Only once, and then no one saw him but myself."

"But why do you think he will be here to-night, John?"

"Because I have been thinking of him so much to-day."

"What has your thinking of him to do with his coming? If thinking of people would bring them, there are some folks I would think of all the time."

"If he is on his way here, Frank, he will be thinking of me, and his thought gets here first, so——"

"So you feel the thought?"

"Yes, and it makes me think of the thinker."

"Well, you are a queer John."

"I suppose I am, but hark:—there he is now."

The next moment steps were heard coming up the graveled walk. Wherefore opened the door and said: "Come in, Mr. Bond Boyle."

"Don't call me that, John."

"Isn't that your name, sir?"

"I suppose it is, but the old name sounds best from friends, how are you, Frank, I am glad to see you."

"John said you were coming," said Reid, as he grasped the extended hand; "I think there must be a mental telegraph line between you two."

"I thought I would make him feel me," replied Russell, and then; "Well, I have been to court, and am back this far; must wait till next term for trial."

"What is that for?"

"They have put one of the defendants in the insane asylum, and plead that as an excuse. As near as I can learn, they feared she wouldn't defend. She wanted father's will carried out."

"It is true, then; Frank was just telling me of the report."

"Yes, John, it's true, and but for the hope of being able to do some good with my father's money, I should wish I had not commenced suit," said Russell sadly, as he handed Wherefore the slip of paper headed: "VERY SAD," then:

"John, who is Jedediah Brown?"

"How should I know?"

"Will you say that you don't know?" persisted Russell.

"I have nothing to say about it." Russell looked at him for some moments in silence, but said no more.

Presently Frank said: "Wherefore's going west, why not go with him, Mr. Russell?"

"How long will you be gone, John?"

"Three or four months, you will have time enough to go with me and be back for the fall term of court."

"What is your object?"

"I want to investigate cheap, and free land."

"I will go with you, when do you start?"

"At any time, now."

"I must go to Pennsylvania first, and it will be out of the way to come back here, where shall I meet you?"

"I will go that way with you, I can start in the morning as well as any time, and I would like to see Alice."

"Will Alice stay where she is while you are away, Mr. Russell?" asked Reid. He was thinking of her attempted abduction.

"Yes, she has had an experience that will keep her on the look out, and everybody there is watching for her. She never goes out alone, and every stranger is looked at with suspicion; you never saw such a feeling as it has created."

The conversation then turned upon the evictions in Iowa. It began by Reid's asking Russell if he knew where Charles was.

"No; and I may never hear from him again, unless it be connected with some desperate deed. I gave two of my sons to my country, in the war, and now it has robbed my only remaining one of his wife and home, and driven him to desperation," was the bitter reply.

"Our Congress gives our lands to rich syndicates and robs the poor of their homes, when such syndicates demand them," said Reid.

"Don't say our Congress!" exclaimed Russell. "We are the people; Congress belongs to the aristocrats, to the monopolies. It makes me feel like cursing when I think of the infernal way in which they have wasted our land."

"It is our land, then, if not our Congress," said Wherefore.

"It was our land, is yet, the same as my horse would still be mine after it had been stolen, and when enough of the people become as Charles is, they will take it back."

"Yes, and they ought to," said John, "for our land has not only been wasted, but it has been made an instrument of torture to us. Two hundred and twenty families driven from their homes there in Iowa, less than a year since, and who can measure the suffering of the whole of them, when what one man has had to endure drives him to desperation."

"Yes, over two hundred families," repeated Reid, "and the cry of their anguish reaches us yet, as that letter testifies," handing the letter from Burton to Russell.

Russell read the letter, and handing it back, said, "The apathy of the people is terrible; I can't understand how they can be so quiet under such wrongs as were inflicted there in Iowa."

"Neither can I," said Reid.

"The law is the opiate that deadens their senses; we are a law-abiding people."

"Law-abiding fools!" retorted Reid.

"Over two hundred families, and wherefore was it done; I must get the bottom of this," mused Wherefore.

"You will have to go pretty deep, if you do," said Russell.

"Yes, as deep as hell," added Reid.

"I think I sense the bottom now, Frank."

"You do, what is it?"

"Just what you said this afternoon, vacant land; land held for a rise instead of for cultivation. If no man was allowed to hold vacant land, then syndicates, home or foreign, could get no footing. Then the country would fill up. The western current would be more slow, and not so very much either, for if they could get land nearby, men would not sleep in crowded rooms on benches, under wharfs and in other outlandish places, as they now do in our over crowded cities."

"But why have people been so blind as not to see that the ownership of immense tracts of land by individuals, or by corporations, made slaves of the masses?"

"The law, Frank, the law of past ignorance has been made the standard of present action."

"Yes, it is law, law. Law is a chain; its links bind the poor while protecting the rich."

"Why, Frank, are you and detective Morse connected by mental telegraph?" asked Russell.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because he used almost the same words the other day."

"He is right, telegraph or no telegraph; the bondage of law as administered under our present property system, is simply outrageous."

"But what is to he done about it, Frank?"

"I wish I had a million dollars," was Reid's response.

"And what would you do with it?"

"I would publish a paper that would be read all over the country. I would take pains to find out the truth about all such outrageous wrongs, and I would keep the facts before the people. I would show them what these government traps did. I would show them how dear western lands were, what they cost in years of privation and toil. Cheap, they are called! Only weeks of loneliness for the wife in the midnight hour, and under the noonday sun, while the husband must be away earning the food they must eat, weeks upon weeks of this. Cheap! And then if some syndicate drives them off, they must 'fight it out in the courts.' Such is the protection we get from a government which, if our taxes are not paid, will itself sell our homes. Our flag is a lie, a bold and flaunting lie. I wonder the people do not rise enmasse and fight till they die before they submit to such injustice."

No one spoke for some minutes after this outburst, then Reid continued:

"Three-fourths of a year since those evictions, and the people are still quiet! well, this can't last always; there must come a change or this republic will prove the greatest failure the world has ever known."

Russell sighed, and Wherefore said: "I wish you would take the stump, Frank, I had no idea there was so much in you."

"And who will feed the wife and babes?"

"I will see that they have what they need."

"I will think about it; perhaps I will after you return from your trip of investigation."

"And that reminds me," said Wherefore, "that if I leave in the morning, I have some preparations to make."

"And that reminds me that I must not stay and hinder you; good night and a prosperous journey."

"He will be heard from yet," said Russell, as Frank closed the door behind him.

"I think so," replied Wherefore.

————

CHAPTER XV.

A FEW SURPRISES.

Dr. Vosburg never took dangerous patients, but the most of those who were brought to him were in a condition that warranted care and rest. Col. Boyle had made to him such representations of his sister's condition, that he supposed she needed the quiet that his place could furnish, but Mrs. Wendover had not been there long before he began to suspect foul play. Still, as he was well paid for keeping her, and as she made no trouble, said nothing about leaving, he simply watched and waited.

When she refused so decidedly to go with her husband, the Dr. made the remark he did about his holding her upon the certificate of two physicians, first, because he did not like to lose so profitable a patient, and secondly, because his sympathy was with the wife, and if the Judge insisted upon her going with him, he could thus protect her. But others were at work, were watching closely to learn where she was.

Morse had managed to see Myrtle, the faithful colored girl who was very much attached to Mrs. Wendover. He found that Myrtle did not believe that her mistress was insane.

"Will you help me to find her then?" he asked.

"Gladly, but what can I do, sir?"

"Watch the Judge closely, and let me know what you learn of his movements."

"How can I let you know, where can I find you?"

"Write to me; here is my address, and here are some one cent stamps for postage; direct to me here at Glenwood, and don't send by any one, drop the letter in the office yourself."

The evening before the Judge went to Dr. Vosburg's, he said to Myrtle: "I am going to see your mistress to-morrow, and if she is well enough, shall bring her home; you must be very careful, if she comes, to make no reference to anything calculated, to excite, or irritate her, as it might make her worse."

He half suspected that the girl did not believe in his wife's insanity, and he said this to her to make her think he did. She readily promised all he asked, but wrote to Morse and mailed the letter before she slept.

The next morning the Judge had not gone more than a mile before he overtook a man on horseback who made some inquiries about the country, and asked if he was on the direct road to Postville. On being told that he was, he rode along side the carriage for awhile, asking questions about the country, and expressing himself pleased with what he saw. Finally he said:

"I fear I am detaining you, sir; my horse is a little lame, and I cannot ride fast," then bowing a "good morning," he fell behind, but never so far behind, but he kept track of the carriage, nor did this horseman get so far away, but when the Judge left Dr. Vosburg's it could be seen that the carriage contained but one occupant.

The next afternoon a peddler stopped at Dr. Vosburg's and was very anxious to see the ladies, as he had something that "they would be sure to want." At first the Dr. felt inclined to shut the door in his face, but somehow, he was so winning in his manner that instead, he invited the man in, and took him through the office into the room where his wife and Mrs. Wendover sat.

"Why, Mr. Brown, is it you," said Mrs. Wendover, extending her hand.

"Yes, it's Jed, but how is it I see you here, ma'am, is the Judge and the others well, what a suddent taking off of the old gentleman, I didn't think it when I left."

He talked so fast there was no need to answer his questions, and he didn't seem to remember that he had asked any, so she was spared giving a reason for being there.

"Yes," she replied, "father's death was very sudden, and very unexpected to me; I supposed him as well as usual."

"Oh, that's not strange, ma'am; when one gets to be his age, they're likely to go any time."

"So this is Jedediah Brown?" remarked Dr. Vosburg.

"That's what I'm called, sir. Dad and mam liked bible names, and its all the same to me, Jedediah, Hezekiah, Nehemiah, or Zephaniah, but I like to drop all but plain Jed; that's good enough for me."

"Do you know that you have been wanted?" continued the Dr.

"Wanted, me wanted, what for?"

"As a witness, you staid at Judge Wendover's awhile, I believe."

"Yes, the old Major took a powerful liking to me, so I staid as long as I could; yes, I did hear something about being wanted at the court, but ever since my girl gin me the mitten, I've been mighty shy of all kinds of courtin'."

"If they once get their eyes on you, they will not let you keep out of the way."

"Well, mebbe I'll be there next time, but I'm not showing the ladies my purty things," and he began to open his pack.

One thing after another was displayed, and its good qualities elaborated upon; a few purchases were made, and finally Jed began gathering up his things, expressing regret that there was nothing more they wanted. At length he picked up a nice handkerchief, and looking at it as if he thought it most too good to give away, he finally folded it carefully, slipped a note inside, and tossed it into Mrs. Wendover's lap, saying:

"Please, ma'am, accept that from Jed."

She was about to protest against keeping so good an article, but as she took it into her hand, she felt the note, so she simply said:

"Thank you, Mr. Brown, I shall keep it to remember you by."

When he left, the Dr. went with him, and when they reached the office, he said; "Please take a seat, Mr. Brown, I would like a few minutes' talk with you."

Brown set his pack slowly down and took the proffered chair, at the same time, keeping his eye on Dr. Vosburg as though he would look him through. He sat at least half a minute, as if waiting for the Dr. to speak, at the same time so holding him with his eye, that he could not. At length he said in a distinct but very different tone from what he had been using:

"Dr. Vosburg, that woman is no more insane than you are, and you know it."

"Who the devil are you?" exclaimed the Dr., starting to his feet.

Quick as a flash off came wig, beard and face covering.

"Harry Morse, as I live!"

"Yes, it is Harry Morse, and now, sir, I am ready to talk with you."

"And I am more glad to see you than I can tell; yes, I do know she is not insane, I thought when she was brought here she was slightly deranged and in danger of becoming seriously so, but I have known better for some time."

"Why, then, do you still keep her here?"

"For her own protection; the same motive that prompted them to bring her here, would make them take her where she would not fare as well."

"Is that your only reason?" asked Morse.

"No, it is not, but the other is not strong enough to make me keep her, if I did not fear they would send her some where else."

"May I know what your other reason is?"

"I am in debt, and they pay me well."

"Is your place mortgaged till the debt is paid?" queried Morse.

"It is," was the reply.

"What infernal knaves this infernal economic system makes of people!" exclaimed Morse, getting up and walking rapidly back and forth. "The links of law bind us on every side, and if we can slip out legally, all right, but no amount of moral power can help us if unaided by the legal. Legal crime is all right, while moral integrity ungarnished by the legal chain, is punished; damn such a system."

The Dr. looked on amazed. "What may we not expect when detectives talk like that," he said.

"Expect anything you please, sir, detectives have hearts and brains as well as other people," said Morse in an indignant tone.

"I beg your pardon, Harry, I intended no personal reflection, but tell me what you know of this."

Morse resumed his seat and told Vosburg what the reader already knows, from his journey to Vermont, because of Wherefore's desire to know the why of the remarkable likeness between Col. Boyle and Russell, up to the time of the old gentleman's death, and Mrs. Wendover's desire to carry out the intent of her father's will.

Vosburg listened till Morse had finished. "I see it all now," he said, "and she must not leave here till we decide it is best. That unprincipled brother of hers will stop at nothing to carry his point, and we must protect her."

"We want her at the next term of court," said Morse, "and if she can remain here till then, all right, but they must not get the idea that you are in sympathy with her, or they will have her removed to some other institution."

"I hardly think Boyle will try to remove her against my wishes, I know too much of some of his previous doings. Because I keep a private asylum he took it for granted that I was as unprincipled as himself."

"That may be true, Dr., but it is well enough to be on the safe side. You draw up a paper certifying her sanity, and I will send two men here, physicians, ostensibly to see your other patients, so that Mrs. Wendover will not feel embarrassed, and when they have seen and talked with her, they will not hesitate to sign it with you, we can then defy them."

"That's just the thing, Morse, and I am more than glad you came," said Vosburg.

Morse now resumed his disguise, saying as he did so: "I shall be here again soon, and then I want a chance to talk with Mrs. Wendover."

"You shall have it," replied the Dr. Jed now put his head through the door that led to the sitting room, and called out:

"I shall be back this way, ladies, in about ten days, and shall be wanting to sell you something then, good by, the Dr.'s kept me talking so long I had to better say that again," then, resuming his pack, he went slowly up the road.

"You had a long talk with the peddler," said Mrs. Vosburg when she next saw her husband alone.

"Yes, and I learned some things that I must keep to myself for a time." She said no more for she knew it would be of no use.

Jed came again as he had promised, and he got a chance to talk to Mrs. Wendover, too. He gave her the whole history of that first marriage, as he had gathered it from her father, supplying what was needed to complete the evidence by relating what he had learned elsewhere. She wept as she learned of her father's early disappointment and sorrow. She said: "I knew there was a hidden page in his life, knew it from broken sentences when half asleep; knew too there was some one he was hoping to see before he died; I understand it now."

After telling her this, and listening to her comments, he said:

"And now, dear lady, I have a surprise for you; I am not what I seem."

She looked up wonderingly, as much surprised at the difference in his tone of voice, as at what he said.

"I see," he said, "that I have surprised you already, but I have a greater one in store. When John Wildermere saw your brother and Mr. Russell, as he had been called, saw them within a few feet of each other, and noted the wonderful likeness between them, he sent Harry Morse, the detective, up into Vermont to see what he could learn, but Harry went disguised, he came to your house disguised"—he paused, "please don't be frightened as I remove this false face with its attachments," and touching a spring, the next instant the whole was lying in his hand.

She paled for a moment, and the next she laughed, laughed as she thought of the Vermont Yankee, Jed, and detective Morse as one and the same person.

"You'll do, I'll risk your nerves any where," he said.

"But how is it made, Jed, no, Mr. Morse, do let me examine it?"

He put it into her hands and then explained the different parts. The surface of the mask was as much like the human skin as though it really were such. It fitted so exactly to every curve of his features as to make it seem as if it grew there; fitted on the inside but was made slightly thicker in some places than in others, which gave it quite a different expression on the exterior. The beard was woven into the same material, and a narrow strip went clear around the head, with hair upon it the same color of his own but adding just enough to it to complete the disguise, the whole fitting so closely that it seemed a part of himself.

After she had examined it sufficiently as she held it, he put it on and let her examine it again, but said: "Please don't explain the how of this, I think it is the only one of the kind, an invention of my own that I do not want others to profit by."

"Get it patented," she said, laughing again.

"No, for more rascals than honest men would want to buy, but now about the next sitting of the court, we want you there and we do not want the others to know it till they see you, will you go?"

"If I can, yes; how will you manage it?"

"Easily enough; the Dr. is in the secret, he knows you are not insane. All you have to do is to refuse to leave till we want you, and we manage the rest."

"All right, I will do so."

She knew that the Dr. had been very kind, but the assurance that he would help to defeat those who had put her there made her comparatively happy. She was so much more cheerful than she had been that Mrs. Vosburg noticed it and spoke of it but the Dr. kept his own counsel. Being assured that Mrs. Wendover understood and would second their efforts was sufficient; he never spoke of it even to her, for it was his theory that when a thing needed to be kept secret the less said about it the better.

The Judge wrote to his wife two or three times after visiting her, and in his last begged her to come home on her own terms, said he would rather lose all else than to lose her. To this she replied:

"You are so much under my brother's influence I am afraid to trust you so long as this case is undecided; afterward I will think about it," and subsequent events proved the wisdom of her course.

A few days before the sitting of the court Col. Boyle and the Judge went to Vosburgs's with the express purpose of removing Mrs. Wendover to another retreat.

The Col. said to the Dr.: "Her refusal to go home and things she has written, prove she is getting no better so she must have different treatment, and the Judge is so tender hearted he shrinks from doing what is best."

"She will not go with you," said Vosburg.

"Then she must be made to go; I don't intend to have any fooling about the matter."

"Neither do I, Col. Boyle, but you cannot take her from here without my consent, unless you bring an order to that effect; should harm come from it I should be held responsible."

"Nonsense, Dr., you know there will be no trouble," said Boyle impatiently.

"How can I know there will not; there is no accounting for the freaks of the insane."

Boyle paused, looked at Vosburg in a questioning way, and then said: "Oh, I know what's the matter with you, you don't want to lose your patient; well, I'll pay off your mortgage if you will give her up, and make no trouble about it."

"Pshaw, what's that compared with what you expect to win by keeping her out of the way?"

"How much remains unpaid on the mortgage?" asked the Col., thinking he could buy the Dr. if he bid high enough.

"About eight hundred dollars."

"We will give you fifteen hundred, and say no more about it. Publicity just now would only help that pretender, but I feel so anxious about sister; I know she must have different treatment or she will never be any better, so I am willing to pay you well for your disappointment."

"What do you say, Judge?" asked Vosburg.

"It is just as the Col. says," was the reply.

Vosburg straightened himself up to his full height, and he was six feet in his stockings. Looking them squarely in the face, he said: "Gentlemen, you have made a mistake; Mrs. Wendover does not leave the protection of my roof till she does so of her own free will."

"We will see about that," said Boyle, "if you will not give her up to her natural protectors you will be made to do it."

"Unnatural protectors you mean," retorted the Dr., "but don't be in haste. I hold a certificate signed by myself and two of the best specialists on the question of insanity in the country, stating that Mrs. Wendover is entirely sane, so I repeat: she does not leave the shelter of my roof till she goes willingly."

The Judge looked as though he was glad to hear this, but the Col.'s expression was that of a caged tiger.

Neither party spoke for some minutes. Boyle was looking over the situation, and trying to maintain his self-control; at length he asked: "Does my sister know of this?"

"I have not told her yet." This was an evasion; he had not told her, but he knew that she knew it.

"And you will not just yet?"

"I had not thought to make use of my knowledge unless you attempt to take her away."

"Of course we shall not do that if she is no longer insane, which I am glad to hear; are you willing that Dr. Ford shall see her to-morrow?"

"I have no objection, sir."

They hesitated before preferring the next request, but after stepping aside and conferring together the Judge said: "We would like to see Mrs. Wendover before leaving."

"I will see what she says," replied the Dr., and calling Mrs. Vosburg, he sent the message by her. The lady returned in about five minutes with the information that Mrs. Wendover declined the honor. Boyle bit his lip and the Judge sighed.

The next day Dr. Ford called at Vosburg's prepared to make just the report desired. He was not informed of the new certificate held by Vosburg, or he would not have gone at all, much less, have staked his reputation by giving an adverse report. Boyle intended to have the case put over and had the report worded to that end.

The Col. did not feel quite sure of his plans, but he could do no better. He trusted that Vosburg's own interest would prompt him to hold his patient as long as he could safely do so, and the trial deferred, would give him time to seek other methods of defeating the plaintiff. On the afternoon before the court sat, he sent Myrtle over to Vosburg's. He knew that his sister would see her, and he would thus feel sure that she was there. He little dreamed that Myrtle was in communication with her mistress, and had been for some time, but they had not met before.

The Judge took the girl over, and she was immediately admitted to Mrs. Wendover's room, and after a half hour's visit she returned with the Judge to Glenwood. When night fell another carriage stopped before that private retreat, but instead of bringing a patient it carried away one.

————

CHAPTER XVI.

THE RETURN OF THE SPIES.

"Yes, call us that if you will. We did go to spy out the land, to learn the real status of things and the wherefore of that status, so call us spies if you will, but we have brought no grapes back."

"Wherefore forever," called out one of the crowd.

"The spirit of inquiry, the disposition to find out the wherefore of things should last forever, if that is what you mean," replied John pleasantly.

Wherefore and Russell, after nearly four months' absence in Kansas, Nebraska and northwestern Iowa and other portions of the west, had called the people together to make a report of what they had seen and heard and some one had laughingly called it the return of the spies, hence Wherefore's opening remarks.

There was a general laugh at John's apt reply to the one who had called out "Wherefore forever," and then they waited for the continuation of his remarks.

