Into Mischief and Out.

Auckland Star, Volume XXI, Issue 259, 1 November 1890, Page 1 (Supplement)

Into Mischief and Out.

A COLLEGE STORY,

BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS.

CHAPTER X. A CLIMAX OF MISEBT. * Wire, father I .' said Donald.wifch the accent which expresses so much surprise that it is nob easy to determine how much pleasure it contains. 'Well, Donald, I thought I'd come on. What have you been up to, anyhow ? I thought it was about time I looked into it. I've got—let me see —Mr Marcy pulled out a three-hundred-dollar watch, at which he glanced with the nervous motion of a man who lives on a time schedule. 'Time?' asked tho English gentleman who carried no watch ; ' what has a gentleman to do with time V But this was an American capitalist ' I have forty-five minutes and a-half,' said Mr Marcy; 'I must get the nighb express home. I've gob the main facts from Fleet here. Have saved so much time. Now speak for yourself, Donald—no waste words, sir—and let me understand how you expect to get out of this. I don't like it. It isn't what I sent you to Harle for. Ib isn't a gentlemanly business, sir, and ib isn't business, anyhow you fix it. It's a bad investment. I didn't send you to college to fall short this way.' Mr Marcy was a tall man, graceful of figure, and, excepting displeasure, gracious of manner. He hud an alert, anxious face, care-beaten into premature wrinkles ; he was not an old man, bub his hair was quite grey. H© shook hands wibh his son while he spoke, glanced at him keenly, and then stood off, with his back to the fire, and his hands under his coat-tails, moodily looking about the room. He had the manner of being already bored with the gravity of the case which had brought bim away from the stockmarket for twentyfour hours. • You have a nice sorb of place here,' he said, carelessly. 'Ground-floor room, I see. There's comfort in that. Some good prints, and you've kepb that carpet, haven't you ? By-the-by, your mother wished to be remembered to you.' 'How is mother?' asked Don, thankful for the variation of topic. He sab down, nob too near his father,ov6r by the window, which he opened an inch or two. He was flushed and fevered ; his bead blazed like a light-wood fire. He drew the curtain over the slightly open window, and sab in the draught, drinking ib in. • Oh ! she's as usual,' answered his father, lightly. ' Doctor thera three times yesterday. Same old etory.—See, here, you won't leb me lose tha brain ? I've some important business on hand; must be in Wallsbreefc at nine o'clock to-morrow morning—' 'Even if I am expelled ?'laughed Don, trying to be a little jocose. He felt the situation to be very awkward. His father bad never done such a thing as this before. 4lf tho whole of Harle University were expelled!' replied Mr Marcy, with a promptness which was almosb startling. An expression of acute, almost ferocious anxiety settled between his brows and in his deepset, iron-grey eyes. For tho moment he seemed to have forgotten his son and his son's disgrace. •It's bad enough,' said Don, gloomily: •bub ib might be worse. They've leb me off pretty well, considering that Calhoun bad just a Dickens of a time. I didn't mean any harm, father. I'm awfully sorry for the .- ....... 'OK! a? course { that goeß without saying. Thank you—yes. Very good cigars, Don. I'm glad to ace you don't use cigarettes ; there's opium in them. But, as I was saying to Fleet, here—if you've gob to go into rustication, I'm going to speak to tbe president aboub ifc. I wanb you to go to Fleet's—Dr. Fleofc's—Jamie's father. I know Fleet. He won't starve you, and he'll treat you like a gentleman j he'll be good for you, anyhow. Isn't ib a little cold, here, Donald? Didn't I hear a curtain rustling in a draught somewhere ? I'm older than I was, Donald. I begin to feel draughts. It's a sure sign—when a man feels draughts. Heigh-ho ! I'm tired w_ibh the trip. Close car; chilly, too. As I was saying—ab Fleeb's. Vermont is a deuced hole, of course; but that's the point, I take ib. It's 'only a choice of holea bhey'll give you. Fleeb is a good fellow. You'd have done well, Donald, if you'd have bespoken him for a father. He'd have taken more pains with you than I have—had more time, you know—not always on the go—paid you more attention. I'm going to speak to Baxter about this ; I'll Utop there on the way to the train, and put ifc through. You've made a fool of yourself, but ib ain'b so bad as ifc might be_ Donald. You shall go to Fleet'B. Why !—wljat isthat? What the deuce is that noise ?' •I—l think, sir,' said Donald, flashing white from brow to chin, and rising sharply from his chair, ' that it must be some of tbe fellows guying me from outBide. Excuse me, farther, just for a jiffy ; I'll go and see to ib.' Now the truth w« this . While Don sab by the window cooling oft the champagne, the kiss, and the whole tumult of the evening, just as his father began aboub Dr. Fleeb, a sliebb stir outside of the groundfloor window attracted the boy's startled attention. The fellows did not step like that. They swooped in, like the Vandals they were, more likely to burst in the windows, sash, glaai and all, than bo effect a calmer entrance. This visitor stepped daintily. Tbe sound of a panting breath reached Don s eai. ;ib seemed like— Was it possible ? Could it be ? What did it mean ? Moments before bin father spoke Don had become thoroughly uneasy. At the instant when Mr Marcy said-—■. What is that noise ?' a hand slowly inserted itself through the raised sash and tha, sill,, pushing, the stiff curtain with a flapping sound, slid along the sill, found Donald's arm, his wrist, his hand, and rested there/ It was a woman's hand. , , . , Startled, the boy drew bis band back with an angry motion. He never indulged in coarse freaks or adventures, and no woman, unless some lady properly matronised, had ever visited Ids college room before. At the momenb when _he sprang back a feminine voice said, disbinctly : ' Marcy ! Marcy ! Want to speak to yon. Come out here; quick ! Don't keep a lady waiting. I've come on purpose. I've got to see you !' Donald rushed outside, and there, a handsome lad, scorn - white* with pure eyes, and trembling delicate lips, he confronted Miss Merry fitorond.