"Friends," he said, "when a bone from any portion of an animal or a human body is given to a competent anatomist he will tell tell you from what kind of a body it came and its size; so in investigating the tendency or the result of any condition of things in any country, it is not necessary that we visit every portion of that country, but only such portions as a fair sample of the whole; is not this a correct statement of the principle involved in the problem before us?" He paused as if expecting a reply.

"Yes, certainly," "That's so," "Some school master talk, but I guess you are right, boss," "Of course he is," came from different parts of the house.

Wherefore waited till all was quiet and then said: "I wish to say to my comrade over there that I am no one's boss and that I hope the time will come when bosses will be unknown."

This announcement was received with general cheering. John waited a moment, then continued:

"We could not possibly go over this whole country in one summer but we have seen specimens enough of the methods used to form a pretty good idea of the system under which our common inheritance, the land, can be had. We were twelve days going from here to Chicago; we stopped at different points and went each way into the country from ten to twenty miles, and everywhere we found vacant land, land that was unoccupied, held by eastern heirs till estates could be settled or by eastern speculators who were waiting for a rise in prices and so far as they could, manipulating the various lines of trade and finance to bring a rise.

"Remember, friends, I am speaking of land lying idle, unused, but all of these acres were so covered by paper parchments that homeless men, poor men who had no land of their own, who had no place upon this earth in which to stay unless they paid some one else for the privilege, such men dare not occupy one acre of that land even to raise what would keep wives and babes from starving.

"If homeless men attempt such a thing the paid officers of government are used by the legal owners to drive them hence. Now, friends, this is law, but is it right?"

Cries of "No," "No," came from every part of the house.

"Another question: It is sometimes said that infidels are the leaders in labor troubles, do you believe if Jesus Christ were upon earth to-day that he would sanction a law which gives a man the legal right to hold land unoccupied while landless people all around it needed its use?"

"No," "No," "No," burst from a score of lips.

"It is also said that ignorant foreigners make a great deal of trouble; is it worse to be an ignorant foreigner than it is to be an ignorant native, and if the foreigner rebels while the native submits to injustice which is the most of a man?"

There was a hesitancy in replying to this, one looking at another as if afraid of being led too far, but the schoolmaster arose and said:

"With your permission, sir, I will reply to that. Ignorance is ignorance, no matter where found, but that ignorance which adheres the most determinedly to old ideas, old superstitions, is the hardest to deal with. As to rebelling or submitting, it depends entirely on the motive actuating the party. A horse can kick as well as a man, and in its way, much harder. If one man rebels because he is hurt, and another submits because he does not like to be hurt more than he already is, each thinking only of himself and those who are his, there is no difference in the amount of manhood displayod. The difference between them is simply that between the wild and the domestic horse; but if either the foreigner or the native rebels because he has the good of the people at heart and is willing to suffer that others may be benefited, that one is the most of a man in the full sense of the word."

"Thank, you, sir, your position is correct," said Wherefore, "and now to illustrate the wrong of vacant land, suppose that all such land lying on either side of any one of the railroads between here and Chicago and for twenty miles each way could be given to the poor in and around New York city, say in lots of from one to forty acres, according to location and quality, provided they would live upon it; do you not believe it would lessen the crime and degradation of that city one fourth if not one half?"

They looked at one another and did not seem prepared to reply. "I do," he continued, "true, many of them would not want land, would not know what to do with it if they had it, but so many would go the others could find room and work where they are. But as it is now the best of our workers if they secure homes must travel hundreds if not thousands of miles, and past thousands upon thousands of acres of vacant land, to be ground up, as it were, their very lives ground out of them, upon those far off prairies.

"We called on several prosperous farmers in Kansas and Nebraska to make inquries, and we found that four out of every five were not the original settlers upon the land they occupied, and the others did not go there empty handed; they had good teams and money to aid in getting started. The most of them told us that they bought the improvements of some one who had preceded them and as a matter of course, had broken the way.

"They could not go on and complete their titles so they sold their improvements for less than they had cost in labor and went farther west to try again, while the purchaser pre-empted or homesteaded just as he chose. Mr. Reid, what is it you call the pre-emption and homestead laws?"

"I call them government traps."

"Why do you call them that?"

"Because the promise of free land, or cheap land is so fascinating, people are induced to undertake that which involves so much hardship that they fail to secure their land or having secured it, are so much in debt that they cannot hold it. They have been trapped into preparing the way for others while they wear themselves out in going farther west and trying again."

"Your definition is correct, sir; they are government traps, though not intended as such. Those who make our laws have no idea of the hardships attendant upon settling up a new country. We found one man who boasted that he was the first settler in the country, that he had held on to his land and now every acre of it was worth from fifty to a hundred dollars, said if people would not lose patience there was no need of failing. We went home with him and saw how he lived and everything showed that he had lost his soul in securing his land.

"I do not mean it in the sense that the preacher does, but he had crushed out every finer feeling, not only in himself, but in his family and any attempt to get him interested in anything except dollars and cents was entirely useless."

"He had ground himself and family, till all that constitutes manhood and womanhood had been used as fertilizers to his crop of wealth," said the schoolmaster.

The idea tickled the audience and, they called out: "Fertilizers, fertilizers, is that the reason our rich men and women are so careless of the interests of the poor? has the soul of them turned into a wealth fertilizer?"

Wherefore was about to proceed, when the teacher said: "Pardon me, sir, but as it was what I said which called forth the last remark from the audience, it would seem that I ought to reply to it. There are rich people of whom that is true, but as a class it is not. They do not seek to injure the poor; they simply seek their own pleasure. The poor man who thinks only of himself is no better than is the rich man who does the same. He would hold vacant land if he could; he would take mortgages on people's homes if he could. Denouncing the rich does no good. We must find out what it is that the law allows which gives one man the chance to become rich at the expense of another man if we would right the wrongs which prevail."

Cries of: "Of course we'd all be rich if we could," "Where's the harm of being rich?"

"The wrong lies in being rich at the expense of others," said Wherefore slowly; "at the expense of others," he repeated, when he had gained their full attention, "and now if you can tell me of any way in which one man can get more than his share of a thing without some one else getting less than his share, I would like to have you do so; you ten year old boy there, will you tell me?"

"What is it, sir?"

"Suppose forty apples belong to ten boys, what is each one's share?"

"Four, sir."

"But suppose one boy takes five, one seven, and another twelve, can the others have four apiece?"

"Why, no, sir; there is only sixteen apples left for seven boys; one of them could have four, and the others would get but two apiece."

"But suppose one of the boys who got only two would have taken twelve if he had had the chance, is he a better boy than the one who did take twelve?"

"No, sir, he is not."

"There is the principle, gentlemen, and as you acknowledge you would get rich if you could, and as one has to have more than his share to be rich you see you are no better than those who are rich. The trouble lies in the law which gives one man an advantage over another. The legal right to hold vacant land must be taken from everybody for a lot of vacant land is like the boy's extra apple, more than his share."

"I thought," said one in the audience, "we were to hear about western land."

"You are right, sir, but this vacant land question is intimately connected with the hardships of our western pioneers, and the eternal law of right, of justice, is intimately connected with all efforts to destroy the vacant land legal links falsely called law; but I have mixed facts and philosophy long enough. Mr. Russell, or rather, Mr. Boyle, will now give you unvarnished facts." Mr. Russell came forward:

"Friends, I found many cases of hardship, of suffering among those who have gone to the far west under the idea of obtaining cheap land. I saw enough to convince me that such lands in their cost to the people who go onto them, are very dear indeed. True, I found no conditions that were worse than can be found any day in our large cities, but it is worse for many of them than though they had remained east, for those who have force enough to pick up and go so far could in most cases, have secured some kind of a home where they would not have had to be separated from the advantages of civilization, and in many cases, for weeks together from all human society.

"I say they could do this, but there is an if in the way; they could do this if some one would sell them even ten square rods of the soil of which they have been robbed. On that much land they could put up something that would shelter them with what it costs to go to Kansas, and they would not then be out of the reach of friends and neighbors in times of sickness and trouble. But why talk of what might be? Men who are men, in seeking homes upon western lands, have endured hardships that to even think of makes the heart sick, and that is what now is.

"We found many prosperous farmers, but the most of them as you have already been told were not the original settlers, and many more were prosperous only in seeming, for their farms were mortgaged to eastern money lenders. A man who can raise two hundred dollars to lend to a Kansas or a Nebraska farmer, is likely to get a cultivated farm sooner than if he paid the money to government and cultivated it himself.

"The conditions of which I am speaking, the cultivated farms, mortgaged and unmortgaged, are the result of years of toil and hardship; I will next speak of new, or nearly new claims.

"Perhaps I can make things plainer by telling you some things that a lady told us, where we staid one night before reaching Chicago. 'Go west,' she said, 'go west and make a home on those prairies, I wouldn't do it for all the land there. I had an uncle who went to Nebaska with six thousand dollars, and he and his wife literally worked themselves to death.'

" 'How did that happen?' I asked.

" 'He was in business in Grand Rapids, Mich., but his business was broken up by another man's dishonesty. He had been considered rich, but he lost so much he had to make a change, so he thought to rebuild his fortune by going west. He bought stock and built him a reasonably good house, but grain, cattle and sheep cost so much and when selling time came brought so little, he could not hire the help they needed, so he and his wife worked beyond their strength. It was work that killed them.'

" 'But why was it that prices were so low?' was my next question."

" 'Distance from market and cost of transportation. Railroads and buyers combine, and between them the producer is well skinned. The fundamental principle underlying our economic system naturally takes from the laborer all except enough to enable them to live and propagate.'

"I was surprised to find a woman who had thought so deeply, and I repeated, questioningly: 'The fundamental law of the system?'

" 'Yes, sir; I have studied it as I would a problem in mathematics; and I know what I am saying when I talk of western land. I have been there long enough to know I don't want to live there. Oh, those land monopolies, and those combinations of buyers and carriers, the misery they cause can never be computed.'

"Now, friends, I would not speak of what that woman told me, and I have not begun to tell you the cases of hardship she related, but that I found on investigation that so far from exaggerating, she had not told things as bad as they were.

"Just imagine yourself, wife and children living in a house made of sods with poles and straw to support the sod roof. There is but one room; perhaps you have a door and a window, and perhaps only their frames at which blankets are hung. When the house is new the roof does not leak. The floor is as hard as packed clay can make it and can be swept clean. The walls on all sides are dirt, with dirt over straw upon poles for the roof.

"Go out of doors: not a tree or shrub to be seen as far as the eye can reach, with only bleak winds in winter and the hot sun in summer, imagine such a place as this in which to live, and then think of being away weeks at a time to earn a few dollars with which to buy what must be had, while wife and children are all alone, miles from any one: pleasant thought, isn't it? cheap land, isn't it? Did we find such conditions? We did, and worse.

"Yes, worse; look at the next picture and say if it is not. The roof begins to grow old; it begins to leak when there are heavy storms, and the floor becomes so slippery one can hardly stand upon it. You can't make a new roof, for there is not a stick as big as your thumb within miles and miles, and you have no money to buy the lumber that is brought from a distance, and you dare not put on more sod lest the increased weight causes the roof to break through upon you, which it sometimes does and kills the occupants. Cheap land, that! How very generous to give the poor man a homestead if he will live in such a place five years!

"Another scene comes up before me. A man lies dying with consumption, and there is a coal famine. What is that? The mine holders (not owners) and the railroads have combined. They will leave no coal at the different stations, till the people are so nearly frozen they will pay any price to get it. The wife has burned up everything that can be had, cobs, cornstalks, dried grass, and as a last resort she walks three miles to the Platte river to cut and bring home willows to keep her slowly dying husband from freezing.

"This is no picture, but an actual fact, and it occurred at Kearney, Nebraska, not more than a dozen years ago. 'Glorious stretch of prairie, majestic like the ocean,' a grand expanse where the people can have free land! cheap land! rich land! England sends her convicts to Australia. Free America tempts her honest toilers to western wastes.

"I have one more fact to present; one more scene to paint with such words as will show you its wretchedness. Go with me to a board shanty of one room, and one mile and a half from the nearest neighbor. In that shanty lies a woman sick, unable to take care of her children or herself. She has lain there two years, and her husband has had to do the work indoors and out. No girl can be had. Once in a while the nearest neighbor finds time from her many cares to come and comb the sick woman's hair, and make her bed, and perhaps to do some other little thing to help mitigate her misery. Do you think that man got his land cheap? Hard work prostrated his wife; so much cost, that. Three years before she was able to work again—three years of such life as a man can live and take care of a sick wife, two small children, and work out of doors beside. So much cost, that. Now sum up the discomfort of wife and children. Cheap land; free land.

" 'Why,' said one woman in talking of it, 'I could not live so; I should kill myself; and I often wonder how it is that such wretched people as are found in our cities can consent to live; I should think they would drown themselves in droves.'

"I said to her: 'Madam, why do not rats and other vermin drown themselves? Men and women under such conditions become dehumanized, and they cling to life as the animals do.'

" 'Perhaps that is so,' she replied, 'but if it is, it is the worst part of it.' She was right; it is the worst part of it. Dehumanized, going backward, it is terrible; but really, when I see such conditions, and then such grasping after wealth, I cannot think they are the only ones that are being dehumanized. Those who thus combine to rob the people seem to me to be but intellectual animals; what evidence do they give that they have a soul?"

Russell paused here, and looking over the audience, said: "If the race is being dehumanized at both the head and the feet, how long will it take for the whole body to become animal?" No one replied.

He then asked: "Who wants to go west and get cheap land?"

No one said "I," but one man remarked: "When I need western land, I will stay here and send my money west."

"When you need western land, can you need that which you cannot use?"

"But I could use it if I had it; I could lease it, or hire some one to work it."

"I said that you cannot use, not what some one else can use by paying you for the privilege," said Russell, looking as though he would like to put use by proxy out of existence.

"Come, come, Mr. Russell, don't be too critical; when you get your fortune, you'll hardly restrict it to your own personal use; what could you do with it all?"

"I have witnessed enough during the last four months to make me hope, should I get it, that I shall never make any use of it which will injure another. In your opinion, friends, how could I do the most good with it, if I had it?"

One looked at another, but no one replied.

"I am in earnest," he said, "Mr. Peters, you did not want me to be too critical, please give us your idea of the best use to which money can be put?"

"I, I, well, I hardly know what to say, sir; there are so many ways in which money can be used, and so many people who need help, it is difficult to decide what is best."

"How large a fortune do you think it would take to relieve all the needy people, say in the state of New York?"

"One man could not be expected to do it all, Mr. Russell, but only so far as he could."

"But would that be the best way to spend a fortune?

Mr. Swift, what is your idea?"

"He's a teacher, and he ought to know," said Peters.

Mr. Swift rose to his feet and stepped around where he could face the audience. "This is a question," he said, "that requires a careful answer. Suppose a number of people lived on land that was liable to be flooded once or twice every year, and suppose that by spending a fortune, the banks of the river which rises and floods those people, could be made high enough to prevent its overflow, had the fortune better be used in relieving the people, or in making the bank higher?"

The audience understood the illustration; there was no difference in opinion; the bank should be raised.

"Yes," said the teacher, "the bank should be raised; one fortune would do that, but when twenty fortunes had been used in relieving the people after so many floods, when the twenty-first one came those people would be no better off than before."

"They should go somewhere else," called out some one near the door.

"They have no where to go, the land is all taken," said another.

"They might go to Kansas or Nebraska, and let a sod roof fall in on them," remarked a third.

"Those people on that low land, as we have supposed, represent the poor of the whole country, and they have no where to go. The unoccupied land held by absent owners, would, if thrown open, give them some where to go, would raise the bank so the river of poverty would no longer flood them, now which would be best? shall our friend here spend his fortune, if he gets it, in helping the poor, or shall he spend it in educating the masses in their rights, and how to get them?" said Swift in conclusion.

"Education is a good thing," said Peters in reply, "but there are a great many cases in which a few dollars would help a man wonderfully. He knows how, but has not the wherefore."

"Can't have our Wherefore," called out one of the boys. "Oh, no, we couldn't spare him," replied Peters, "but there are other kinds of wherefores and they are much needed."

"Yes and much more than I am," said John, "and the one we want to find just now is the wherefore of poverty with the how to abolish it. If we can do that we shall have no need for charity, no need of some one else's few dollars. All will have the wherefore to get what they need."

"Friend Swift's illustration of the impotence of charity is a good one," continued Russell, "but it needs more than one lesson to educate out of the people a false idea. Suppose we imagine a large field of grass and a herd of hungry cattle upon the outside. The field is surrounded by a high fence and a dog keeps watch at the gate. The hungry cattle surround it on all sides, but cannot get a single blade of its tempting green. Across the way is another field, owned by a good man, but his too is fenced, and a dog is keeping watch.

"The man who owns the first field lives in another state; he has no particular use for the grass but it is his, and nobody's cattle must eat it without his consent, so it grows, ripens, and falls back to the earth unused. The man across the way feels very sorry for the hungry cattle so he commences pulling up handfulls of grass and throwing it over the fence to them. The result is: in their desperate hunger, they crowd and push each other till several of them are made lame and helpless.

"The man's sympathies are more deeply aroused than ever, so he builds a pen, puts the wounded ones in it, and continues to feed them, leaving the others to do the best they can. The wounded ones are barely kept alive, and the starving ones struggle with each other for every bit of grass that can be found till they fall by the wayside from utter exhaustion. Now, friends, how long will it take, under such a condition of things, to furnish the country with herds of healthy, well conditioned cattle?"

"Sometime, I am thinking," said Peters.

"Yes, sometime, but not longer than it will take the charities to make the people contented and happy while keeping up legal fences around vacant land. How long do you think it would take, Willie Smith? you are old enough to answer that question."

"What, sir, about the cattle?"

"Yes, how long would it take by pulling up and throwing to them handfulls of grass, to make them fat?"

"It could never be done in that way, sir, but will there be grass enough for all the cattle if the fences are taken down?"

"Yes, my boy, an abundance, for as far as the eye can see there are just such fields, just such fences, and just such dogs; while in the most of the fields there are a few favored animals eating all they can, and tramping through and rolling over the rest. Now which had the man better do, try to feed a few starving cattle by pulling up grass for them, or work to have the fences taken down and the dogs called off?"

"If the dogs were called off the hungry cattle would soon take care of the fences," replied Willie. The men cheered at this, and Willie colored and shrank back into his seat.

"Yes, call the dogs off, and the cattle will be all right, only it were better to remove the fences than to have them destroyed; Wherefore, will you tell us what these green fields represent?"

"I will, Mr. Russell; they represent vacant land fenced in by legal titles, and the officers of the law are the protecting dogs. The man who feels sorry for the cattle represents the various charities, public and private, such as poor houses, asylums, charity fairs, soup houses, and so forth."

"And what of the fortune?"

"Don't use it for charity, public or private, but in educating the people in their rights. Teach them to vote those fences, I mean those laws, out of existence if they can, and"——

"And what?"

"Shoot them out of existence if they must or the dehumanizing process will go on till this land of promise, this hope of the race, this last and brightest star in the night of time, the star which has promised the morning, must be obscured in more than midnight blackness, while the nations reel affrighted, and turn the wheels of progress backward."

While saying this, Wherefore looked like one inspired, while the issues he presented were so great, the importance of the result so tremendous, that those who had in heart rebelled, when he said: "shoot them out of existence if we must," forgot to be critical, forgot that such a course would be treason to government, forgot everything but the fact that the people must assume their rightful sovereignty, must take the reins, or the nation must die, and with it the hope of untold millions.

There he stood as he had spoken, with his right arm extended as an emphasizing point to what he had said; and the audience sat as if spell-bound. "And now," he continued, "let us go home and try to think out the problem as to how we can get those fences down, those links of law broken without shooting anybody."

————

CHAPTER XVII.

PLANS "GANG AGLEY."

The morning rose clear and bright, and the Boyle vs. Boyle case was called on the afternoon of the first day of the sitting of the court.

The plaintiff's counsel reported for trial, but the defendent's asked for more time, giving as one reason the statement of Dr. Ford in relation to Mrs. Wendover. She was much better, but not yet in a condition to be present, would be by next term of court. The other reason was; they had not yet found Jedediah Brown, but had got upon his track.

"A word with your honor," said Blake, as soon as defendent's counsel had ceased speaking. "I think the learned counsel on the other side has been misinformed. The lady, Mrs. Wendover, is here to speak for herself, and Jedediah Brown can be produced on five minutes' notice."

Wendover and Boyle looked at each other in consternation, but their counsel interposed by saying:

"As the lady has been pronounced insane, of course her presence here now will be of no avail."

"Will your honor please read this?" said Blake, stepping forward and handing him the certificate signed by Dr. Vosburg and the two experts on insanity. The Judge took it, read it carefully, and then said:

"Unless other and valid reasons can be given for delay, the case will proceed to trial."

The first witness called by the plaintiff was Jedediah Brown. The counsel for the defendent noticed that when asked his name, he did not say "Jedediah Brown," but, "they call me Jedediah Brown, but I prefer to be called Jed," but he said nothing then.

"Jed" went through with his story with very little interruption, but when it came to the cross questioning he at first refused to reply, said he had told his story once, and had "told the truth, too," but when he found he must, he appeared embarrassed, replied so indistinctly that he was severely reprimanded. Then he straightened up and put on a defiant manner.

Bond Boyle was very much surprised at this, but French Boyle looked elated and nodded to his counsel.

The first question was: "When did you first become aware of the likeness between the plaintiff and the defendent?"

"I ain't much on law terms, Mr. Lawyer, but if you mean Mr. Edward Bond Boyle, and Mr. Edward French Boyle, it was about two weeks before last election day, nigh onto a year now."

"Was it then that the plaintiff first became aware of the fact?"

"Mr. Edward Bond Boyle, do you mean?"

"That is the name he assumes; he has not yet proved his right to it. Russell is the name he is known by."

"Well, he's not all the one who's called by a name that don't belong to him; yes, sir, I think that was the first time he ever saw Col. Boyle."

"You think, I am not asking what you think, but what you know; did he not talk with you about it, and plan with you to find out what it meant?"

"No, sir, he did not."

"Were you not employed by him to find or make evidence that they both had the same father?"

"I'm not a lawyer."

"Please answer the question, yes or no."

"Must I, mister Judge?" The Judge nodded.

"No, Mr. Lawyer, I wasn't; the man you call Russell never saw Jed Brown till to-day," he replied in clear, distinct tones that produced a sensation in court.

"You say this upon your oath?"

"I say this upon my oath."

"You said awhile ago, Mr. Brown, that you were called Jedediah Brown, did you mean that Brown is not your true name?"

Instantly the mask fell off and detective Morse stood revealed. Before they could recover from their surprise he turned to the court with: "Your honor, and gentlemen of the jury: You know Harry Morse well enough to decide whether what he says is true or false," and bowing, he left the witness-stand.

The defendent's counsel was at a loss what to do next; they knew Harry Morse too well to attempt to invalidate his testimony.

Mrs. Wendover was called next. She testified to the will being brought for her father to sign, that he had read it, pronounced it all right, and taken up his pen to sign it when he was interrupted by the arrival of her brother, Col. Boyle, that very soon after him came the plaintiff accompanied by Mr. Morse; that her father called the plaintiff his son, and made another effort to sign the will; that she believed the plaintiff to be her father's son; that as he was still willing to abide by the provisions of the will, she should not oppose his present claim.

"Have you not just come from an insane asylum? asked the detendent's counsel.

"I was inveighed into a retreat for the slightly insane, but do not acknowledge myself to have been so, unless the desire to carry out my father's wishes be proof of insanity," was her prompt response. He was about to question her further, but at a sign from Judge Wendover, he desisted.

The counsel for the defense then recalled Morse: "Did you not tell this court, that the plaintiff never saw you till to-day?"

"I said he never saw Jed Brown till to-day."

"Was it as Jedediah Brown that you denied being employed by the plaintiff?"

"It was, sir."

"But you do not deny being employed by him as Harry Morse?"

"I do not deny being employed, but not by him."

"Not by him, but with his knowledge?"

"Neither by him, nor with his knowledge; he did not know that such an investigation was being made till two or three days before I left Glenwood."

"Who was his informer?"

"John Wildermere, commonly known as John Wherefore."

"Why is he called Wherefore?"

"Because of his known proclivity to search into the wherefore of things."

"And he was your employer?"

"He was, sir."

"Are you sure that you were not employed by Mr. Wildermere as the agent of Mr. Russell?"

"The gentleman is here; he can speak for himself."

Morse was now permitted to leave the stand and John Wildermere was called.

His testimony was clear and explicit. He had noticed the remarkable likeness between the two men, and having resolved, if possible, to learn why it existed, had employed detective Morse for that purpose, but had told no one else what he had done till the time named in Mr. Morse's evidence.

"And you profess to say that you used money in this investigation without any expectation of being rewarded?"

"I say it, sir; and those who know me, know I speak the truth or keep my mouth shut," retorted Wildermere.

The next step was to make the plaintiff prove that he was the son of the Cora Bond, that Major Boyle married under the name of Shelton. "The man Russell was accused of stealing Cora's child, but where was the proof that he did so, or if he did, that the plaintiff was that child?" and the counsel looked exultingly at the jury as if to say: "get over that if you can."

"Perhaps here is something that will throw some light upon that point," said Blake, handing a couple of letters to the presiding Judge who read them and then asked: "Where were these found?"

Harry Morse was again called for: "Those letters were found in an old trunk that belonged to the man supposed to be Edward Bond Boyle's father," he said.

"Who witnessed the finding?"

"Mr. Bond Boyle, John Wildermere and myself were present at the finding."

"When were they found?"

"After the adjournment of the trial in May last. I was thinking of this very point, knew that such proof would be called for, and I asked the plaintiff if he had any old letters or papers that had belonged to his supposed father; at first he said 'no,' but after a minute he said 'yes, I believe there are some old letters in the trunk that was his. I had forgotten them. There are twenty-five or thirty of them. I read about a dozen of them once, but found nothing of importance, so tied them up again and threw them back.'

" 'Well,' said I, 'we will look at those old letters,' so we went to the plaintiff's cottage, we three, and gave those old letters a thorough examination, and we found what we sought."

"How long did it take you to fix them up?" sneered the defendent's counsel.

Morse paid no attention to this, but continued; "The one addressed to Mrs. Cora Shelton was inside the other, which was addressed, as you see, 'To my dear boy Edward.' "

The letters were then read to the jury. The letter to the plaintiff was as follows:

"Forgive me, my dear boy, for the great wrong I have done you. You are not my son; I stole you when a child for reasons that I then thought sufficient to excuse the act, but which I now see were cruelly wrong. You will find the names of your parents in the enclosed letter. If you cannot forgive me, I hope you will not quite hate me. Repentantly,

"HENRY RUSSELL."

The other letter was the one written by Major Boyle to his young wife when he was cleared from the suspicion of a crime he never committed, and was thus able to give her his true name. To this was added a postscript in the same hand writing which read:

"I took this letter from the office and opened it thinking it belonged to your mother's cousin and had been sent to her under cover of your mother's name."

This seemed a sort of an apology for having the letter, but left all else unexplained.

These letters bore unmistakable marks of age and were conclusive as to the plaintiff's parentage, but the defendent's counsel next demanded proof that the plaintiff's mother was living when Major Boyle married the second time.

David Renshaw was the next witness called. Being duly sworn, he testified as follows: "I am a grandson of Cora Bond through her second marriage. I have heard her say that her first husband's name was Boyle, but that he married her under the name of Shelton. I have also heard her talk of the boy that was lost and say she always believed he was stolen by a man named Russell who had sworn revenge because she would not marry him."

"Is your grandmother still living" was Blake's next question.

"She was living in western Kansas the last I heard from her."

The defendent's counsel tried in vain to pick this testimony to pieces, and the decision was rendered in favor of the plaintiff.

Had Col. Boyle known how much evidence his half brother could bring in support of his claim, he would have accepted the provisions of the will, and the case would never have gone into court, but being one of those natures, that, a position once taken, will not yield it, he took immediate steps for an appeal, trusting to his own skill to win, now he knew just what he had to fight.

Judge Wendover looked more relieved than disappointed. The loss of his wife's company and love was to him a greater misfortune than the loss of fortune. He was a weak, more than a bad man. He crossed over to where his wife was standing and said:

"Sarah, you have done your worst and have nothing more to fear, will you come home now?"

She looked into his face so sad in its expression, into his pleading eyes, and her heart relented.

"If you will invite my brother here to go too, I will," she said, turning to Bond Boyle.

The man hesitated but a moment, and then extended his hand. The Col. ground his teeth with rage, and said in an undertone: "By heaven, I will beat them yet, or die in the attempt."

He supposed he was standing far enough from every one to be unheard; he forgot to look behind him.

"You will be going to Kansas to see your mother now" said Morse to Bond Boyle.

"I think not," he replied, "she is so old the excitement would kill her, and it is enough to have father go in that way."

When Col. Boyle saw that Bond was going home with the Judge and his wife, he went to the hotel and sent for his carriage. In the meantime Mrs. Wendover wrote a note which they all signed, begging him to give up all contention over the property and take his third which was not only just and right, but in accord with their father's wishes, and sent it by Myrtle.

To this he indignantly replied that no man in his senses would yield to others two-thirds of what the law had declared his, unless painfully conscious of a weak spot in the method by which he had obtained it, "And that weak spot I intend to find and so reverse this day's decision."

So he went his way, and set himself to find or make a reason for such reversal.

————

CHAPTER XVIII.

LAW AND VICARIOUS ATONEMENT.

Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, after Richard's tragic death, retired more and more from general society, and became somewhat identified with the different reforms that were advocated. Mrs. Lawrence made heredity a study, and from noting effects, was led to investigating causes.

The minister, the Rev. Mr. Dawes, missed her from her accustomed seat in church, and came to ask the cause of her absence.

"I do not feel like going, sir; my heart is too sore," she replied.

"You should go all the more, my sister; where can you find comfort, find a healing balm for all wounds, if not in God's house?"

"I cannot understand, Mr. Dawes, why God has so many good houses in different parts of this and other cities, when so many of his children haven't a decent place in which to stay. It seems to me, sir, if I owned the universe, I would hardly allow so many buildings that were called mine, to stand unoccupied six days of the week while even little children, such as Jesus said were of the kingdom of heaven, must sleep in old barrels, under the sidewalks, or anywhere else that they can find a place, to lay their little heads. Were I God, I should spurn such worshippers, should know that they were only seeking my favor selfishly."

The minister looked at her in surprise: "It is our business to obey God's commands, not to inquire into his methods," he said.

"Has God commanded the building of costly churches while the poor go hungry and cold?"

"But for the churches in which the gospel is preached, there would be more cold and hungry ones than now. Mrs. Lawrence, who but the churches are the active promoters of charity?"

"And that is one of the things that puzzle me, Mr. Dawes; it seems to me that they make charity stand in the place of justice."

"Justice, madam, if we had our just deserts where would any of us be?"

"We should be cared for, tenderly, lovingly, as kind parents care for their children,—that is, if there is a personal being who is all-powerful, and who created us. In creating us he became responsible for our well-being, and he owes it to us as a duty to see to it that one child does not crowd upon another."

"Duty! duty from God to us, poor creatures of the dust! How dare you thus arraign the Infinite, and all perfect One? His ways are not like our ways; who by searching can find out God?"

"If he cannot be found out, why search for him? If he cannot be found out who knows anything about him, and if one knows nothing about him, how can he teach others? Come, now, Mr. Dawes, do you really think you know any more about God than I do?"

"My dear Mrs. Lawrence, it grieves me more than I can express to find you in such a state of mind, but it is of no use for me to attempt to talk with you while you feel as you do. I had hoped that God would sanctify your affliction to your soul's salvation, but"——

"You thought that my son's damnation would induce me to seek favor of the one who damns him, for according to your belief, he is damned; no, sir, it does not have that effect."

The minister was startled at this strong application of his own teaching, and did not seem to know what to reply.

"Did you ever think, Mr. Dawes," she continued, "how much law and vicarious atonement are alike?"

"How, in what way?"

"If one keeps within the bounds of the law, obeys its legal requirements, he is all right, no matter what he does, but if he fails to meet the legal demand, he is all wrong."

"In the first place, Mrs. Lawrence, I do not admit the truth of your statement; our law does not sanction wrong doing, nor condemn right doing, and secondly, I see no analogy whatever between the law of the land and vicarious atonement."

"If our law does not sanction, it certainly covers with its mantle of protection all who obey its technical forms, and if you can name many crimes that are not done under its cover, I shall be glad to have you do so."

"Suppose, madam, you name those that are?"

"I can do that, Mr. Dawes, much easier than I can name those that are not, but I will confine my list to four of the most heinous: adultery, perjury, robbery and murder."

"Please name instances?"

"Perjury is swearing to that which is false, is it not?"

"That is the definition the law gives."

"When a man stands up and makes a woman his wife that he does not love, does he not commit perjury? You know, sir, that both men and women do that often."

"But the law cannot read the heart; it can only claim the outward conformity."

"True, but your vicarious atonement will cover the rest if the man or woman gets sorry, which they are pretty likely to do; but another question, is not love the basis of marriage?"

"Most certainly it is, Mrs. Lawrence."

"Then, Mr. Dawes, when men and women marry without love, they commit adultery, and the law not only does not punish such adultery, but it holds the parties to their agreement to live thus. Suppose some woman perjures herself in this way, if she goes and confesses her crime, says, 'I have sworn falsely, I did not love this man, and I had rather go to prison than to live with him,' will it release her from the adultery and punish her for the perjury?"

She looked him squarely in the face, but he answered not a word; he seemed in a sort of dumb amazement at such questioning, and from a woman.

"You know it will not," she continued, "neither would the church free her; the sacredness of the bond must be maintained even though it involves both perjury and adultery. If she continues to live with him, she may remain in the church, but if she leave him the sacramental cup is withheld from her lips. I have seen it done, so know what I am saying."

Again she paused, and Mr. Dawes said something about the sacredness of pledges, and living a loveless life being her punishment.

"That won't do, Mr. Dawes, even though you may claim that the vicarious atonement will cover the continued sin under the circumstances, for we do not gather grapes of thorns, nor figs of thistles, and children born of such thorny, thistley unions inherit discord and disease, so neither law nor vicarious atonement can cover such cases,—neither, nor both combined are sufficient in efficacy to prevent the consequences of one sin committed against nature's laws."

"Would you do away with law, Mrs. Lawrence?"

"I would find and obey God's laws as expressed through the book of nature, sir; all others are of but little use if not a positive injury."

"You do not believe in God's law as declared in his word, then?"

"If you mean the bible, I do not believe it to be God's word. How can I when it teaches eternal damnation for a large part of the race?"

"But if it is true?"

"But it is not true, Mr. Dawes; it cannot be true."

"I wish I could believe it was not, Mrs. Lawrence, but I dare not dispute my bible."

"Mr. Dawes, would you believe it true if your bible told you two and two made five?"

"Certainly not; that could be demonstrated as false."

"Is it not equally impossible, sir, that the created should be greater than the creator, or in other words, can the creator give to the created a greater degree of any quality than he himself possesses?"

He understood the point she wished to smake, colored, but said nothing. She continued:

"You know that such a thing is as impossible as that two and two can make five. Now, sir, is there any earthly parent who would forever damn his own child? But it is not of the future, Mr, Dawes, but of the present that I have been thinking the last few months; not of what God does or will do, but of what we as a people, should do."

"If we as a people, obey God's laws, we shall do well enough, Mrs. Lawrence."

"I think, sir, that practical work is better than theoretical obedience, and while you have been standing in your pulpit preaching about a God of whom you can know nothing, cannot by searching, find him out, I have been to the tenement houses in this great city where the wretched poor dwell; I have been to the prisons, to the hospitals, and to other places of wretchedness that so abound, are a part of our Christian civilization, and I do not hesitate to say that if what is taught from our pulpits is Christianity, then Christianity is a worthless thing, a failure."

"Why, Mrs. Lawrence, how can you say such things when Christians are the only ones who are doing anything to assist those wretched ones! Who give of their time and money to aid the unfortunate but Christians? Who but Christians send hundreds of poor children annually to good homes? Who but Christians call for hospitals where the sick and the suffering can be cared for? Who but Christians care for thousands of homeless waifs of cities in the homes that Christian charity has prepared? and so I might continue to enumerate, and yet you say that Christianity is a failure."

"I beg your pardon, I said if what I had seen was a part of Christian civilization, and if what was taught in our pulpits was Christianity, then Christianity was a failure. You see that the conclusion rests upon two ifs."

"What is your definition of Christianity, Mrs. Lawrence?"

"If I should attempt to define it, I should say it was laying the axe at the root of the tree of evil, instead of lopping off or trying to lop off the most troublesome branches."

"You speak of what is preached in our pulpits, do we not condemn all sin? What more can we do?"

"You preach against sin, but you do not touch the causes of sin, and while these causes remain you might as well preach against children's crying, or against people's groaning when in pain."

"Will you name some of the causes of sin that we do not touch, Mrs. Lawrence?"

"Do you preach against land monopoly, interest, rent and profits, Mr. Dawes?"

"We preach against covetousness, but do you mean to say that interest, lawful interest on money, rent for the use of buildings, and profits on legitimate business, are all wrong, are sins to be preached against?"

"I mean just that; I mean that no one has the right, morally speaking, to live upon the results of another's toil; I mean that profit over and above a fair compensation for time and labor expended, is always at the cost of some one else, takes what belongs to others; and I say further, that one house, one home is enough for any honest man, and will be all that any one will claim when the brotherhood of which Christians talk is carried out in principle; but you do not ask if I believe land monopoly wrong."

"No, because I think myself that the holding of large bodies of land is wrong."

"Yes, it is wrong, Mr. Dawes; but not more so than the holding of large blocks of houses; one man holding a mile or more, and turning a poor widow out upon the street because she cannot pay her rent."

"But we cannot help that, Mrs. Lawrence; we cannot interfere with the property laws of the country."

"It seems to me that you did in regard to chattel slavery, but you had to be stirred up to it first; and you must wake up to the terrible wrongs connected with our present property system if you wish to retain honest thinkers in your ranks, sir."

"Well, it is useless for me to attempt to talk with you, Mrs. Lawrence, and beside, I have no more time to spare now, but where did you get hold of such ideas?"

"I have been mingling with the prophets and teachers of the new gospel, Mr. Dawes, the gospel of bread and butter for all, the gospel of good homes, and good clothes for all; the gospel of equal opportunities for all, not all for one while the ninety and nine go hungry and cold."

As soon as the door had closed upon the minister, Mr. Lawrence came out of a little alcove in which he had been during Hie time, and said:

"Well, wife, you handled him pretty well."

"I presume I did better," she replied, "for knowing you were in hearing; it stimulated me. But, Henry, I want a change; I want to study other phases of life; why can't we go and live in some country village for awhile?"

"We can, where would you like to go?"

"I am not particular where; you know better about country places than I do," she said.

"There was a gentleman in the office yesterday who lives in Glenwood. He wants to sell his place and business and go west, would that suit you, do you think?"

"Glenwood, that is where that great property case is being contested; where Col. Boyle and Judge Wendover live, is it not?"

"The Judge lives there, but the Col. lives about five miles beyond. He has a beautiful place on the Hudson river."

"And the other, the one they call Russell," she asked, sadly, for the name called up the image of her lost boy.

"I am told that the suit has been decided in his favor, and at the request of Mrs. Wendover, he and his granddaughter are residing with them."

"If the place suits you, Henry, I had as soon go there as anywhere."

She did not acknowledge it, even to herself, but still there was a feeling that she would like to see the girl for the possession of whom, her son had lost his life.

————

CHAPTER XIX.

NEW SCENES AND NEW LESSONS.

"We have new neighbors," said Judge Wendover one day at the dinner table, about a month after the conversation related at the close of the last chapter.

"Have we, who are they?" asked his wife.

"A family of Lawrences from New York city, they have bought the Wells place."

"Not the Lawrence"—she paused, seeing the flush upon Alice's cheek.

"Yes, it is the same," said Bond Boyle, "the father of Richard, and the husband of the woman the papers made such a fuss about as being a 'nigger;' I have seen her and she is as white as anybody and every inch a lady."

"How many is there of the family," asked the Judge.

"They have a son and a daughter."

Alice shuddered. "You needn't be afraid, puss," said her grandfather, "if looks are any index to one's character, this one is not at all like Richard, and his sister is just lovely."

"How do you happen to know so much about them, grandpa?" she asked.

"I saw them when they came; Mr. Lawrence came two days ago, and the others last evening; they went to the hotel first, and when Mr. Lawrence came for them a few minutes after, they passed me again on their way to their own house."

"We must call on them; Richard's death must have been a sad affliction," said Mrs. Wendover, and Alice thought she would like to know the young lady if she could do so without meeting her brother. Her grandfather seemed to divine her thoughts, for he asked:

"When did you look in the glass last, Alice?"

"Why do you ask that, grandpa?"

"Because if you knew how beauty like yours affects young men who have been brought up among those who would despise one of their set for marrying a poor girl, you would not blame them so much for trying to steal one."

"Oh, grandpa, how can you talk so!"

"Because I know how false society is, how it practically tempts rich young men to crime. You occupy a very different position to-day from what you did one year ago. If Richard Lawrence were living now, he would probably ask me for the hand of my granddaughter in marriage."

"Ask you!" exclaimed Alice.

"Yes, ask me; women are never supposed to belong to themselves; they are under the care of their nearest male relative till married and then they belong to the husband."

Mrs. Wendover laughed. "You paint a strong picture, brother," she said, "but we are a good way from that now, when a woman becomes of age, she can marry who she pleases."

"If the one who pleases her asks her to be his wife."

"Of course, but we will not discuss that question now; there are other things to be considered, and the happiness of the Lawrence family is one of them. Think what a terrible sorrow Richard's death must be to them."

The Judge looked at his wife and then at her brother with an expression upon his features which seemed to say: "Isn't she an angel?"

He was one of those natures that is sure to be dominated by some one. Col. Boyle was that one till his suffering at being separated from his wife had caused him to react, and though he had done some things under the Col.'s influence, that would not have borne strict investigation, he knew that he could not be hurt except by the Col.'s own testimony, and as such evidence would implicate both, he was no longer held through fear, and now his allegiance was transferred to his wife and her new found brother. The Col. grated his teeth and swore vengance, but was too politic to implicate himself.

Mrs. Wendover was the first to call on Mrs. Lawrence and the other ladies followed the example. They were all delighted with their new neighbor, but Mrs. Lawrence's heart went out to the Judge's wife and they were soon fast friends. Alice and the young people also became acquainted and were mutually pleased. The embarrassment of their relative positions soon wore off, and Richard became only a sad memory to both families, a memory that drew them together instead of separating them, and soon her son's evident admiration of Alice made Mrs. Lawrence hope that beautiful and gentle girl would yet call her mother.

Mrs. Wendover became more interested in Mrs. Lawrence than in any lady she had ever met. The latter's lines of thought opened up to her a new world.

One day there came to the place an agent of a New York society the object of which was the gathering up of poor children in the city and finding them homes in the country. Mrs. Wendover was visiting Mrs. Lawrence when the lady called there. She began to tell of the good the society was doing, told how many children they had found homes for during the year, solicited the names of such as would be likely to take children, and asked for money, clothes, anything that, would, aid in the work.