' This young lady was quito alone. It waa half-past eleven at night. She was in her evening dress, over wbich she had the sense left to throw a wrap, a fur-lined circular cape. The cape was nob fastened ; her white throat and neck flashed through like light. She lifted one of her bare arms and drew it closely through Donald's. He shrank, bub she held him wibh a touch closer than that of love. He reoognized it as the clasp of champagne. 'Don, my beauty,' said Merry Gorond, quito aloud. ' Went of! and left me, did you? Never said good-bye, sir! Where aid you learn your manners, my fine fellow 1 Come to a ladyViuM.se, dance; with her, and all the rest of ft, 1 and then sneak oub, and never say farewell, my true love ! No gentleman, Don, Marcy ! Come home with, me, sir ! BroJs» m' heart. Couldn'b bear ib, Don—think too much of you; come back with me—have a nice time. We'll sit

by parlour fire, alone. Mother's abed. Nobody to meddle. Came on purpose—' ' Merry !' cried Don, in agony. He heard his father's voice in sudden exclamation, or anger; Jamie's step—a commotion within. 'Go home, Merry, do!' pleaded Don. ' This is no place for you. It isn't nice of you, Merry. You're not yourself. I can't go home with you. My father's here. Do, for God's sake, Merry, do, do have your | senses, and clear out ot the college grounds. I The fellows will see you. Father will see you. Go, Merry, so !' ' Father here V inquired Miss Merry, with a silly smile. 'I'd like to 880 your father. Time I.did. I'll just step in,, Marcy, and look at him. Let me go by, Don. Let mo alone. I'll go if I chooso. Ifc'a quits proper to go if your father's there. He'll chaperon me. So glad you mentioned ifc. I'll go right in and geb warm. I'm awfully cold.' With that, Merry Gorond jerked Don aside with her powerful whits armg, and did, indeed, push her way into the astonished room where poor Don's chum and father sat. Don, in despair, followed the girl silently. There seemed to be nothing else to do. Tho expression on the faces of those two men struck him as something awful. He had never seen anything like ib in Jamie's eyes in all the time the boy 3 had roomed together. Mr Marcy was too outraged to 6peak. He seemod to be freezing into terrible shape, like concealing iron. Merry, too far beside herself to realise her position in the leaßfc, and too used to careless or dubious positions to be checked by that stress of conventional habit which goes so far to control the lighter stages of intoxication—poor Merry sank into Don's study-chair and confronted the gaze of tho three gentlemen with tbe silly unconsciousness of her condition. Her fur cloak had fallen quite off; her arms and shoulders blazed in the light above her scarlet dress ; she turned her flushed face, whose startling beauty, had it been carried by a simple modest girl, might; have turned any boy's head, and must have won any man's respect, and persistentlyregardign Mr Marcy, muttered, in the thickened accent so sickening upon a woman's lips : • Father, Don ? Why don't introduce me ? Happy t' meet you, sir.' Now Mr Marcy, speechless wibh disgust, did a simple but terrible thing. Ho deliberately turned his back to the girl, pub on his overcoat, and took up his hat.

'I'll trouble you to call my carriage, Donald,' he said icily. 'My train goes in twenty minutes. I can improve the interval better ab the station than—er—making the acquaintance of—my son's lady friends.'

'Father !' cried Don, in an agony. ' Merry ! Do, do, do go home, Merry! You're not yourself. You don'b understand. I'll take you home. Get me a carriage, Jamie — No. That won't do. The drivor'll have ib all over town. As soon as I get rid of the girl, father— I'll explain it all, J., I will indeed. Jamie !'

Don's face, his voice, his attitude, his whole being seemed to turn into a piteous appeal to his chum—tho strongest moral lever of his life. Ib was as if he said : ' You'll trust me, J. !'

Jamie Fleeb gave him a long, sad, stern look ; Don's honest eyes answered it, glance for glance, steadfastly. • I've been dancing, J.,' he said, ' and, and—we had champagne. But I didn't invite girls to our room.' A silence settled upon tbe singular group. Mr Marcy laid down his hat. No one seemed inclined to speak ; nob even the 4 fast' girl. Jamie Fleot was tho first to break the pause. 4 I'll see Mis 3 Gorond safely home,' be said quietly. ' It's better for her. It'a best for you, Don. It might—might hurt you, in people's opinions, if ib gob oub jueb now. I can manage. Nobody'll snspeeb mo, I think. I'll risk it.' The boy lifted his pale face with tho pride of unassailable character.