Mrs. Lawrence refused to give anything whatever, and Mrs. Wendover wondered if she had been mistaken in Mrs. Lawrence's character, while the lady seemed very much surprised. "I do not understand this" she said. "I was told that you were people of means and generous. Do you not think the object a worthy one?"

"I think those who are engaged in it believe it to be such," was the reply.

"But what possible objection can you have to it?" persisted the lady, with wide open, wondering eyes.

Mrs. Lawrence did not immediately reply; she was trying to put her ideas into as few words possible. Finally she said:

"I do not know how to best express myself to make you understand just what I mean for the ideas involved and the methods needed to accomplish what I would like to see done one cannot grasp it all at once, but expressed in a few words, my objection to such efforts is, they deal only with effects; there is no attempt made to reach causes."

"But how can we, poor mortals, reach causes? they belong to God."

"Do you mean to say that God holds in his hand the cause or causes of so much misery, and that we are not permitted to find and remove them?"

The lady colored, stammered in her effort to reply, and finally said nothing, and Mrs. Lawence continued:

"What would you think, madam, of a man who made it his business to go through the country sowing in every field he came to, wheat mixed with pestiferous weeds?"

"But human beings are not weeds; every one of those children has an immortal soul to be saved."

"Soul or no soul, my dear lady, so far as their bodies and brains are concerned a large proportion of them are but human weeds, and by distributing them in country homes you are simply lowering the quality of human life in those homes. Those poor city children are, many of them from their very birth, so familiar with the elements of crime and degradation, that ere you are aware one of them may have poisoned the minds of the children of an entire neighborhood.

"Then again, think of inherited tendencies that are kept back for the time because of the better influences of their new surroundings, but of which there is danger of a re-appearance in the next generation causing sorrow that no language can express," and her voice quivered as she uttered the last words.

The lady listened like one amazed. "I have never heard any one talk like that before" she said, "and there seems to be truth in what you say, but can we do nothing; must we stand still and see them perish?"

"Under the present methods of society I fear there is little that can be done for them in this life, but when born into another life I hope and trust they will have an opportunity to outgrow the effects of the false conditions of earth, but in the mean time we must not stand still. The same amount of time, money, and earnestness of purpose as are now expended upon effects, when intelligently directed against causes will remove them, and then there will be no such children to be cared for."

"I see that you believe everybody will be saved; I wish I could believe it," said the lady sadly.

"I do not believe in caring for that life at the expense of this," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "I believe the root of all these wrongs can be traced to the false system of society which has resulted from our ignorance. I believe that every child born upon this earth has a right to a portion of its surface. How many of those children, think you, would need homes if their parents had not been deprived of their natural right to the land?"

"Really, I never thought of it in that light, but I don't know as any of them would."

"Then our best method of work is to educate the people in their rights that they may liberate the land."

"How can the land be liberated, when legally owned?"

"By educating public sentiment till the people demand it. But a few years since four million men, women and children were legally owned. Then, the law bound them to slavery, now, the law binds the poor man's acres away from his use. The links of chattel slavery have been broken, and the links that bind the poor man's acres must be broken. Why, but for the blow struck by the rail-splitter with his emancipation hammer, I should now be a slave."

"You!" and the lady looked incredulous. Even Mrs. Wendover though she had known of this before could hardly realize that it could be true.

"Yes, I myself," repeated Mrs. Lawrence, looking as if she really enjoyed the lady's astonishment. Mrs. Wendover had remained silent, but she decided that so far from being mistaken in Mrs. Lawrence's character the woman was even more noble than she had believed.

For some moments there was nothing more said; finally the lady agent sighed and remarked: "I must study this question; I certainly do not wish to aid in efforts that are not for the best, but these ideas are new to me."

"And to me also," said Mrs. Wendover, "but they strike me as being true."

"But if true, what a work we have before us!" said the lady, "for those that hold the land will be no more willing to give it up than were those that held slaves, and it must inevitably bring on a conflict of arms as much greater as is the work to be done compared with the abolition of chattel slavery."

"Yes, it will be terrible," said Mrs. Lawrence, "but not so terrible as the present condition of things. A million of people destroyed in two or three years, and with them the causes that produce such conditions as we now have, would not in fact, be so terrible as the long drawn out agony of twenty, fifty, or a hundred millions stretched over a hundred or a thousand years. How long, my dear lady, would it take to murder by slow torture, a million of our women by forcing them into prostitution for bread?"

"I do not know, madam; a million is a great many."

"True, but statistics give five hundred thousand prostitutes in the United States, and at an average life of five years, this would give us a hundred thousand deaths annually from that cause alone, or a million in ten years. We may safely say that one half of these are forced into that life for bread; that would give us a million in twenty years, now how many of these would die from prostitution, if the land was liberated and they had their natural right to the soil?"

"Why, not one of those, who are there for bread. I know I would dig my living out of the ground with a hoe before I would live such a life."

"But those are but a few of the victims of our false system of society, and then, how many mothers through lack of what they need, stamp upon their children before birth, that craving which results in drunkenness, suppose you?"

But the lady did not reply. She seemed to shrink away from what was being presented, the scope and vastness of the ideas overwhelming her, as it were, but Mrs. Wendover said:

"I think a very large proportion of our drunkards must come in that way; I never thought of it before, but it looks entirely reasonable."

"But rich men's sons drink too," ventured the lady.

"True, but do you not know that excess often produces the same or similar results as come from privation? Too much heat blisters the flesh, so does cold, and the sores made by one do not differ so much from those made by the other. Too much land, or its equivalent, injures those who hold it. It is the lack of balance that does the mischief."

"What you propose would bring the millenium, if it could be accomplished, but I must be going, I have staid much longer than I intended now," said the lady rising to her feet.

"Please wait a few minutes till I can get you some statistics," said Mrs. Lawrence, and turning to her desk she took from it a paper and read:

" 'Ten thousand homeless children in New York city. Men and women sleeping under piers till the police drive them away. Women and children sleeping on wisps of dirty straw, or bundles of filthy rags, in mere rat holes, huddled together like pigs; the tenement houses in which the very poor live are unspeakable;' now, madam," continued Mrs. Lawrence, "the conditions which produce such children as your society is finding homes for, are not removed by such efforts. While you are finding homes for a few, the wretched numbers are continually on the increase; is it not time that something else was tried?"

There was no reply, and Mrs. Lawrence continued: "From twenty to thirty thousand girls in New York city forced to sell themselves for bread; three hundred thousand working for less than living wages"——

"Don't," said the lady, putting her hands to her ears with a shudder, "what are our rich people thinking of that they can be indifferent to such a state of things!"

"The love of the power that wealth gives makes them blind to all else, even as the master became blind to the love of freedom in the heart of the slave, and hunted him down with blood hounds when he ran away. If the land was set free, if the links of the law did not bind it round, if all men had their share, then no one man could pile up wealth to the ruin of thousands.

"The wealth of the city comes from the country, the most of it, and then it is used to crush the poor. Then such societies as you represent bring back to the country as many of the children of those wrecks as they can to be cared for, and to help lower the tone of country life and morals."

The woman dropped her face in her hands and burst into tears. "Oh, what shall I do," she said as soon as she could speak. "You have spoiled me for this work; I cannot conscientiously go on. I shall lose my place, and with it my bread and butter."

"If that is the way you feel," said Mrs. Wendover, "come home with me, and stay as long as you please, or till some other way opens. If you have others dependent upon you, I will see that they do not suffer."

"Oh, a thousand thanks, madam," she sobbed, "and now," she said, when she had dried her tears, "it is but right you know should my name," handing her at the same time, a slip upon which was written "Mrs. Cora Bond Leslie."

Mrs. Wendover started; "have you relatives by the name of Bond?" she asked.

"Bond was my father's name," she replied, "and he had a cousin Cora, after whom I was named."

————

CHAPTER XX.

PLOTTING AND ITS RESULTS.

When Col. Boyle reached his home after the decision of the court in his half brother's favor, he shut himself in his room and sat down to think. He could but acknowledge to himself that had he known all the evidence that could be brought to sustain Bond's claim, he would have consented to the equal division proposed in the unsigned will and have taken his share without demur, but now to sit down like a whipped cur—the thought was not to be entertained for a moment.

"And then," he said to himself, "his offering to take one-third looks dark after having won the whole, or at least I can make it look so if I can devise any scheme by which I can circumvent him."

After pondering for hours, he started up with: "He's just the man; I wonder I did not think of him before," and turning to his desk, he began to write. After covering two sheets of note paper, he read over what he had written, shook his head, tore it up and commenced again. The second time he read, pondered awhile, and then tore that up. The third effort appeared satisfactory, for he folded it, placed it in an envelope and directed it to Joseph Jackson, Att'y, San Francisco, Cal., then, gathering up the pieces of rejected manuscript, he carefully burned them, and took the letter to the office himself, instead of sending it by the boy. In about three weeks from that time his sister received the following:

"MRS. WENDOVER, Madam: You have succeeded in proving yourself as well as myself, a bastard. So long as I cannot help myself, I must submit, but perhaps it will not be considered out of place if I ask for something that was my father's, his writing desk, book case, some of his books, or something of the kind. Obediently yours,

"COL. EDWARD BOYLE."

"How bitter he is," she said as she read the note, "but he shall have what he asks for, certainly," and the next day the books with their case, and the writing desk were both sent over to the Col.'s residence.

From then on but little was known of Col. Boyle till about two weeks before the opening of the spring term of court; then the community was startled by a report that a will had been found, one executed by Major Boyle about three years before his death, that lawyer Jackson who had been on the Pacific coast for nearly two years, had drawn it up, and that Charles Billings and his wife, who were living on Judge Wendover's place at the time, had signed it as witnesses.

Following right after this report, Bond Boyle, John Wildermere, lawyer Blake and detective Morse were arrested on the charge of conspiring to get an estate under false pretenses.

The public mind was all excitement. Where did the conspiracy come in? They certainly did not know of the will; these and other remarks were made, and other questions asked, on all sides. Finally the public curiosity was in part satisfied by the following statement, to-wit, that Major Boyle's first wife had died at the time stated, and that, basing their efforts upon the likeness between the two men, they had substituted, and knowingly, the child of a brother of the Major's and a cousin of his wife's who bore the same name. That Col. Boyle, remembering of hearing his father speak of this brother, his marriage and early death, had been up to Vermont and learned the facts of the case.

At the preliminary trial, both Morse and Wildermere testified that if searching for facts could be called conspiracy, they alone were guilty, as neither of the others knew anything of the matter till just before the Major's death, and to the chagrin of the Col., both Blake and Russell, as he persisted in calling the latter, were set free. The others were bound over to be tried at the approaching term of court, but were set at liberty on bail till the time of trial.

"What about the will?" was the question that people were asking. The Col. only shook his head and said, wait, but Mr. Jackson was not so reticent. His story was:

"You know I have been in the far west for the last two years. I have been so occupied that I have known but little of what was being done here. I did not hear of the Major's death nor of the new claimant to the property till about five months ago; I then wrote to Col. Boyle and told him I knew there was a will, that I had drawn it up, and who were the witnesses. It seems that his sister had given him the books and their case and the writing desk, so he went to searching."

"And where was it found?"

Jackson laughed: "You will not think the Col. very pious when I tell you, but it was in the old family bible."

"Don't think it looks well for the piety of any of the family," said the interlocutor.

"That don't prove anything; they all had bibles, and this was an heirloom, and was kept for its associations," replied Jackson.

"But what about the conspiracy?" asked another.

The Col. came up just then, and Jackson replied: "That will be shown at the trial," but at another time, he so far forgot himself as to go into details. "Who'd a thought that Morse was such a villain," said his listener after hearing all about the so-called plot.

"A fortune like that, or a share of it, has tempted better men than Morse," was the reply, "but Mr. Gleason, I have told you this in confidence, and I hope you will not repeat what I have said; time enough for the public to know when the facts are brought out in court," said Jackson, beginning to think he was talking a little too freely.

The will that Col. Boyle claimed to have found was pronounced genuine. The signature was the same as that of other papers which the Major was known to have signed, and lawyer Jackson testified to having written it at the time dated. There was also the names of the witnesses together with their sworn statement taken by Jackson while in California, the Billings' living in Oakland. Jackson testified that having learned where the witnesses were he had sent for the will and had them identify their signatures before he left the coast.

Col. Boyle was now the legal heir of one half his father's estate minus a few bequests, but the peace that conscious integrity brings was not his. Neither could he take from the man he hated the love of the Judge and his wife. They still called him Bond, and brother, thus showing that they had no faith in the genineness of the will which made him their cousin if a relative.

"Time will prove all things" said Mrs. Wendover, while Bond and the Judge said nothing.

————

"Strange," said deacon Gray, "that two men should conspire to help another man to a fortune and he know nothing about it."

"You may depend upon it he did know; men can be as deep as—as hades when they have an object to accomplish," replied elder Brown.

"But I never supposed that either of them were that kind of men," persisted Gray.

"Never can tell what men'll do when there's money in sight; you know St. Paul said it was the root of all evil."

"Not money, but the love of it, elder."

"If it didn't exist we couldn't love it, deacon, so the difference is the odds," replied Brown.

"For one I hope everything will be unearthed," remarked banker Ketchem, "those labor agitators will do anything to rob an honest man of his wealth; we are none of us safe."

"Which of them are labor agitators?" asked Gray.

"Oh they all are more or less tinged. They held a public meeting after old Russell and this Wildermere came back from Kansas, and they talked of shooting laws out of existence if they couldn't be got rid of any other way."

"All laws?" asked a stranger who was sitting back a little from the others.

"Yes, all laws; they are nothing less than anarchists."

"I was present at that meeting, sir, and I am happy to tell you that you are mistaken. There was nothing said of shooting all laws out of existence, nor even of bad laws unless all other means for correcting them failed and to save the country to genuine freedom no other way was left."

"It is easy to twist such utterances so as to make them appear fair, but I would like to see all such men hung; we shall never have any peace in this country so long as they are permitted to go about ranting as they do," replied the banker in a pompous tone.

"Suppose you commence with me sir," said the stranger, "I am a labor agitator, was made such by the facts I heard that night; not that I had not thought upon the subject before but it was then that I decided to make it my business. As to the men called Russell and Wherefore, I have known them for years, and I know them to be honest and true men, and utterly incapable of such conspiracy as you talk of." This outburst was so unexpected that no one said a word in reply, and the stranger continued:

"You condemn people because they protest against being robbed; well, go on as you have commenced, but for every one that you hang, ten will rise up and confront you, for we, the people, have sworn that we will not much longer be robbed of our right to mother earth. If you do not take the links of law off the land unjustly held we will break them as Sampson broke the wythes with which Delilah bound him."

"Stage is ready," called the driver, and the stranger, bowing to those present, said: "My name is Reid, at your service; I live in Mandaville," and the next minute he mounted the seat beside the driver.

"One of Jim's acquaintances; he's getting his head too full of those fanatical ideas; I must see that a better man is put in his place," said the banker as the stage moved away.

"Must be going somewhere to lecture," said Brown.

"Yes, they are like the lice of Egypt, everywhere."

"But, Mr. Ketchem, the Lord sent the lice because the Egyptians would not let his people go."

The banker picked up his gold headed cane and walked out, muttering something as he went that the others did not quite understand. Gray laughed and Brown said:

"He'll see that a better man fills your place next."

"He doesn't happen to have the power to do that in my case, and ought not to have in reference to any one else. This is called a free country but where is the freedom if one can't have an opinion and express it without losing bread and butter?"

"But about this conspiracy case, how do you think it will come out, Gray?"

"Can tell you better when the trial is over, and I think they'll get to it by to-morrow afternoon, or so the sheriff told me."

The case came on the next day as Gray had said. The indictment was read, and witnesses were called. But little was elicited from the first two that had any bearing on the case. Corienne Bond Boyle Renshaw was next called. She was so feeble because of her years that a chair was given her and much of her testimony was taken in the form of replies to questions the first of which, after she gave her name, was "What was your first husband's name?"

"Edwin Boyle."

"Was he a relative of Major Edward Boyle?"

"He had a brother Edward."

"Please tell us of your marriage?"

"Yes sir; soon after my seventeenth birthday there came to our place two young men calling themselves Edward and Edwin Shelton. When we became a little acquainted Edwin began to pay attention to me and Edward to my cousin Cora."

"You say those young men were brothers?"

"Yes, sir, that is was what they said."

"Were they much alike?"

"They were, might have been mistaken one for the other by those not well acquainted with them."

"Did Edward Shelton, as he was called, marry your cousin Cora?"

"He did, and about three months afterward Edwin and I were married."

"Was there anything unusual connected with your marriage, Mrs. Renshaw?"

"Nothing only it was kept secret for awhile because of a young man by the name of Russell who was very angry because I would not marry him and had sworn revenge."

"Did your husband's brother know of this marriage."

"He and Cora knew, and so did my parents, but no one else except the minister who married us."

"How long was your marriage kept a secret?"

"Till my husband's death four months after. It became necessary for my protection because of my expected child."

"Is that child living?"

"I do not know; he disappeared when about two years old and I have always believed that Russell stole him."

"How did you learn your husband's name was Boyle?"

"He told me himself, and said Edward would tell Cora as soon as the real criminal was found and he was cleared of that of which he was accused."

"Was Edward Boyle present when his wife died?"

"He was not; he had been summoned home to his father's death bed."

"So she never knew that his name was Boyle?"

"She never did."

"Were you ever called Cora for short?"

"Not before cousin Cora's death; often after that; indeed, in time I came to be called that altogether."

Just then the old lady turned very pale and the counsel for the plaintiff asked that she be excused till she had taken time to rest. Lawyer Jackson was next called.

His evidence went to prove that Morse had learned when up in Vermont that Russell was the son of Major Boyle's brother, but had purposely perverted the facts to the Major, said that he himself had been to Vermont and had made dilligent and critical inquiry, first to ascertain the correctness of Mrs. Renshaw's story, and also to find what Morse had done and learned. The cross-examination was deferred till the next day, as the hour for adjournment had come.

The next morning when the court convened all were in their places but Mr. Jackson. No one knew the cause of his delay but it was supposed he would be in soon. The old lady, Mrs. Renshaw, was called forward for further questioning; soon after she had taken her seat word was brought that Mr. Jackson had been thrown from his carriage and badly hurt. The counsel for the prosecution requested that the case be adjourned but the Judge ruled that they finish what could be done without Mr. Jackson first.

Col. Boyle asked where they had taken him.

"He is at Wendover's" was the reply, "he was thrown against their gate when his horse took fright."

"My God, there!" burst involuntarily from his lips. Soon afterward the sheriff was called out, and when he returned he took a seat near the door. Just as they were done with Mrs. Renshaw a note was brought to the Judge; upon reading it he arose and said: "The confession of a dying man makes it unnecessary to go on with this case."

The report of a pistol rang through the room and Col. Boyle fell dead. As all eyes were on the Judge no one saw Boyle take the pistol from his pocket and place it to his temple.

The room was immediately cleared of all except such as were needed to look after the dying or dead man. How effective the ball had been was yet to be ascertained. A physician, present made an examination and pronounced life extinct. Next a coroner was summoned and a verdict rendered in accordance with the facts. Then the body was taken to his sister's and word sent to his family of the sad, the more than sad, the terrible news.

It seemed like retribution that Col. Boyle's dead body should lie there in the same room where his inebriated and violent action had prevented the signing of the will, and hastened his father's death, but so it was.

Jackson lay in an adjoining room; he was still conscious but his minutes were numbered. His deposition had been taken and the minister was now with him. It was not thought best to tell him of the tragedy that had resulted from his confession, but a few seconds before he breathed his last he raised his hand and said: "Take him away."

"Take who away?"

"The Col., see that hole in his head: he—shot himself—he says." They were his last words.

The confession of Jackson was in substance as follows: Boyle had written to him, telling him the trouble, and asked what could be done to defeat the usurper, as he called Bond; said if it could be accomplished he, Jackson, should be well paid.

"In reply to this letter," said Jackson, "I advised him to get hold of some of his father's old letters and papers. I did this that he might practice imitating his father's signature. I suggested that he ask for something that had been his father's, his secretary, book case, or both, as they would furnish a good place in which to find a will. I also advised him to go to Vermont, and not to let anyone there know his object, nor here that he had gone there, but to learn all he could. I testified that I had been up there. It was false. I only knew of matters through the Col. He had heard his father speak of the brother who was accidentally shot but nothing of that brother's marriage.

"The Col. learned that from an old resident there, and also that Cora Shelton, as she was called, had at her death given her child to Edwin's widow, so he laid his plans accordingly. When he found that Corienne Bond was yet living in Kansas, he knew at once that she must be the grandmother of whom David Renshaw had testified, thus doing such good service for Bond Boyle, and he learned further that Corienne was often called Cora after her cousin's death.

"This, had he been content with it, would have established his legal right to one third of the property, but in his hatred of his half brother he determined to dispossess him of everything, and imprison him and all who had aided him if possible, and with the prospect of being well paid, I became his tool.

"The Col. sent me the will prepared as he desired it; I copied and sent it back to him to be signed in an exact imitation of his father's handwriting. When it was returned to me I found the Billings' and made them believe the old man had really signed it, had spoken of them as witnesses but, on account of the return of the family sooner than he expected and his desire for secrecy they were not then called, and was neglected ever afterward. I told them that unless some way could be devised to prevent it Mrs. Wendover and the Col. would lose their father's property and asked them to sign the will as was first intended.

"At first they refused, but they were very poor; Mr. Billings was sick and their rent was so far behind they were afraid of being put into the street. I told them there would really be no wrong done but instead, a wrong prevented; that if they would sign the will as witnesses and then testify to their signatures I would pay up their rent and give them two hundred dollars.

"Finally Billings said: 'Well, wife, the money will help us now and if we should have to go to prison it can't be worse than the street; you will die if you have to go through much more hardship.' This accomplished, I sent the will to the Col. and then came to Kansas to find Mrs. Renshaw."

Here he held his breath in his struggle with pain but as soon as he could speak again he said:

"I assure you upon my oath as a dying man, that the will is a forgery and the witnesses suborned." Here he had another spasm of pain and when it was over he affixed his signature to his statement as it had been written down and then motioned away those who had been summoned to take his deposition.

Mrs. Renshaw was taken from the court room to Judge Wendover's and when she saw the bodies of the two men she wept bitterly. When she became quiet they told her of Jackson's confession and asked to tell her own story, to say why she had testified that the child was hers instead of her cousin Cora's.

"I did not feel right about it" she said, "but that man told me that as she had given me the child he was mine."

"But you said that your cousin Cora's child died."

"Yes, and he told me it did die to her when she gave it to me."

"What became of your child?"

"My child?"

"Yes, you said it became necessary for your protection before the birth of your child that your marriage should be known."

"Did I, well, when one starts out to do a wrong they are sure to get all mixed up, but I can't help it now."

"No, but you can tell us what prompted you to do such a thing," said Mrs. Wendover.

"Well, you see, we had been in Kansas over twenty years, had suffered all sorts of hardships, had to give up once and start anew, had lived in a sod house till a part of the roof fell in and killed one of the children. My son had just got his title to his land, but when little Ben was killed he borrowed money to build a house and put a mortgage on the place, thinking he could pay it by the time it was due. And so he could, had things gone right, but there was sickness, bad seasons, and so many things to put us back.

"When the railroad came we thought it would be better but it was really harder to get along than before. Freights were so high, our crops brought so little, and the price of cattle went down instead of up, so it took all we could raise to pay the interest on that mortgage, and I tell you, after so long a struggle it was hard to think of going out into the world again homeless," and the tears began to roll down the poor old lady's cheeks.

As soon as as she could control her voice she continued: "He said he would pay off the mortgage and my expenses if I would come out here as a witness. I have a daughter in Ohio that I have not seen in all these years and I thought I could stop there on my way back and visit and rest.

"My son did not know as I was to tell anything but the truth and he looked upon the money as a God-send but I knew it was a devil-send. Still I promised what they wished; saw the mortgage paid, then came here to do my part, but I have not seen a moment's peace since. I expected to suffer, was willing to if I could save those I loved so well from being turned into the street homeless."

She told the story with such pathos that it brought the tears to their eyes, "and now," said the sobbing woman, "I suppose I must go to prison for swearing falsely, but my boy has got his home secure."

"I rather think not" said Bond Boyle, "I am the only one who would have been injured, and I shall make no complaint. You dry your eyes and be as happy as you can till after the funeral, and then I will take you back to Kansas."

When Morse had heard Mrs. Renshaw's story he said: "It is easy to see how things got mixed up, Cora and Corienne's experiences confounded as one. The major was informed that his wife was dead, which was true. The other part of the story, or the most of it, belonged to Corienne. The Major, having never heard her called Cora, did not think of her, and believed he had been deceived. However, the child was his; there was no mistake about that."

————

CHAPTER XXI.

REASON VS. RIOT.

Glenwood, like other towns that are not so situated as to become centers of trade, had those among its inhabitants who would like to make it appear to have so as to facilitate the sale of their land at prices that would make them wealthy. Booming is one of the lawful ways of robbing people. One Caleb Johnson was the would-be boomer of Glenwood, and he had his adherents. Judge Wendover, Mr. Lawrence and other right thinking citizens opposed the proposed measures, claiming that a slow, steady growth was better for the permanent interests of a place.

This created a division of feeling. Caleb had talked the matter up with the working people, told them how much better it would be to have business brisk, the place growing, manufactories established, etc., till he had quite a following among that class, who were made to believe that he was their particular friend.

It was upon Johnson's land that the new growth was to be established, and there were three or four others whose land was so situated as to make them hope, if there could be a boom gotten up, that they too might reap a golden harvest. These also stood with Johnson, but the larger portion of the inhabitants were indifferent. They had their settled methods of business, and their circle of friends, and they did not care to make any effort to change things. If there was a boom, all right, if not, they didn't care.

Caleb Johnson was particularly bitter toward labor agitators, and he watched with eagle eye to see that nothing of the kind got a footing in Glenwood; consequently, when about a month after Frank Reid and the banker had their tilt at the hotel, bills were posted in various parts of the town announcing a lecture at Liberty hall the next evening by Mr. Reid, of Mandaville; subject, "Land and Labor," Caleb and his adherents were immediately in arms.

The next morning counter bills were scattered calling people to beware of the anarchist, Reid, mixed with sundry hints of a new coat and a free ride, should he dare to make his appearance.

Judge Wendover and Mr. Lawrence immediately issued another set of circulars calling upon the people to remember that free speech was one of the bulwarks of American liberty, that a mob would give the town a bad name from which it would not soon recover, that of all others, those who were desirous of building up the place, and adding to the population by selling lots, should be careful that no violence was offered the speaker, that it was their privilege to stay away and leave the man to speak to empty benches if they chose, or they could go and listen and judge for themselves of the tendency of his teachings, that if he had a truth to present, that truth would live, even though they killed the man but if his teachings were false, they could be put down more easily by reason than by force.

This had the effect to allay the excitement somewhat, but Caleb took up the opposite line of argument, told the people that if the idea went abroad that they favored anarchism, capitalists would not invest money there and the prosperity of the town wrould be at an end, and thus matters stood when Frank Reid arrived in town about three hours before the lecture was to commence. Judge Wendover, Bond Boyle and Mr. Lawrence met and escorted him to Mr. Lawrence's house, Bond Boyle walking arm and arm with him.

"That is the way with some poor men if suddenly made rich, it makes fools of them; no doubt they are old chums," growled Caleb.

He had spoken a little louder than he intended. Mr. Boyle turned and said: "You are right, Mr. Johnson; I have known Mr. Reid from his boyhood; his father and I were friends, and I shall stand by and defend the son."

When the hour for speaking came, the Judge, his wife, Bond Boyle, Mrs. Leslie, Alice, Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, together with their son and daughter, came in with the speaker and accompanied him to the platform upon which Morse and Blake were already seated, keeping an eye upon the crowd. The house was filled till even the steps of the platform were taken, but the Judge, owning the hall as he did, could command seats for himself and friends.

At first there were no ladies except those who came with the speaker, and their presence was an annoyance to those who had planned mischief. But there were ladies who had been on the watch, and when they saw Mrs. Wendover and the others going, they put on their things and went also, so there were some fifteen ladies in all. This crowded the rough element back that had purposely gone to the front.

As the speaker ascended the platform there were two or three hisses. He coolly faced the audience, looked pleasantly at the upturned faces and remarked:

"I believe that snakes and geese are the only members of the animal creation that hiss. This is too old a country for snakes; it must be that there are geese abroad."

This brought a laugh from those who were not hit, and the others, though they felt like cursing, remained silent. He then read "The ninety and nine" with a voice so tender and touching, that it disarmed the opposition of all but a half dozen who had been promised lots in the new addition if they would take the speaker and send him about his business. These, three on each side of the hall, gradually edged their way to the front.

Reid began his talk in an easy sort of way, but gradually warmed up with the subject, in the meantime Morse, who was watching matters, signalled Mrs. Lawrence and Mrs. Wendover to come upon the platform, placing a chair for them on either side of the speaker, while he and Blake remained standing. Reid paid no attention to these movements, though fully aware of their significance. Presently, while saying something that did not suit, a man who sat about midway of the hall, and who had been stationed there for the purpose, sent an egg whirling toward the speaker's head. A slight movement to one side, and it passed him, striking the wall beyond.

This was the signal for the rush. The aim had been to strike Reid fairly in the face, and in the confusion which was expected to ensue, they were to seize and take him from the platform, and out of the hall. But they were disappointed; the confusion did not ensue; no one moved from his place, Reid did not even turn his eye from the audience, but said, as if it were a part of his speech:

"A fine sample of our civilization, fair upon the surface, but when thrown, as it will be, by the law of evolution against the walls of time, the stench will fill the heavens."

"You say our civilization stinks, do you?" called out one of the men who had been detailed to make the rush. Reid paid no attention to the question, but continued right on:

"Ten thousand children dying annually in the metropolis of the nation for want of sufficient nourishment, in the city where hundreds of steeples point heavenward, in the city where there is wealth in abundance, in the city where the diamonds that glisten on the bosom, on the fingers, and in the ears of beauty are worth millions, in the great city of the American continent, the city into whose lap wealth is poured from all lands, in such a city ten thousand children die each year from hunger, and ten thousand more wander homeless, sleep under the sidewalks, down cellar, in stairways, or anywhere they can find a place to lie down.

"In such a city women live in cellars and in garrets, and stitch the very life-blood into the garments they make, and for a pittance so small that it barely keeps life in the body, in a city where from twenty to thirty thousand girls are forced to sell themselves for bread"——

"And hath doled her piecemeal to students and rats," said a low voice in the back part of the house, but those near by caught the words, and one man, recognizing the one who uttered them, called out: "Wherefore!" "Wherefore," "Wherefore" was repeated from different parts of the house.

Reid paused: "John, are you there? if so, please come to the platform."

John rose to his feet as he no longer could be concealed, and commenced making his way forward. All eyes were turned toward him and the plotters thought it their time; but in an instant the two women passed so closely to the speaker that he could not be grasped without injuring them, and the same moment a man upon either side of the house, and near the front, arose, threw back his coat front, showing the policeman's star, and advanced with drawn pistols pointing at the heads of the assailants. Morse had provided for the exigence.

The cry of "police" from the audience caused the men to turn their heads, and then to commence a retreat. Each policeman marched three men in front of him to the door, ejected them from the building and quietly returned to their seats. There was no more trouble.

Wherefore, in the meantime, came to the front and told the audience that when the speaker of the evening was through, he might have a few words to say to them. Reid then went on as if there had been no interruption. He painted in terrible colors the evils which exist and their causes, told what noble men and women had done, and were still doing, yet these evils continued to grow.

He said: "We have trusted to prayers and tears, we have trusted to charity, to asylums, to restraining laws, to gospel preaching, we have tried a remedy in one direction and found that it proved an injury in another, why, even the grand advance that has been made by women, the three and a half million of bread-winners who have come from this class, have cheapened wages, intensified child labor and sent an equal number of men out as tramps. The declaration of scripture is true of our economic system. The whole head is sick, and the whole heart is faint; there is no soundness in it; from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet, it is bruises and wounds and putrifying sores. Can nothing be done! There can, there must, there shall"——

"Are you greater than God Almighty?" asked deacon Gray, forgetting in his zeal for the honor of his God, that he was speaking out in meeting.

"God Almighty is behind me. I have his authority for what I say. It is his voice that is speaking through my lips. It is the God within which will speak through you all when you roll away the great stone of tradition from the door of your souls and allow the living God to rise from the grave in which ignorance and superstition have buried him."

The effect upon the audience was electrical, but he continued, inspired the more fully by the glowing countenances before him:

"The power that gave me feet, gave me the right to walk, with hands came the right to use them; ears give me the right to hear, and eyes to see. When the power we call God gave me needs, it gave me the right to that which will supply my needs, and what is my inherent right is also the inherent right of every human being. I need the earth; I cannot live without it; he who makes me pay for it, or for its use, stands between me and my God-given rights. Your bible tells you that God commanded the children of Israel that the land should not be sold forever. Has that forever passed?

"You say that God is unchangable; if so, then his law is the same yesterday and forever, is the same to-day as it was ten thousand years ago, but how is it with Christians, so-called to-day? Why, the land is bought and sold, is forced to lie idle waiting for a rise, so that that which cost five dollars, may bring five hundred. Thousands of hands want acres, and thousand of acres want hands, and, as a result, men drink to drown despair, and women sell themselves for bread; as a result, children are homeless and prisons multiply. If your God sanctions such a state of things, mine does not."

"Murder will out, your smooth talk simply shows that you want to rob us of our land, and you can't deny it," called out Caleb Johnson.

"That is what the slave-holder said, 'you want to rob us of our slaves'. You have the legal right to all the land you can buy, and the slave-holder had the legal right to sell his own children if they were horn of slave mothers, but that is not the kind of right we are talking of, but of the right that God Almighty gave us as human beings. He gave the black man the right to himself, and he has given us all a right to enough of the earth's surface for our support, and to claim that he has not is to blaspheme—no, we do not want to take your land, but we want ours; and when we say ours, we speak in the name of the landless, the homeless, the tramps, the vagrants, in the name of all who have been crushed by a false property system into poverty and crime.

"We are not blaming the people. We are all the victims of a false system, and of the false education connected with it. But we are trying to make the people see the wrong that this system works, so that they, with their good hearts and heads, may be induced to so change it as to prevent poverty and crime; yes, prevent it; prevention is cheaper than cure. We want a system of society in which all can have healthful employment and happy homes. We want all mothers to have the best conditions in which to do their divinest work, the gestating of immortal beings, buds of promise that shall grow to be grand men and beautiful women here in this life, and add to the glory of the angel hosts in the great beyond.

" 'Born in sin and shapen in iniquity,' how can it be otherwise under the conditions that now exist? Tired mothers, half starved mothers, ragged mothers, ignorant mothers, fathers without work, the landlord threatening the street—who can paint the desolate, the turbid currents, the heart-hunger, the hopelessness that flows through the veins of thousands upon thousands of prospective mothers! This, all this goes to make up what we have been taught to call innate depravity in the child; these elements are organized into the very heart of its being, and then we build jails and prisons, and pay sheriffs and police officers to take care of and protect us from the organized results of our own ignorance. Set the land free and use one-half of what it now costs to employ lawyers, pay judges, build jails and prisons, in making good conditions for all, and soon the others will not be needed, and heaven will have come down to earth through the spirit of peace and good will which shall prevail."

He then branched off upon the results of interest, of land held by foreigners, and the money sent across the ocean to pay for the use of such lands, spoke of the national indebtedness which had been needless, of men coming here to be free, and then taxed to help support European aristocracy in the shape of interest on bonds. "The money power environs us on all sides," he said, "but we are determined to dethrone gold and enthrone humanity."

Even his enemies could but acknowledge his eloquence, but some of them claimed that on that very account, he ought to be suppressed, as being yet the more dangerous.

"When do you propose dividing up?" called out one of the crowd.

"Why do you ask?" said Reid.

"Because I want my share."

"Ah, I thought so, how long would you keep it?"

This raised a general laugh, for it was well known that could he have it to handle, he would scatter with one hand faster than two hands could gather.

"I am glad you asked me that question," continued Reid, "for it gives me an opportunity to correct a very general mistake. No one proposes to make a division, but to change the action of the methods of distribution. Suppose one of you has a flouring mill with a dozen boxes, into which the flour is distributed as it is ground; but suppose the distributor acts unequally, nine out of twelve boxes getting but very little, how much good will it do to stop once or twice a day and even them up by dividing?"

He paused to mark the effect of his illustration, and then added: "We will suppose further that those boxes are to supply twelve families; when they were evened up each family would get a full meal, but the next meal nine families would get less than their share, and so on till there was another dividing up. Now as the unequal distribution comes from the mill by imperfect mechanical action, don't you think it would be time and money saved to fix the distributor so that each family could get his share each time? then if any one wasted what he had and went hungry, it would be his or her own fault."

Again he paused to give them time to think, then he said: "That mill is a fair representation of our property system, but with this difference. In the case of the mill you could readily see where the trouble lay, but under the other we have been taught that the fault was in ourselves. The links of the law that brings this inequality, these extremes of wealth and poverty, are so hidden, you do not see that it is in the system and not in yourselves. The fault is in the property mill, and we do not propose to divide up; it would be a loss of time, We simply propose to fix the mill, or to ask you to do it.

"We are willing to do our share, but we cannot do it all. We want your help, but you cannot help till you can see what is to be done, and how to do it; and that is what we are here for to-night. We want to reason with the people, to talk with them of things we have learned of which they have not yet thought. We want the people to see that they are big enough to do this work, and put down the injustice that everywhere prevails. We want them to stop asking God to do it long enough to hear him tell them it is their work, that he has given them reason, and they must work out the problem for themselves."

The people forgot their prejudices and became so interested that it grated on their ears, when Caleb Johnson called out: "If you do not want to divide up, why do you talk of taking our land from us?"

Reid looked him full in the eye as he replied: "I believe I said once, we did not want to take your land. We concede you all that is yours by natural right, but the monopolization of the land is the cause of the wrong action of the distributor. You are not a bad man, sir, and, you could see, and others like you, the evils resulting from holding large tracts of land, if you could see that it was pushing women into prostitution and starving children to death, you would be as anxious as we are for a change."

"Well, here are your friends, the Wendovers and the Lawrences; they have land, what will they do with it?" he persisted.

"They can speak for themselves," replied Reid.

Mrs. Wendover arose to her feet. It was the first time she had ever faced an audience, but she did not shrink; in a clear, distinct voice she said:

"I have not decided in what way I shall dispose of the land which has recently come into my possession, but my mind is fully made up to what use it shall be put. I shall use it to help educate the people, that they may understand their rights, to know that the distributing machinery of society is faulty, and must be remedied. How that education can be best accomplished, I cannot as yet say."

"And that is also my purpose," said Mrs. Lawrence, while Mr. Lawrence remarked: "The land belongs to the ladies, the Judge and myself are landless, but I presume they will pity us enough to give us our share."

This created another laugh, and the opposing party, finding the laugh was against them every time, subsided into silence. Reid now said: "I believe you called for my friend here, whose disposition to ask the why of things has given him the sobriquet of Wherefore. Ladies and gentlemen, I will now give you the opportunity of listening to Mr. John Wildermere."

"Wildermere," "Wherefore," "Wildermere," came from different parts of the house, and in response John arose and said:

"Friends, I am glad to be with you to-night. As to the whys and wherefores of things, I have been looking into them ever since I was a young man, and poor, when a rich man's son took my girl away from me, and after satiating himself, cast her off to be trodden under foot; the dear girl that I loved so well, and for whose sake I have lived a single life. Having gathered sufficient means to give me leisure, I have made it my business to search into the causes which produce so much misery and crime."

His voice was tremulous with emotion, and there were tears in more than one woman's eyes, as he continued: "Now, why was it? was the girl naturally bad? No, she was as innocent as a child, as pure as the lily of the valley, and as sweet as a half blown rose, and she loved me; I knew that she did, for she died in my arms, then why was it? The sunshine brings the flowers that cannot open in the shade. He had leisure, education, and did not need to tire himself out with toil. He facinated her, warmed her through and through with his presence, his warm, magnetic life, while I must toil and could see her only at stated times, and when weary with my labor.

"I thus became the shade, while he was the sunshine; that is, he had the conditions which gave him the advantage, so the tendrils of her love were drawn the other way for a time. Boys, young men, I mean, have none of you ever had a similar experience? Has no better dressed, better cultured young man of leisure ever stolen the heart of the girl you loved?"

He paused, and the audience were as still as though powerless to move; they hardly seemed to breathe.

"No," he repeated, "she was not bad, and he didn't intend to be; he was simply thoughtless, selfish; we are all more or less so, but he was rich. He had always had what he wanted, and when tired of it, could throw it away and that was just what he did in this case. I suffered, she suffered, and do you think he can escape? You, none of you can believe in a hell for that poor girl, while he goes to heaven; oh, no, you cannot believe that.

"You may differ in your ideas of the how of the hereafter, but when he finds himself in a place corresponding to what our Catholic friends call purgatory, and meets his victim face to face, do you not suppose he will suffer? Do not blame him too much, but pity him. Remember, he was rich, and the object lessons of society taught him just that.

"But I am not saying what I intended," he said, as he noticed Mrs. Lawrence quietly weeping, "I wanted to tell you why it was that I have made it my business to study into the wherefore of things, and then to illustrate one point made by the speaker of the evening, to-wit, that under the present system, what seems to be a remedy in one direction often proves disastrous in another, and he instanced the fact that we have more child-labor, and more tramps since woman entered the trades and professions than ever before.

"Now I know that he did not say this because he objects to woman's having an equal right with man to do such work as she pleases, but to show that each and every effort at reform must fail till we have a just land and property system.

"We have one terrible evil that is talked of and written about a great deal, and various methods have been tried for its removal, but to no effect; I mean the curse of intemperance. I should be glad to see every drop that can intoxicate poured into the ocean, and to know that no more would ever be manufactured, if there is no other way to be rid of this curse, provided"——

Here he paused long enough to get the entire attention of every one in the house. " 'Provided,' what did he mean by that provided?" was the thought of all.

"Provided a greater evil did not come in its place," he repeated slowly. "How could that be, do you ask? we will see if we can find out. It will be necessary in the first place to look into the present condition of the country. Ten thousand children dying in one city every year, for the want of sufficient nourishment; not less than two hundred thousand women annually forced to sell themselves for bread, that is two out of five of those who are in the ranks of prostitution, and from three to five million men out of work; now what would be the effect upon the country if to this last number are added from two to three million more unemployed men? Where could they find a support? What could you do with them? If there is not work enough now for all, where would two or three more million people get work?

"What has that to do with the temperance question, do you ask? Destroy the liquor traffic without making provision for those who are engaged in it, without opening up new avenues of support, and that is just what you do; you throw from two to three million men out of employment, and most of them with families, and yet, what temperance lecturer ever thinks of that?

"No, my friends, it is of no use to patch up the rotten system. We must have a new one. Set the land free, and say to those men: there's the land, go onto it and make your living. I mean the land that is lying idle in our well settled states, land which one can reach without going beyond the range of neighbors; if you want to put down saloons, set such land free; then you can safely say to the saloon keeper, 'stop.'

"Set the land free and you can solve the liquor problem. Every man who holds enough land in idleness to support a family, is keeping open a saloon, or forcing a woman into prostitution. Do you say there is land enough in the west? There is a little left; a little that has not been given to railroads, nor sold to foreign syndicates, but the best of it is gone, and if our farmer's sons, those who have been brought up on the land, so often fail when subjected to the conditions which exist in the west where there is land to be had, what could the saloon keeper do?

"I will tell you what many of them would do if the traffic was broken up, and no other way provided for them to live. They would become robbers, highwaymen; they would infest our mountains and swoop down upon our valleys, and nothing would be safe. It will not do. Interest and land monopoly must be abolished, and our property relations must be so adjusted that no one man can get rich off the labor of another. Then, boys, every man must earn his own living, and he will have no time to rob you of life's sweetness, while you are toiling and he is idling," and with these words, he not only walked off the platform, but out of the house.

After a few remarks from Judge Wendover, the crowd quietly dispersed, and from that time on speakers on the labor problem received respectful attention in Glenwood.

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CHAPTER XXII.

WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH IT?

The fighting for the estate was over, and what was the result? The father's dying wishes are carried out at last, but at what a fearful cost. The tears that were shed over the suicide's grave held a bitterness that money could not extract. Alas, why was it! and Mrs. Wendover sat and pondered over this insane love of wealth, tried to find the why of it, till her brain reeled.

"What is the reason there was so great a difference between my brother and myself?" she asked of Mrs. Lawrence one day when they were discussing the events that had resulted so disastrously for him.

"There was not originally so very much difference. You are just as persistent in your purposes as he was in his, but your sphere has been the home, the affectiorial. Your brother transferred the adage, 'Anything is fair in war,' from the battle field to the gaining of his own personal ends. He was determined not to be beaten, and the difference between the end he sought and yours, was the result of the difference in your associations. You were both fine steel; you were the mainspring of the time-piece called home; he became the edge of a sword."

"Yes, of a sword that has cut deeply into our hearts," was Mrs. Wendover's sorrowful comment, and then: "It seems strange that I, the older woman, could come to you for advice and comfort, but will you please tell me how you got hold of all these new ideas?"

Mrs. Lawrence smiled: "Suffering is a dear school," she said, "but it sometimes gives solid lessons. When I learned what I was by birth, I found that many of society's tendrils were rudely unclasped. Aristocracy of birth, not of worth, was society's standard, and when I learned that, I despised society, as much as it was capable of despising me. The time I had hitherto spent there was devoted to other pursuits. I sought the thinkers of this age and learned of them."

"The gold of human character counts for nothing," said Mrs. Wendover, sadly.

"And never will so long as we are ruled by wealth instead of worth, blood instead of brain."

"But what can we do, Mrs. Lawrence, to make things better?"

"How was slavery abolished? When I think of the prejudice against the black race, when I think of the persevering efforts of the few, when I think of mobs, imprisonment and death, when I think of the strong links of law that protected the institution, when I think of blood hounds tracing fugitives, even into the northern states, when I think of all this and more, and then see what is to-day, I feel that through the continued efforts of clear headed thinkers, every citadel of tyranny can be taken, every fortress of oppression and wrong be swept from the path of the coming generations."

"Why Mrs. Lawrence, you look like an inspired prophetess!" exclaimed Mrs. Wendover.

"And what can be more inspiring than the thought of the wonderful powers we possess, the grand work we are capable of doing?

" 'John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave
But his soul goes marching on.'

"I would rather be John Brown than any king or queen that ever sat upon a throne, but I would change just two words in that couplet."

"Ah, and what are they?"

"I would make it read: 'But his soul comes marching back.' Do you suppose he would care to go on till his work here was finished? Jesus said, so we are told, 'If I go, I will come again;' if Jesus can come, John Brown can also come and be an inspiring power to lead others on."

"Well, really, that is a new idea to me, but I do not see why it may not be true,"

"I will give you my method of reasoning, Mrs. Wendover, and you can judge for yourself if it be correct. I take it that the laws of mind must ever be the same. We have no more reason to expect that they will change when we leave the body, than we have to expect that the laws which govern the music of heaven are different from those which govern the relations of musical tones here. It does violence to common sense to suppose for a moment that a work which so filled John Brown's soul as did the freedom of the slave, could be dropped, left behind, while he went marching on. No, he would march right back, if there was any marching to be done, till that work was accomplished. The dropping of his body would not change his soul purpose."

"If what you say is true, Mrs. Lawrence, why have not all of earth's evils been remedied? there are myriads of souls over there who have lived for humanity. If John Brown would do so much, why have they not done more?"

"There are, and have been, millions of souls here, who have worked for humanity, why do not they succeed? Simply because they do not, and have not known how, and will they be any more likely to know how over there, till they have learned it?"

Mrs. Wendover did not respond immediately; she seemed to be studying the question. Presently she said:

"If your previous position is correct, if the laws of mind are the same there as here, they must learn what they have not already learned, before they can know it."

"The conclusion is inevitable, and John Brown, knowing that slavery was an evil, determined it should die, but who among earth's reformers has taken the ground that all of earth's evils shall die, and determined to work till it was accomplished? We must not only know how to do, but we must have a settled purpose to do, one that fills the soul and occupies all the powers of being."

Mrs. Wendover looked into the face of her friend with an expression of mingled incredulity and astonishment. "Was it possible that she believed we could do away with all the evils which so curse the world!"

"Can you think of one that we cannot conquer?" persisted Mrs. Lawrence.

"Do you really mean to say that we, ourselves, can do all this if we only think so, and work for it intelligently?"

"That is just what I do mean, Mrs. Wendover; now do you know of a single reformer who has gone to that life who believed this and worked for it while here?"

"No, Mrs, Lawrence, I do not; the idea has been that only God could do that."

"Yes, but if God works in us both to will and to do, that which is needed must come through ourselves; and we must find the how, the way to bring it."

"Then the most important question at present, is the how, is it not?"

"The what, the how, and the wherewith, are the divine trinity that we must invoke," replied Mrs. Lawrence. "We need first to know what is to be done, then how to do it, but these are of no use unless we can have the means with which to do. We have, in virtue of knowing what and how, the means to do something, for the power of thought will make itself felt, but we need money, and in that sense that which we have inherited, you and I, can be made a blessing to the world, if we are careful in determining the how of its use."

"Oh, that is a subject that I want to understand; I want to use what I have in the way that will do a lasting good," said Mrs. Wendover earnestly.

"Then we must learn first what is to be done. One thing is certain; either directly or indirectly every one depends upon the land to live. In order to free the people we must free the land. That is the what. Then, knowing what we want, we must next know how to get it. Is that plain?"

"As plain as words can make it. I told Bond the other day that the cause of so much wrong lay in our false economic system, and sometimes I can see very clearly that it is so; then again it slips away from me and I feel confused when I try to think," and then her thoughts went back to her brother's death and the bitter grief of the family. "Oh, why," she sobbed, "has my father's wealth proved the cause of so much sorrow!"

Mrs. Lawrence waited till she became calm, and then resumed her argument. She said:

"The law of property relations which enabled your father and mine to gain wealth while others go hungry, must be studied, not from the standpoint of legal right, but from that of moral justice. When we fully understand that question we may be able to so use our wealth as to make it the wherewith to aid in obtaining the what."

Mrs. Wendover laughed at her friend's quaintness of expression, and remarked: "That what, is the freeing of the land, I think you said; I can free several thousand acres."

"I beg your pardon, you cannot."

"What, cannot set my own land free!"

"No, the law does not allow it, any more than the law allowed the master in many of the southern states to set his slaves free. He could sell or bequeath them to another, but must not set them free."

"Oh, I see; I must sell, give, or hold the title myself."

"Yes, you can sell it for five cents an acre if you choose, but you must give an actual deed, and it must be recorded, or when you are in your grave, your children can take it."

"Then why not form a community, and allow the people to occupy it, with a deed or bond to take effect at my death?"

"Because it would interfere with personal liberty. A community of property implies rules, laws beside those the state imposes, and discord is pretty certain to be the result. If you wish to benefit individuals, or families that possess qualities worth perpetuating, deed them land enough to secure them a good living, and then leave them free to do as they please. A gift that binds to certain conditions becomes a chain; but as a general principle, aiding individuals is not the best way to help the world."

"What then would you do?"

"I shall use what I have to help educate the people as to what."

"That is, educate them to rebel."

"Yes, if you so please to designate it. The anti-slavery speakers and writers taught the people to rebel in feeling, against chattel slavery, and the great mental wave which swept over the country brought about a condition which made it not only possible but necessary that the institution be abolished, and it was done."

"But the freeing of the land is a much greater work, Mrs. Lawrence, than was the freeing of the slaves."

"Yes, very much greater; but it can be done, and it must be done, or we as a nation, must perish."

"I never heard a woman talk as you do," said Mrs. Wendover, wonderingly. "I cannot understand how you have learned so much."

"I have learned it because I have given my mind to it; because my heart has been interested."

"Then I will study, too, and if I can make my father's wealth help to bring about the what," laughingly repeating Mrs. Lawrence's form of expression, "I shall feel that I have not lived in vain."

The next day a friend came to visit Mrs. Lawrence, one of the thinkers and workers of the age; and in the evening the Wendovers, Mrs. Leslie, together with Morse and Blake, met for a general discussion of the questions that were up and would not down at the bidding of any. Bond Boyle was in Kansas, and Wherefore had gone back to Mandaville, but regrets were expressed that they could not be present.

Mr. Bertram was no half way reformer. He did not believe in using plasters to cover up social ulcers, but in so cleansing the body politic, that the sores would disappear. Charity he repudiated; justice he demanded, and as a result he was much hated and belied by those whose interest it was to perpetuate the present form of so-called civilization.

For a time he said but little except in a suggestive way, but when Mrs. Leslie said something about there being so many bad people, he replied:

"Madam, there are no bad people."

She looked at him with, astonishment pictured upon every feature. He smiled and continued:

"Do you think it right to lie?"

"Certainly not," she replied.

"And yet there is one day in a year upon which everybody thinks it right to lie."

"I do not understand you, sir," she said.

"Do you think it wrong to fool your neighbor the first day of April?"

"Oh!"

"No, you do not; by common consent the one who on that day can the most successfully deceive is counted sharp. Now, make all fool's day every day and put our business system in the place of the efforts made on that day to deceive one another, and consider further, that the system necessitates just such deception or starvation, and you may see why there is so much crime."

"I get a glimpse of what you mean, sir, but it is difficult to grasp the idea all at once."

"Suppose, madam, that some bright boy deceives you on the first day of April, and you reprove him for lying, what will he do?"

"He will only laugh at me and tell me that everybody does so on that day," she replied.

"Yes, he will tell you it is April fool day, and when you reproach men for their tricks in trade, they will tell you that 'business is business.' "

"That is a good illustration," said Mrs. Wendover.

"But the April fool business is simply sport, and there is not much sport in those business tricks," persisted Mrs. Leslie.

"I have witnessed tricks on that day, madam, that were anything but sport to the victim, but if he dared to complain he was only laughed at; but suppose there was a reward offered to those who could most successfully deceive on that day, and punishment inflicted on those who permitted themselves to be deceived, and the more they were deceived, the more they were to be punished, what then?"

"Why, it would be hell upon earth," she replied, forgetting in the vividness of the picture presented, to be choice in her language.

"You have expressed it exactly, madam, and yet that is just what our competitive system of business does every day in the year. When I look at the natural tendency of the influences brought to bear, I wonder that people are so good."

"Reward and punishment," repeated Mrs. Wendover, as if she did not quite see the point.

"Yes, madam; reward and punishment. Are not the successful deceivers rewarded with wealth? Are not the deceived punished with poverty and incessant toil?"

"If you count that reward and punishment, yes, but I have never thought of it in that way."

"Mrs. Wendover has just begun to look into these things, but she is an apt scholar," remarked Mrs. Lawrence.

"She has never had occasion to look into them," said the Judge, "and she is so fanatical I am almost afraid of the result now; there is no knowing what fool thing she will undertake if she once gets the idea it is right."

This created a general laugh, while Mrs. Lawrence playfully shook her finger at him, saying: "How bad you do feel now, but this is not the first of April, and we shall not be fooled into praising your wife just to please you."

"I will give up beaten," said he.

"You are learning the lesson I learned long ago, Judge; it is of no use to contend with wife," added Lawrence.

"I presume she believes in woman's rights, Mr. Lawrence," remarked Bertram.

"I believe in human rights, Mr. Bertram."

"And she believes woman to be the most human of the two," said the Judge.

"There, wife, the Judge is even with you now," added Mr. Lawrence.

"Never mind if odd or even, let's go back to the subject in hand," said Mrs. Leslie.

"The subject was punishment and reward as connected with success or failure in business, and I should like to hear from the lawyer and the detective; what is your idea, Mr. Morse?"

"I think, Mr. Bertram, that if the rich could see the results of the rewards they seek, they would be slow to take them," and drawing a paper from his pocket, and first stopping to explain that the letter he held was from a prohibition state, he then read:

" 'I know of what I speak when I say that there is more misery caused here by the greed of capitalists, than there was in any ten years by the liquor traffic. I am a prohibitionist; I want to see the liquor traffic abolished, but to me, liquor selling is but a gnat when compared with the camel of competitive greed.' "

Morse here paused to remark: "Remember, please, that the men who do these things act from the principle that business is business, and have no more conscience in the matter than has the sharp boy on the first of April," and then he continued:

" 'I have seen hundreds of honest, industrious men who had carved from the plains of Kansas homes for themselves and families, driven out to go further west and try again. I have seen innocent children and helpless old age sacrificed upon this altar of Moloch. I know of cases where well trained women have sold their persons to keep from starvation, and when rebuked by those who had grown rich by what had made them poor, their reply was: 'It was our last resource.' I have seen witnesses intimidated, juries bribed, judges bought, and legislators perjure themselves, and it could all be traced to this soulless, consciousless, implacable devil-fish of greed.' "

He paused, and Bertram said: "And the greed is fostered by the reward which comes through success, coupled with the knowledge that if they fail, this devil-fish will pinch them; but why did those men lose their farms? In nine cases out of ten a bad season or sickness has forced them to borrow money from some eastern speculator, and to secure which, they must put a mortgage on them. Those hundreds of men who lost their homes sent thousands of dollars east every year in the shape of interest and, Mrs. Lawrence, what use do you suppose was made of it?"

The blood flooded her face in an instant, and then she turned pale, but she answered bravely: "I suppose some of it paid for the dress I have on," glancing down at the rich satin she wore.

Both Mr. Lawrence and the Judge were somewhat startled to have the matter brought so directly home, and Bertram hastened to add:

"That proves that what I said is correct; people do not mean to be bad, but we are all tangled up in a false system. It is a new system that we must work for; the old one cannot be patched."

"And in that new system there will be no place for me," said Blake.

"Not as a lawyer, I hope," was the reply.

"Well, if they can give me a place in which I can earn an honest living, I shall not complain, there is certainly no honesty in law."

"That is an honest confession, to say the least," remarked Morse.

"I do not think that your services will be needed any more than mine, nor that your profession is more honest than mine," retorted Blake.

Then the conversation turned upon the conditions existing in our large cities, and the futility of the efforts made to save the wrecks.

"We can find here a good illustration of the folly of charity," said Bertram. "Suppose that every rich woman in our cities should put the price of a satin dress into the charity fund, and for the purpose of keeping alive the children who now die from want, what would be the good of the gift under present conditions; where could they find a place in the world?"

"I cannot understand why poor people have so many more children than the rich," said Mrs. Wendover.

"Because, madam, it is about all they are allowed to have. Nearly every pleasure is taken from them but that of the association which brings children; beside it is a known law, that the higher we rise in the scale of being, the less reproduction, and the conditions of the poor hold them to the prolific plane," said Bertram in reply.

"It is no wonder that they are held down, when we consider the burdens they carry," said Morse. "Statistics tell us that labor supports over and above enough for themselves to live and propagate upon, fifty thousand state office holders, one hundred and twenty-five thousand federal office holders, forty-four thousand men in the standing army and navy, beside one hundred thousand ministers, one hundred and fifty thousand doctors, and," glancing mischievously at Blake, "a hundred and twenty-five thousand lawyers."

"Any detectives," asked Blake.

"Nary a detective."

"Wasn't of importance enough to be named; well, the lawyers count up pretty well."

"Count up for rascality, if, as you say, there is no honesty in law," said Morse.

"Yes, it shows that there are a great many rascals who need a lawyer's services. Mr. Morse, have you a case on hand?"

"I have, and a very large one; I want to upset this infernal system and put a better one in its place, think you are equal to the task, Mr. Blake?"

"I think I shall have to go through another course of study first."

"And I will study with you," said Mrs. Wendover.

"And I," "and I," "and I," went around the room, as fast as one could speak after another.

"To elaborate a new system is the what," said Mrs. Lawrence, "we have said that in another form, and we now must find the how of the what, must find how to put the new system in the place of the old."

"One of the hows will be to break the links of law that one hundred and twenty-five thousand lawyers are now twisting to suit their convenience," said Morse.

"And to so eliminate crime that there will be no more need for Jed Browns with false faces," retorted Blake.

"As I see things, the best way is to show the people what is needed, and they will find the how," said Bertram.

"But how can we convince them, how make them see what is needed," asked Mrs. Leslie.

"It must be done through education. Once make the people see what their rights are, and they will find a way to get them; did you ever stop to think where the basis of usury lay?"

"Where does it lie?" asked Mr. Lawrence.

"The interest-bearing quality of money depends upon the power that men have, directly or indirectly, to control more than their share of the land, and then to command the toil of the disinherited for a compensation that is less than what they produce."

Morse repeated this slowly, as if weighing the meaning of every word. "You have it exactly!" he exclaimed "and we want a hundred thousand just such teachers as you are to go out among the people."

"Let those who have wealth, stand behind us with the money for needed expenses, and the teachers will be had," said Bertram; "but what we need more than all else is a paper with an exchecker so full that it cannot be broken down; yes, several of them; and we want money to pay men for taking subscribers, and money to be able to send it to those who will read but are not able to pay. If we had all this, we could soon so educate the people that they would begin to stir themselves, shake off their chains and take their rights. Oh, if I had a million of money I could use it all in this direction," and his eyes kindled and his form grew tall, as he thought of all the good he could do with that amount of money rightly applied.

Mrs. Wendover listened with flushed cheeks and the Judge said: "Don't be hasty, wife; think before you act."

"And when I get ready to act"—she paused as if she feared to say what was in her mind.

"No," he said, "I will not shut you up nor permit any one else to do so; private asylums are among the things that the new system will abolish."

"As I understand the purpose of this discussion," said Mrs. Lawrence, "it is to learn how, to best use the wealth we have inherited, and when we have decided what's to be done with it, we shall be ready to act."

————

CHAPTER XXIII.

BACK TO KANSAS.

Everything was done that could be to make Mrs. Renshaw's trip back to Kansas a pleasant one. It was decided that they had better stop a few days at her daughter's in Ohio, and then again with a cousin of Mrs. Wendover's in Chicago, as it was too long a trip for so old a lady to take all at once.

Bond Boyle went with her, as he had promised, and when the good-byes were said, and they were well seated in the cars, he said to her:

"Mother, there is one thing you do not seem to have thought of."

She seemed surprised at his calling her mother, and simply looked the question, "what is it?"

He took both her hands firmly in his as if to steady her, and continued: "It is that I am the child you adopted, and who was stolen from you."

She opened her eyes still wider, looked at him a moment, and then sank back in a dead faint from which it took considerable effort to rouse her. She was carried into the sleeping car, and a physician present administered restoratives.

When they saw she was regaining consciousness Mr. Boyle said: "She will be better alone with me now," so the others retired.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"In the sleeping car, you fainted like a young girl, and I brought you here," replied Bond, with a smile.

"Fainted, oh!" and raising up she looked him earnestly in the face. "I thought had found my boy, where is he?"

He saw that she was confused, bewildered with the blending of the present and the past, and again clasping her hands firmly in his own, he said: "He is here mother, but do not try to think now; wait till you have slept."

"No, I do not wish to sleep, and I remember now, but it seems so strange—so strange," she repeated, "that I did not know it before."

She lay silent for awhile and then said: "And so it was my own boy that my false oath would have robbed, had not providence interfered. They told me a distant relative claimed to be Major Boyle's son, that they were morally certain he was a pretender, a fraud, but he had got things so fixed, that unless it could be made to appear that the Major had no other son, he would win his case."

"So you thought you were helping to defeat a rascal, did you?" he replied, pressing her hands more closely in his own.

"That is what I thought, and yet it was my own boy," and she burst into tears.

Boyle said nothing further then, but by gently stroking the white hair, she soon forgot to weep, and fell into a quiet sleep. When she awoke she had so far recovered that she could talk calmly about the matter, still she could not get over wondering why it was that through it all, she had not once thought that he was her boy.

From then on she seemed very happy. "It is the Lord's work," she said, "I meant it for evil but he meant it for good."

"No, no, mother, you did not mean it for evil," said Bond.

"Well, they did, and I was their tool, and but for that runaway horse it would have been evil, for you would have lost what was rightfully yours," she persisted, and then: "I wonder where Cora was then?"

"You mean my own mother?"

"I mean your own mother, and if you had seen the look in her eyes when she gave you to me, you would know she could never forget her baby. I wondered why I kept thinking of her, why her face seemed nearly all the time before me after I promised to go with them; I know now."

"Second childhood," thought Bond, as he looked into her happy, earnest face. She was as happy as a child, to say the least, and when she reached her daughter's, her first words were:

"Oh, Susie, I have found my boy, my Edward; they call him Bond now, because there was another Edward, but he is my very own boy."

Of course the part she had been made to play, was not very clearly explained. She had decided that the Lord had overruled it for good, and so had cast from her the regrets she had felt, and Bond did not wish to say a word to mar her happiness.

They remained with Mrs. Porter, Mrs. Renshaw's daughter, a week, and Mr. Porter took Mr. Boyle over the town to show him what they were doing, told him how long that particular township had been settled, and seemed quite proud of its prosperity.

Boyle noticed that in one part of the township there was no settlement. The unoccupied portion was about one-third of the township, and upon asking why it was, he was told that five thousand acres lying in a body, belonged to some eastern heirs, and it was so fixed that nothing could be done with it till the youngest child was of age.

"And how old is that child now?" asked Boyle.

"I believe she is ten years old."

"So that land must lie idle eleven years longer. For eleven years homeless people must pay rent, or go to the far west and build sod houses in which to live, must struggle under extra hardships to obtain land, and then, perhaps, lose it, while this fine tract remains unoccupied, do you think that is right, Mr. Porter?"

"Do I think it right that people let their land lie unoccupied till they are ready to to use it, why, what is there wrong about it?"

"Suppose one man owned the whole state of Ohio, and chose to so let it lie, what then?"

"That is hardly a supposable case, Mr. Boyle."

"I do not see why it is not, sir; the same law that allows a man to hold five thousand acres unoccupied so long as he chooses, will permit him to hold five or fifty million acres in the same way, if he can get a legal title to that much."

"I suppose the law allows a man to hold all he can buy and pay for," replied Porter.

"Yes, the law does so allow, and there is where the wrong comes in. Such a law is a chain which binds millions of people down to poverty and ignorance; now whatever the legal status of the question may be, I ask you, is it morally right that one man should be permitted to shut scores and hundreds of families out of homes?"

"I have never thought upon the subject, Mr. Boyle, so am not prepared to answer your question."

"Then please think of it, so you can give a satisfactory answer to yourself when I am gone, if you cannot to me now. The five thousand acres right here would furnish fifty acres each to a hundred families. There is timber enough to put up buildings, make fences, and furnish fuel: but that hundred families must go to Kansas or Nebraska, if they want land, must, often, live in sod shanties, and have nothing for fences, and no fuel, only as it is dug out of the ground and brought from some other place. They are away from society, from schools till there are families enough to have one, and no shade until trees can be made to grow. Only a barren, dreary waste to look out upon; hardship and struggle, such as would be unknown here, is their lot, and all because lands like these are locked up from use.

"One hundred families; they are somewhere, but not as well situated for either moral or spiritual growth as they would be on that land, and the law which permits of the holding of that land vacant is responsible for their suffering because of it, and for the crimes they may commit because of the added pressure upon them."

"I think I can show you some of those families not far away," replied Porter, as he turned his horse's head into another road. They went about two miles when they came to a coal miner's village. There were about sixty families, as shown by the cabins and plain board houses. As they rode up and down the streets, if streets they could be called, Bond noticed the utter absence of any chance for neatness or taste. No fences, no yards, floors on a level with the ground, and coal and mud, mud and coal when it rained, and when it did not it was black dust.

Children, hogs, dogs, and cattle mingled promiscuously, and one about as clean as the other, "And not one of these families are allowed to own a foot of land," said Porter.

"Why not?" asked Boyle.

"Because it would make them independent of the mine owners. If they owned even a cabin they could work for the company or somewhere else, as they chose, but now they must work for the company upon its own terms or go into street to give place to those who will."

"Slaves," said Boyle.

"Yes, they are slaves, as much as were ever the slaves in the south, but if I should say as much to the people here I should be looked upon as a dangerous man."

"Is it right to make people slaves, Mr. Porter?"

"It certainly does not seem right, but how it is going to be prevented I cannot understand."

"If it is not right to hold slaves, then it is not right to do that which makes them slaves; is not that a logical conclusion?"

"It certainly is, sir."

"You have answered the question I asked you awhile ago, sir, for by holding vacant, unused land the working people are made landless, and thus helpless. They must be slaves or starve. Every one of those families could make a home and draw their support from that unused land. That land lying vacant not only makes it possible to make slaves of those people, but it makes it impossible for them to escape being enslaved, therefore it is not right to so hold land."

"But we cannot take people's property from them. Mr. Boyle."

"The time was, Mr. Porter, when the law said we must not take the black slave from his master, but the time came when it became necessary to do so. Is the law made for the use of the people, or the people for the law, that they should be sacrificed to keep it unbroken? When the people become sufficiently educated to see the connection between white slavery and vacant land, the links of law that protect its vacancy will be broken."

"I wish it might be done, Mr. Boyle, but it seems to me a hopeless thing. It can only come through revolution, and that is so terrible I do not like to think of it."

"Yes it is terrible, but not more so than what now is. I had rather a child of mine should be blown to pieces by dynamite than to be subject to such privations as would slowly, but just as surely kill her. Had I a dozen fair daughters, I would rather see them all shot at once, than to see them live to become the mothers of families under the conditions that these women must live, and what is my daughter more than other men's daughters?"

Porter thought of his own daughters and shuddered, but made no reply, and Boyle continued: "The tortures of the inquisition were terrible, but the slow dying out of manhood and womanhood, the hereditary brutalizing process which goes on under such conditions as these, is more so; yet we look upon the former with horror, while we remain unmoved by that which is going on under our own eyes.

"We can think, talk, act, live for such a change in our property relations as will make it impossible for one man to live from the toil of another because he has been robbed of his natural inheritance, the land, and so must serve the robber. Man did not make the land and he has no right to buy and sell it."

"Are you an anarchist, Mr. Boyle."

"I have never studied the philosophy of anarchism as explained by professed anarchists, so cannot say, but I do not believe in what the public calls anarchy, any more than I accepted the slaveholder's interpretation of what an abolitionist was when I worked for the freedom of the black slave."

Mr. Porter made no reply to this, and for a time they rode on in silence; when conversation was resumed it was upon other subjects.

The visit there seemed to rest Mrs. Renshaw so much, that when they reached Chicago they remained but two days, but while the old lady was resting, Boyle went to Waldheim to see the graves of those who, right or wrong, had dared to stand by their principles to the death. He bought their speeches, and learned from their friends their true sentiments, as compared with the lying reports of the press.

They had a good opportunity to do this, for the friends with whom they stopped were thinkers and friends of the working people, and though not anarchists, were willing to be just to those who were.

"It is a theory, a philosophy, so they say, and their own interpretation is more likely to be correct than that of outsiders." So said Bond Boyle upon reaching Kansas and talking with Mr. Renshaw, the old lady's son, upon the subject.

"Why were those men hung then?" asked Mr. Renshaw.

"Because they painted in such strong colors the evils of our present system, that they were uniting the working men of the city against the political bosses, and those same bosses plotted their destruction by accusing them of conspiracy."

"Well, there is political corruption enough, heaven knows," said Mr. Renshaw, and then they began reviewing the situation in Kansas.

"There have been over two thousand foreclosures of farm mortgages in this state within the last six months, and but for the effort to rob you of your inheritance, as I now understand it, Mr. Boyle, I should have lost my home. Things were not rightly represented to us, and I felt very badly about mother's going so far from home, but I knew she would die if we lost our place, and it was the only chance."

"All's well that ends well, cousin."

"But it didn't end well for the other party," persisted Renshaw.

"Well, neither you nor I are to blame for that," said Boyle.

"True, but why must these things be?"

"Our property system lies the base of the most of the evils from which we suffer; would you have come so far away and struggled as you have if you could have gotten land nearer home?"

"Indeed, no. I would not have come as it was could I have known one half I would have to suffer."

"And yet there is unoccupied land enough east of Chicago and north of the Ohio river to furnish every man in Kansas with a farm of fifty acres each, and with half the toil and privation that it has cost to come here it could have been put under a high state of cultivation; now why could you not have had some of it?"

"Yes, why couldn't I? because the parties holding it would not sell, or asked a price that I could not pay."

"And they hold it, can let it lie or have it cultivated, because there is a link of law wrapped around each piece, law, which is the cause of more crime, the liquor evil not excepted, than any other one thing."

"How so? I never thought of it in that light."

"I think, if you study this question in the light of facts, Mr. Renshaw, you will come to the same conclusion. A recent writer says that the three great factors of crime and degradation are poverty, rum and masculine immorality; now if it can be shown that the ownership of land for other use than cultivation is the legitimate parent of these crime producing factors, have I not proved my position?"

"If you can show that, yes."

"Before trying to do so," continued Boyle, "I will read a passage or two from a reliable Boston Journal. Here is a report from a Baptist minister of what he finds in his parish. There are five cases given, I will read but one:

" 'On the fifth floor of an overcrowded tenement house in the north end of Boston, were found a sick man, wife, and six children huddled together in two dingy, smoky rooms not larger than eight by eight, for which they had to pay one dollar and a half a week. The only means of support they had was the uncertain revenue derived from making pants. She could seldom earn more than two dollars and a quarter a week. For six years that woman had worn the same dress, and the children had but one or a part of a garment apiece.' "

"Let me look at that please," said Mr. Renshaw in a tone which indicated that either Mr. Boyle's eyes were at fault, or his own ears were.

The Journal was handed him, and he read, not only that, but the other four cases, each, seeming worse than the last, they were all so bad. He then read the name of the minister who had made these visits and reported these cases, turned and read them again, and then handed the paper back without a word. He seemed perfectly amazed.

"Did you read the statement of that same minister that these were not exceptional cases, that there were hundreds of such," asked Boyle.

"I did."

"Now take the over two thousand mortgage foreclosures here in your own state within the last six months, and tell me why it all is—measure the misery and show where the cause lies."

"Measure the misery, hell itself couldn't do it!" exclaimed the now aroused man.

"But the cause, Mr. Renshaw?"

"The cause lies in the selfishness and hardness of men's hearts."

"But what causes the selfishuess and hardness," persisted Boyle.

"They were born so, I suppose."

"They have been made so, Mr. Renshaw, by conditions and circumstances over which they have had little or no control. They nor their parents before them have once stopped to think. They have taken things as they found them, and have asked God to take care of the poor, while by the means of a land system that robbed the masses of their right to the land, they have forced the poor to take care of them."

"Have forced the poor to take care of them, and asked God to take care of the poor, and as he don't do it, the poor get left," said Renshaw.

"Something like that, but let us go back to our family of eight who occupy about one half a square rod of space, not on the ground but up four pair of stairs, and for the use of which they pay seventy-eight dollars a year, do you think they would stay there if they could have even one acre of land? Would not the industry that makes pants for a living bring a better support out of one acre of ground? do you think they would stay there if they could get even a half an acre?" persisted Boyle.

"I wouldn't, I know," replied Renshaw.

"No, nor they wouldn't, but if they should go onto an unoccupied acre, this government, at the command of some one who had enough and to spare, would send its officers to drive them off; officers who are paid by taxing the people, and if the taxes are not paid the property is sacrificed. Now anarchists would not drive that family off that land, and they would repudiate both the officers and the taxes."

"Still pleading for the anarchists," said Renshaw.

"No, I am not pleading for the anarchists, I am simply comparing anarchism with governmentalism."

"But I thought you were going to show, Mr. Boyle, that the unrestricted ownership of land was the parent of poverty and crime."

"Where are those families, Mr. Renshaw, who would occupy vacant land if they could?"

"Where are they?"

"Yes, where are they?"

"I presume they are scattered over the country, renting lands."

"No, that wont do; if such should occupy vacant land, the land they now cultivate would be left vacant."

"They have gone into the mills then, mining, or some other industry."

"Yes, they go into the mills, the mines, the cities to find something to do, and they fill every avenue so full, that half work, and half pay when they get work, drives them to the depths of poverty; and to get their living some keep saloons, and there comes in your rum. Men are driven to sell liquor, and women to selling themselves, thus tempting masculine immorality. Poverty, rum, prostitution are the crops raised from vacant land, and law, government sanctions and enforces the infernal product."

"Why do not people think and talk of these things, then? why not try to make the masses understand?"

"Because, sir, if they attempt it, government slips a link of law over their heads and chokes them to death."

Just then word was sent from the house that "mother" wanted them. They were a little surprised but immediately obeyed the summons. They found her lying on the lounge propped up with pillows.

"What does this mean, mother?" said Mr. Renshaw, going to her side.

"It means death, my son," she replied with a smile, "the Lord overruled my journey for good, the home is safe, I have my other boy with me, and now I am ready to go."

"Oh, no, mother," said Boyle, stepping quickly forward, "I did not come back with you to see you die; you must not leave us now."

"Must not, are big words, my boy."

"John, saddle Jim and go for the doctor," said Mr. Renshaw to his son who looked as if he would like to do something if he only knew what. He sprang with alacrity to obey the order, but his grandmother's voice arrested him.

"Come here first, please, John."

He went to her—"kiss me," she said.

He bent down and kissed the wrinkled cheeks. "Go for the doctor now, if you wish, but it will do no good, good-by."

The boy turned to his father as if to ask "What shall I do?"

"It will be of no use, father," said Mrs. Renshaw, "she is going fast."

They rolled the couch to the window for air, and they gathered around her, her son and his wife at the head, then Bond Boyle, and three children who were at home. The old lady had closed her eyes, and she lay for some minutes without moving.

Then she looked up into Mrs. Renshaw's face and said: "You have been a good daughter to me, Mary," then gently disengaging her hands from their clasp, she murmured: "My boys, good-by, good-by, Mary, good-by, children," and sinking away, they thought she was gone, but again they caught the sound of murmured words, and bending down, they heard: "The—home—is—safe," they were the last; she had gone where mortgaged homes are unknown.

————

CHAPTER XXIV.

NEW COMBINATIONS.

The Lawrences were very much surprised the next day after Reid's lecture, at receiving a call from Frederick Golder. Mrs. Lawrence had heard Richard speak of him, but none of the family had met him. There was at first a little embarrassment, caused by painful memories of Richard's death; but after a little they fell into an easy flow of conversation and were mutually pleased.

"Mr. Wildermere, Wherefore, we call him in Mandaville, is a peculiar character," remarked Golder, "but what he said last evening helps me to understand him better than I ever did before. I started the call for him."

"I am very glad you did, for what he said was invaluable," replied Mrs. Lawrence.

"Worth more than all Reid said, as good as the lecture was," continued Mr. Lawrence, "what he said was so gentle, so tender, and so plainly put that no one could fail to understand."

"I did not know that he was in the audience," said Golder, "till I heard him repeating some lines, that I heard the first time under very peculiar circumstances, and what he told us last night explains the reason of repetition of the same whenever woman's wrongs are spoken of."

Mr. Lawrence opened his lips, then closed them again; he wanted to ask what the words were, and what the circumstances, but upon second thought feared he might seem inquisitive.

Golder continued, as if understanding the feeling: "Your son and myself were sitting upon the upper porch of the hotel in Mandaville, with our backs toward the parlor door, when a young and evidently poor girl passed. She was beautiful, even in her poor dress, and I drew Richard's attention to her, and began to tease him. We both made remarks that were no credit to us, when suddenly Wherefore confronted us with:

'The city, the city hath bought her; it hath
Doled her piecemeal to students and rats,'

and then: 'Which are you, students or rats?' and before we could recover from our surprise, he was gone; but he had made me feel like a rat, or worse than one."

"Were those the words he repeated before he came to the platform?" asked Mrs. Lawrence.

"He repeated them in part, and I called out 'Wherefore;' others repeated the call, and the result was the best illustration of the errors of the sons of the rich that I have ever heard, and in view of the wrongs that our present system of things generates, the inevitable wrongs, so well portrayed last evening, I have about decided to join those who are fighting the system instead of its victims, even if said victims do happen to be rich."

Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence's experiences had been such, that they gave a hearty assent to the idea that the system cursed the rich as well as the poor. "And if they could be made to see it so," said Mr. Lawrence, "they would work as earnestly, and more intelligently, than the poor can, for its removal."

"I am glad to know, Mr. Golder, that you have decided to become a worker for a better system," said Mrs. Lawrence. Just then Horace came in.

"My son, Mr. Golder; Horace, this is a friend of Richard's."

"How unlike," thought Frederick, as he took the younger brother's hand in his own, and then: "Is this all your family, Mrs. Lawrence?"

"I have one daughter; she is at Judge Wendover's to-day, she and Alice are almost inseparable."

"Alice, Alice," repeated Golder to himself, and then aloud: "Alice is Mr. Russell's—excuse me, Mr. Boyle's granddaughter, is she not?"

"She is, and a very lovely girl."

Frederick Golder thought of what her beauty had cost the Lawrence family and wondered if she knew.

She read his look, and replied: "Yes; I know the facts, and as strange as it may seem to you, I am happier in thinking of him dead, than I could be to have him living and know that he had accomplished his purpose. Death is not the worst thing that can befall one, and I had rather trust his welfare to the conditions of that life, than, with his inherited tendencies, to the temptations of this."

"What manner of woman is this?" thought Golder, as he looked into her calm face, "surely, I have never met one like her," and then he turned his eyes to the father, and saw that not only he but the son and brother accepted her remarks as a matter of course, and he wondered yet more.

"You, his friend, will not do me the injustice of thinking I do not feel; and deeply," she continued, "but not so deeply as I should have done in the other case; and that experience, with no other, has set me to investigating the causes which produce so much sorrow, and perhaps I may yet be able to do something toward saving other mother's hearts from such aching memories."

"My wife is an enthusiast, Mr. Golder; I think if the crusaders were here now, she would start for the holy land."

"I am bound for a holier land than Palestine, husband. I prefer to seek the land of justice, or to help make such a land, and whenever I go, you'll not be far behind,"

"There come Alice and Ruby now," said Horace.

In a few minutes the girls came in and were introduced. Alice remembered Golder, and she also remembered when she could not have met him as an equal, and the thought embarrassed her somewhat; but he felt the situation much more keenly than she did, for he remembered that he had drawn Richard's attention to her, by his own light remarks, and he felt abashed in the presence of the beautiful and innocent girl.

Ruby, he saw was no more like Richard than Horace was, and he remarked as much.

"No, they are not like him," said Mrs. Lawrence, "he, poor boy, inherited the pride of his slave-holding ancestors, together with a keen sense of suffering from the other side. His nature was intense, and when he learned of his origin, I think life became a burden to him, only as he could forget in pleasure seeking."

Again Frederick Golder wondered to hear a woman speak so calmly of that which the most of people would not only have avoided themselves, but would have felt insulted, had others referred to the same.

Again she seemed to read his thought, for she said; "We are not to blame for what comes to us through no fault of our own. The judgment and methods of the world must be changed, as well as its property system, before justice can be done."

The girls had some plans of their own, so excused themselves after a few minutes and went out again.

"What a beautiful girl Alice—Miss Boyle has grown to be," remarked Golder.

"And she is as good as she is beautiful," was the reply.

Golder noticed the pleased and proud expression upon Horace's face when his mother said this, and drew his own conclusion.

Yes, Alice was beautiful, but as Frederick Golder had said on that memorable day, she was not his style. Ruby Lawrence, with her rich, brunette complexion and dark, liquid eyes pleased him much better, and during the next few days her image came oftener before his mental vision than did that of Alice Boyle.

As he did not leave town till the next day, he was invited to go with the Lawrences and spend the evening at Judge Wendover's. The proposed object was to discuss the problems involved in Mr. Reid's lecture, but the strongest motive that influenced Golder was to see more of Ruby.

"No, he was not in love, of course he wasn't," but he was interested. The problems to be discussed appealed to his benevolence, and to his sense of justice, but he knew if he engaged in the advocacy of these "new fangled notions," as they were called, he must do so under the displeasure of his father and the scorn of his friends, and the prospect was not an attractive one.

That evening's observation only deepened the impression that Ruby had made upon him, and for days afterward he found himself thinking of the various things she had said and done, dwelling upon each particular movement as though he had a special interest in the same.

"Am I really in love? is she the girl I want for my wife?" were the questions he asked of himself more than once. Then he would say: "What folly; she does not interest more than many another girl has done." Still he could not banish her from his mind, and in about a month he found it convenient to go to Glenwood again.

Again they talked over plans for the redemption of society, and while Alice and Ruby said but little, he saw from what they did say that they understood, and were as deeply interested as the others. This time he was not at loss when he left, as to the state of his own feelings, and yet he knew that he must not be hasty. He had been strongly attached to Richard and the tragic death of the latter had made a strong impression upon him. It had caused him to recoil from the path of life into which he had entered.

The question with him now was how to get better acquainted with Ruby Lawrence without her suspecting his motive. After much thought he went to his father with:

"How much have you made in your business since you started those mills, father?"

The elder Golder studied a few minutes, and then said: "Five thousand dollars the first year, and the next two about six thousand a year; I have not made up my account for the last year yet."

"That exclusive of wear and tear of machinery, interest on money, invested, and pay for your own time and care?"

"No, that for my time and care after deducting everything else."

"And I believe you have a hundred men employed."

"Yes, counting overseers, book-keepers and all, but why do you ask, Fred, are you struck with the reform fad?"

Fred laughed and said: "I was fishing for a portion of what you have saved there and elsewhere since I have been of age, to set up a small way for myself."

"Going to get married?"

"Not till I find some one that I am fully satisfied will make me a good wife."

"That's sensible, Frederick; be fully satisfied before you venture. Romantic attachments, love at first sight, and all that, may do for novel writers and fools, but not for sensible men."

"Why not add, 'and women,' " laughed Fred.

"Because women are expected to wait till they are asked."

"But if a romantic fool asks her, what then?"

"Why, if she has not sense enough to say no, she must take the consequences."

"Then your idea fully expressed would be, 'romantic attachments' may do for fools, but not for sensible men and women," said Fred, quizzingly.

The old man laughed; he was very proud of his sons, and more particularly of Fred, and when the latter got the start of him in any way, he did not take it as a defeat to himself, but as evidence of "the boy's" smartness.

"But what about this business plan of yours, Fred?"

Frederick then went on to tell his father of what seemed to him a good opening in Glenwood, and of his idea of managing it. The old gentleman listened attentively, heard all the details as Fred understood them, and when all was told, he said:

"I will look into the matter, and if I find it all right, you shall have the money."

Frederick thanked his father, but trembled at the same time, lest in going to Glenwood he should find out about the Lawrences and their relationship to Richard.

"Should he even suspect of my admiration for Ruby," he said to himself, "his absurd prejudice against that thirty-second drop of colored blood in her mother's veins would bar the door against my business plans in Glenwood."

He then fell to speculating on the amount of colored blood there would be in the next generation. Mrs. Lawrence one thirty-second part, Ruby one sixty-fourth part, and the next remove would be the one hundred and twenty-eighth part. "Well, if one drop of colored blood can spoil one hundred and twenty-seven drops of Anglo-Saxon blood, let them spoil," and forgetting his father's presence, he laughed out at the absurdity of the idea.

"What pleases you so, Fred?"

"Something I thought of just then struck me as very amusing, and I forgot I was not alone," he replied.

"That will never do, young man; sometime you will forget when you will wish you hadn't," said the old gentleman, looking as though he would like to know what it was that was so very amusing.

Frederick did not enlighten him, however, but simply said: "It was very thoughtless, but I do not often forget myself."

Mr. Golder went to Glenwood, was satisfied with the business his son proposed to go into, and when, with the money in his pocket, Frederick was ready to start, his father said to him:

"By the way, Fred, there are some Lawrences in Glenwood, I wonder if they are related to Richard's father."

"Possibly," replied Fred.

"Have you met them?"

"I have seen Mr. Lawrence and his son."

"Well, you should get acquainted with the girl; she is just splendid. If I were a young man I should study her for awhile."

Frederick Golder went to Glenwood and established himself in business, and after three months' acquaintance with Ruby Lawrence, he proposed, and with the full approbation of her parents, she accepted him; and at the end of another three months they were married.

The fact that there was a tinge of colored blood in her veins was spoken of, and Mrs. Lawrence asked Frederick if his parents knew of it, and would sanction his union with Ruby if they did.

"I don't know; it is of so little consequence to me I have not spoken of it," he replied.

"But don't you think they ought to be told," persisted Mrs. Lawrence.

"I don't know why; should they object it would make no change with me, and as they did not explain things to me when they were married, I don't know why I should explain to them when I marry."

This produced a laugh, and there was nothing further said upon the subject. But Mr. Golder learned of the fact about a week before the wedding, and he came to Glenwood to see about it. He and Frederick had a stormy time, but it was of no use.

"Had you chosen Alice I should have had less objection," he said, "for she at least has pure blood."

"I am afraid Horace Lawrence would object to that," was Frederick's reply.

"Oh, ho, that's the way the wind blows, is it? well, I don't see what the world is coming to; I wish I had waited till I had seen you married before I gave you a thing. You rascal, I believe you planned it that way on purpose; you knew I would never consent to your marrying Dick Lawrence's sister."

"Father, you spoke to me of Ruby before I said anything to her of marriage, and approvingly."

"When?"

"When you came back from Glenwood after I had spoken to you about this business. You said she was just splendid, and if you were a young man, you should study her awhile."

"Well, you have outwitted me, but it will be the last time. You can make the most of what you have, for you will never get anything more from me, and as to acknowledging your wife, not one of the family will ever do it."

"I can do without your money, father, but I am sorry to lose your friendship and that of my mother and sisters, but those who reject my wife, reject me," was Frederick's firm but quiet reply.

The old man took his hat and left without another word, but his face was so pale, it made his son's heart ache. "Well," he said to himself, "it had to come, for even if he had not objected to my choice, he would have been just as angry when he learned that I have allied myself with the cause of labor. It is well I secured the ten thousand that has gone into my business."

He and Ruby were married a week afterward. Their wedding was a very quiet one, and yet it caused a great deal of remark. About a month later the papers announced the marriage of Edward Bond Boyle and Mrs. Cora B. Leslie, and also of Horace Lawrence and Alice Boyle.

Caleb Johnson, whose booming scheme had been broken up by the influence of Reid's lecture, had been very bitter toward the Lawrences, for he believed that their influence joined with Reid's and the Wendover's had defeated him, so he made some hard wishes upon the young people, hoped their children would be "niggers," and a few like him joined in the sneer.

The same class said of Mrs. Leslie that she had set her trap and caught the old man for his wealth; but all such people are to be pitied. They do not realize how low and vulgar such remarks are.

————

CHAPTER XXV.

THE BEST METHOD.

"The conflict deepens, on ye brave," said Frank Reid, as he came into Mrs. Lawrence's the morning of the day upon which he was to lecture at Glenwood again.

"It is not so much the conflict, as how to best educate the people to prepare for it," replied Mrs. Lawrence.

"Yes, that is the great difficulty," replied Reid. "There are all sorts of plans and earnest souls engaged in carrying them out, that had better, for all the good they can accomplish, be left untouched. No half way measures will do; we must go to bed-rock."

"Such efforts are educational, Mr. Reid."

"Yes, if people would, or could be educated to drop that which continues to prove a failure, it would prove more encouraging, but failure after failure, only prompts them to try again. It seems next to impossible to make people see that the fault is in the system, that all palliative methods must necessarily prove a failure."

"I have been thinking Mr. Reid, that when you came we must meet and discuss the best method of work. We are willing to do, but want to put our means to the best use possible."

"That is a good idea, Mrs. Lawrence; we will act from it, but I hear you have been having a wedding here," glancing at Ruby.

"Yes, three of them."

"Three! I had heard of only one."

"Ruby has brought me a son, and Horace a daughter; and then Mr. Boyle thought he needed a wife as well as the younger boys, so he and Mrs. Leslie decided to be bride and groom."

"But who did your son marry?"

"Why, Alice Boyle, of course; I thought you knew who was his choice."

"I remember now that they were together when I was here before, but I am not quick at drawing conclusions."

"How did you hear of Ruby's marriage?"

"Oh, everybody in Mandaville is pitying Golder's people because of Fred's mesalliance. One would think, to hear them talk, that he had married a negress."

Mrs. Lawrence laughed and then she looked serious. "It would be laughable if it were not so pitiable," she said, "but such ignorance coupled with a prejudice which makes mountains out of mole hills, is very discouraging when we try to lift people into better conditions."

"We can do very little, Mrs. Lawrence, with those who are already spoiled, except to keep before them the thought that there must be a new system of things, and this thought, this idea will be organized in the next generation, as a part of themselves. We must make conditions, clear the way, and they rebuild."

"What is that you say about organized tendencies, Mr. Reid?" asked Ruby.

"I say that if you can make the mothers feel that there must and will be a better system of property justice, the children born under that influence will naturally work for such a change. This generation must be educated before they can see the need of a change of system, but enthuse the mothers, and the next generation will work for what their mothers have felt and hoped for, as naturally as water runs down hill."

"Then that method which will reach the most mothers is the best method; thanks, I shall remember that," said Mrs. Lawrence, while Ruby looked very thoughtful.

The lecture night was not interrupted, but was listened to with respectful attention.

He began with: "Were I to ask you, friends, if might made right, you would feel that I was insulting your intelligence; it is so self-evident that might does not make right.

"Why, even that boy over there would say: 'I'm strong enough to knock my little brother down and take his marbles, but it wouldn't be right.' Of course it wouldn't, but it is what our system of property relations permits larger boys called men to do every day, and if the weaker brothers make a big fuss about it and won't be quiet, then our national father, the great big boy we call Uncle Sam sends his blue coated boys to shoot them down."

He paused and looked over the scores of upturned faces before him. "Is not that so, and can you tell me how it is done," he asked? As no one replied he continued: "Then I must tell you; our economic system is so constructed it acts like a chain pump"——

"A chain pump, that's it, they pump the money right out of our pockets," said one.

"That is not all, my friend; much that should be yours is pumped up before it reaches your pockets, and they pump the strength right out of your bodies through the hard labor you are forced to perform."

"That's so," "that's so," cried several voices.

"But is it right?" asked Reid.

"No, sir, it is not right, but how are we going to help it?" called out one of the very men who had been detailed break up the meeting when Reid was there before.

"Look out there, Dick, or you will be put out of the house again," called out another.

"I am glad you asked that question, sir," said Reid paying no attention to the other remark. "In order to help it, we must first find out how they do it. I will try to illustrate the method in part. Suppose we have, say in a new township, a hundred men, and land enough to be had to support them all, but one of these men has money enough to buy all that land and he does so, leaving none for the others, now has that one man the right to make slaves of the ninety and nine?"

"Certainly not," was the response.

"Then it was not right for government to sell him that land?"

There was no reply to this. They could not say yes, it was right for him to buy what land he could pay for, in the light of the new thoughts that the speaker was awakening in their minds, neither were they ready to say no, it was not right, in view of the educated idea that a man has a right to buy whatever, and all that his money will pay for, so they said nothing.

Reid waited a moment: "If that land was all the land there was, or could be had, and the one man bought it all, would not the others have to work for him or starve? they certainly would, and if they must work for him are they not slaves?"

"Yes, sir, they are."

"Then if it is not right to make slaves of men, it is not right to do that which will make them slaves, so it is not right to let men buy all the land they have the money to buy, thus leaving others without any. The conclusion is inevitable. Is it right then, for this government, or any other, to sell, and give control to one man of as much land as a thousand men would need for personal use, and then when the landless ones cry out for bread, to force them to submit to the terms of the man who has the land, or starve?"

To this there was no reply. They might admit that individuals were in the wrong, but when it came to condemning the government they hesitated, and Caleb Johnson called out: "Anarchy."

"Yes, if it is anarchy to try to find out what is right," replied Reid without the least trace of annoyance, and then continued:

"If it is wrong for a man to lie and steal, would it be right for government to license him to do so for a given sum of money?"

"No, sir, government can't supercede God's laws," said deacon Gray.

"Who gave governments the right to sell land, God?" To that the deacon made no reply.

"No," continued Reid, "the land is man's natural, God-given right, and no man nor set of men has the right to sell it away from the people, and the government that sells or permits others to sell for money to one man, the land that belongs to a hundred men, is guilty of every possible crime, because people are thus inevitably and unavoidably pushed into committing every kind of crime; now call that anarchy if you choose, but you cannot get away from the conclusion."

"We have the best government in the world," called out some one in the back part of the house.

"No one has said that we have not, but how good is the best, that's the question?"

"Mr. speaker, may I answer that?" said Morse.

"Certainly, sir."

Morse rose slowly to his feet and looked around with a comical air: "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I once bought half a dozen eggs. It was at a season of the year when we sometimes get—well, not very good ones. I broke one, it was very bad; another, it was not much better; still another not eatable; and so on to the sixth and last; it was the best of the lot, it was not rotton but would soon have become so, for it had been set on for a week. That's what's the matter with our government; it has been set on by European customs, European methods, European money powers till it must hatch out a European chicken or become addled; yes, it is the best government, of course it is, but that's just how good it is."

The audience greeted this illustration with shouts of laughter. When quiet was restored, the speaker said: "Thank you, sir; your illustration is to the point, and the question now is, shall we be satisfied with the best of a bad thing, with European incubation, or shall we demand a good, sound egg, a genuine democracy, one in which one man cannot enslave another?"

"A sound egg or none," cried several voices.

"All right; that is what I am working for, now are you ready to tell me if it is right for governments to allow individuals to monopolize the land?"

"No, it is not right; we want no lords in this country, not even land lords," called out a stranger who sat near the door, and the others cheered.

"Then let us work for the abolition of all laws that make it possible for land lords to exist," continued Reid, "and my next question is, does Congress own this country, or does it belong to the people? You will say, to the people, and rightly; but Congress disposes of it, sells it, gives it away, cedes millions of acres to corporations, and then said corporate monopolies sell the same to rich Englishmen, till to-day, millions of acres are leased by the English to our own people, or are lying vacant, idle, while millions of our people are homeless and hungry. Is it right?"

"No, it is not right," came in emphatic response, "but how are we going to make it right?"

"Through the opposing force of aroused minds. I do not mean half roused, but thoroughly aroused minds. Create a public opinon against this state of things so strong that the law which permits it cannot be enforced. This was done in anti-slavery times. The public opinion which at first was ready to hang a Garrison, became so changed that the people refused to obey the written law, did this till the unwritten law of public opinion swept the written one out of existence. It is gone, never to return; gone, and there is not power enough on earth to bring it back."

As Reid said this his form seemed to dilate, to grow tall, and the thrill of his earnestness ran through the entire audience. He continued:

"The unwritten law of eternal justice lies deeply rooted in every human heart. It is a law which always responds if you can once get through the crust to the genuine man or woman. If you believe this, friends, if you believe in your own better natures, cultivate this unwritten law till those written laws which give or sell the inheritance of ten, a hundred, a thousand men to one man are swept to the depth of hades, and let those who persist in trying to enforce them go after them, if they cannot learn any better."

"Would you council us to disobey the law of the land?" asked elder Brown.

"If the law of the land bade you curse Christ, would you do it, sir?"

The elder's eyes looked almost like saucers, he opened them so wide at this question. "Curse Christ, no," he almost shrieked, "perish my right hand and palsied be my tongue first."

"Did he not say while here, 'In as much as ye did it to the least of these, my little ones, ye did it unto me,' and are not thousands of the little ones, the poor, cursed in their homes and in their hearts, made wretched, left in ignorance, and turned out homeless through the natural action of these land laws? Twenty-nine thousand evictions in one year, and in one city—do you suppose they were all children of the devil because they could not pay their rent?"

The elder asked no more questions, but he looked very thoughtful; in fact, his seat seemed to grow hard, if one could judge by his restless manner.

"The first thing is to feel and know for yourselves that you have a natural right to the land," continued Reid, "a natural right to a portion of the earth's surface, and a natural right to what your labor produces; feeling this, kindle the same feeling in the heart of your neighbor—keep kindling till the mental atmosphere is all aflame, till the mental wave becomes so strong that it will sweep away all this injustice. Why, do you not know that intense thought permeates the mental atmosphere, as intense heat does the physical? You can think all these false laws out of existence if enough of you think clearly, and to the point, and think hard enough—no, I do not advise you to use physical force unless you are attacked. They dare not hang you for thinking, but you can make them feel you, and if your thoughts so arouses their hatred that they lay plots and swear it was you, and send their blue coats to punish you for what they have done, then fight them to the death."

Conflicting reports went out about the lecture. Reid was misrepresented either purposely or because some were incapable of understanding his position, but when he was spoken to about it, he only said: "I would rather they would lie about me than to say nothing; storms are better than stagnation, and if they can afford it, I can."

The next evening they all met at Judge Wendover's to consider the best method for effective work. John Wherefore had come over from Mandaville, and had brought with him a book giving an account of the Stanford University: "gift to the people, so called," said John, "but a close examination of its legitimate tendency will show that it is a gilded bond, or chain upon the people, helping to hold them subservient to the present system of things. We have met here to discuss the best method of helping humanity, but humanity is one, and that which does not touch bottom, does not lift from the bottom, does not help. A crown of gold may be put upon the head, but if the feet are fast in the mud, what then?"

"Then you object to a school as a means of benefitting the people?" said Mr. Lawrence.

"Not if it is the right kind of a school."

"What kind of a school would suit you, John?" asked Morse.

"We will first see what don't suit me, and in doing so will examine this magnificent bequest of Senator Stanford's. First, the Palo Alto estate seven thousand, two hundred acres of land, with everything connected with it that would befit a king; next the Vina ranch, fifty-five thousand acres, costing a million dollars, then the Gridley ranch, twenty thousand acres, which is assessed at a million dollars; these three farms or immense territories, if the last is assessed at fifty dollars an acre, and merely a grain farm, the others, with their immense improvements, the blooded stock, the vineyards, etc., must be valued so much higher, that the whole gift cannot count less than from eight to ten million dollars.

"A magnificent gift, but who to? Can one of the dwellers in our city cellars or garrets ever find a footing there? Will it reach the sewing woman in her attic? Will it ever say to one of the students, or to the great masses of the people that the economic system under which one man can amass so much much wealth is a false one? Never a word, and the student who would dare assert such a thing, if not expelled from that school, would not be considered a proper subject for assistance; he or she would have to pay full price for everything.

"A gift to the people; it is not. It is a place, or will be, where the aristocracy of wealth and the aristocracy of education will create an atmosphere in which manly, self-respecting poverty cannot breathe. Now, friends, I am not saying that senator Stanford intends this, but he does not understand; he mistakes legal right for moral right, and thus judging, really believes that these vast possessions are his to give. He understands the conditions of the poor, and the causes leading thereto, just about as well as did the rich man's daughter, who when told that the poor could not get bread, asked why they did not eat cake then?

"The declaration is that there will be no branch of the arts and sciences that will not be taught in the schools to be established at Palo Alto, but there is one science that will not be taught there, to-wit, the science of justice, for the institution itself will be founded upon wealth of which the people at large have been robbed."

"But how can wealth thus obtained be given back to the people again?" asked Mrs. Lawrence; "we have some means that we as individuals, never earned, and yet we are not to blame for having it; what can we do?"

"The only way in which it can be used for the people is in teaching them how to replace the present false system with a better one; will teaching young men how to become successful business men do that?"

"What do you think, Mr. Morse" said Mrs. Lawrence.

"I think if our business system is a robber system it is simply teaching them to be successful robbers, and the more of such we have the more will people be robbed."

"That is logic," replied Wherefore, "and yet one of the declared objects of this institution is to fit student for successful business life, and one of the stipulations of the trust is that the principal shall remain intact, shall never grow less; and yet, allowing one man to every forty acres of land it will take the perpetual labor of two thousand and eighty men to take care of that property. Will those men get enough more than a bare subsistence, either as tenants or as wage slaves, to secure an independent home in time? Indeed not! for as the propery must not grow less those men's labor must produce enough more than they get to keep up the expenses of that instiution, and"——

"And Stanford gets all the credit." interrupted Morse.

"That as a matter of course," said the Judge.

"But not as a matter of right," resumed Wherefore; "but we have the control of a little means ourselves and the question is, how can we best use it to advance cause of universal justice?"

Nothing further was said for some seconds, finally the Judge remarked: "You said you would not object to the right kind of a school, friend Wherefore: what in your opinion would be the right kind of a school?"

"I would have a school whose teachers would enter every house in the land, unless shut out, and at a cost of from fifty cents to five dollars a year, according to quality of teacher or frequency of visits."

"Oh, a paper," said Mrs. Wendover.

"Yes, a paper; how much can we devote to such a school? If we could spend half a million upon it we could make a greater impression for good than a dozen such institutions as that established by senator Stanford, and by him so richly endowed. He said that under such teachings as he proposed agrarianism and communism can have but an ephemeral existence, but he was blinded by his own success.

"He quoted as among man's inalienable rights, liberty and the pursuit of happines. I would like to have asked the honorable senator how many men like himself it would take to absorb all the land in the country, and where the liberty would be when the landless must work under the dictation of the landlord or starve.

"Why, friends, the right to life involves the right to land or its equivalent; there can be no liberty without it.

"When, in endowing an institution, a man pledges the labor of thousands of men to its support, keeping the principal of said endowment intact by said labor, and at the same time talks of the liberty of the whole people, he either does not know what he is talking of, or he does not consider the working classes people."

"That is about the truth of the matter, we are not counted except at elections," remarked Reid.

The ladies and Bond Boyle now consulted together a few minutes and then Mrs. Lawrence said: "I think, Mr. Wildermere, the half million can be raised but a part of it will be in land which we must sell or put in shape to bring a revenue."

"That is, take the avails of the labor of others to keep up our school?

"Not necessarily, John," said Morse, "for our school will be self-supporting by the time the half million is gone."

"Then you would use the principal," said the Judge.

"Certainly; no other method would be just."

"Please give your idea Jed," said Boyle.

"I would use the half million, not keep it as a trap to catch the earnings of others. The first year I would use a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, more if necessary, and after that, fifty thousand annually till it was all gone. If, by that time there was not interest enough created to make our school self-sustaining, then let it go."

"So far, good. I'll put in my mite if I am as well satisfied with the details of your plan as I am thus far," said Wherefore.

"Yes, details," "Gives us details, Jed," said the others.

"As it is about all I have to give I will do that freely. In the first place our school must teach the principles of justice. Secondly, those principles must be verified in our dealings with our workers. None but good articles should be accepted but the writers must be paid. Thirdly, all our reform workers shall for the first six months have the full price for all the yearly subscriptions, and under, they can obtain, then one half till the paper has been established two years; after that one third."

"That is all right, how would you utilize the land?"

"Let such people go on to it as seems advisable, families taking two, five, ten, or more, but not over forty acres. Let the price be put a trifle below what such lands are selling for, the purchaser paying ten per cent down and the same each year till all is paid, but never a cent of interest."

"But suppose we can sell the land and get the money down," asked Mrs. Lawrence.

"Do you wish to take from the labor of others by putting it out on interest?"

"Indeed, Mr. Morse, I do not," she replied.

"Then it will better in land till needed; beside, those who can pay down can buy elsewhere. As before said, we want our teaching and our practice to correspond."

"You are right, Jedediah," said Blake, "and as I presume you will not teach law in your school the best I can do is to act the lawyer when you need one."

"Act the man you mean, we want no lawyer tricks, sir," said Boyle.

"Well now, friend Boyle, that's rather hard, seeing as how you'd not gotten your estate, but for lawyers," drawled out Blake in his own inimitable manner.

This created a general laugh, while Blake continufed, "But to show you that I forgive you I will draw up the papers for 'The Wherefore Investigating Company.' "

"Good," "good," "that's the right name, what will you call the paper?" Called out different voices.

"The school you mean; 'The Wherefore Investigator,' of course."

And here we will leave them to work out their plans.