'People know,' he said, simply, 'bhab I'm too busy to be a lady's man. Besides, the young lady will bo more—l think she will behave—she will be more herself with me 1' added Jamie, dolicately. ' / don't interest her. She will go with mo quietly. Come, Miss Gorond. Miss Gerond, with your permission, I will see you home !' Merry hesitated, and complained to Don thab shethadn'b been introduced, and did nob like, ab that late hour, to be seen walking with strange gentlemen. 4 People might talk,' she said.

Whereas Marcy was an old friend; it was quite proper to go with Marcy. But Jamie Fleet explained to her, with great courtesy and gentleness, that Marcy was detained with his father, who had to catch the midnight train, and, in a few adroit momenta, he won the girl away. He stopped ab the door, first, and wrapped her carefully in her cloak, which he fastened at the throat. When he came homo he found that Mr Marcy had gone. Don was alone in the room, sitting by the table; his arm upon it; his face hidden in his arms. He did nob change his position when his chum entered. Fleeb came and sab down by him, with thab unfailing, almosb feminine tenderness, which made him so dear to Don.

4 Well, Don !' he said, pleasantly. The wretched boy acknowledged his presence by a alight kick beneath tbe table. Nothing moro affectionate or articulate followed, but Jamie persisted, with thab contented power to ignore rebuff which belongs to real love alone. 4 Father gone 1 Did he get off in time ?' Donald's curly head, prone upon hia fine coat sleeve, nodded. ' Did you go to tha sfcation with him ?' Don shook his head, vigorously this fcime. Jamie perceived that this point was painful. 4 Wouldn't leb you, would he? I thought perhaps nob. He was a good deal cut up.' 'He told me to go to the deuce,' cried Don, suddenly jerking his head up. There were traces of tears on his flushed and worried face. • He told me to go to tbe deuce and be done with it. My father never spoke like that to me before. Ho was awfully cut; up, J. ! I don't think it was so much the girlhe's a man of the world, J., nob like your father, you know ; it's different in New York from what ifc is in Vermont —I don't think he minded a scrape with a girl so muc h—not if it were worse than Merry, you know—if I'd been smart enough to keep ib dark. It's fche exposure father minded : tbe disgrace. He was mortified. He felt ashamed of me. He'd taken lots of trouble to come on—and thon to light on such a scene ! It was awfully awkward. How could Merry ?' 4 Couldn't you make your fabher understand ?' asked Jamie, anxiously. • Ob, I don't know,' replied Don, wearily. 'He wouldn't shake hands with me when he went away. I hated to see father off so. It wenb againsb me awfully. He didn'fc look well, J., seemed to me. Did you notice ? I wish 1 could go home and see him again. But there's this confounded rustication business.' • Don't be too down, pleaded Jamie. « Oh, I am,' said Don, with the cheerfulness of reviving expression. 'I'm blue as bhey make 'em. Never got into such a mess. I'm ashamed of ib, too ; thab's the rub. If I could play aggrieved innocent, and thab—But it's no use. I deserve ifc, and I'm ashamed of myself. I never was before,' added Don, candidly. ' I always thought I was a pretty nice sort of fellow. 4 How's the girl, J. V he asked, after a few moments' melancholy, during which the two bojs had sat together ia the comforting silence into which men so much more naturally than women allow their griefs to drop. 4 How did you get borne with Merry 1 I declare I'd forgotten all about it.' • Pretty well,' replied Jamie, hesitating. 'She wanted to turn bacfe and get you,

and she talked pretty loud. But she gob the idea you might come to her house on the way from the depot.' 'Gave her the notion, didn't you, J. ? Good for you.' 4 Well,' admitted tho excellent Jamie, colouring a little, 'I didn't discourage ib exactly. I thought ib would do, consider-, ing. We got along nicely after that.' 4 Who let you in at her mother's house ?' •A very young lady. It seemed to be her little sister, I thought.' ' Ob, yes—Daisy. Daisy is a regular case. She won't toll.' i ' She seemed awfully anxious about the .other one,' observed Jamie, with a look of distaste. 'Bub she wasn't dressed much better, If my sister dressed like that I'd shut her up in tho woodshed.' 4 Fancy locking Merry Gorond in a woodshed ! She'd smash a door-panel, and crawl oub like any other handsome cat. Did you meet any fellows 1 Peelers ? Faculty ?' 'Two Seniors,' said Jamio Fleet, 'but they didn't know me. And Jerry McCarty ; he gave me one look, and that's all. Beseemed to think ib was all righbwhen he saw who it was. He touched his hab and wenb on. She was perfectly quiet just then, .Scared of the uniform, I guess. Anyhow, I got her safa home. I hope her motlier'll keep her there.' ' It's an awfully good turn you've done me, J.!' exclaimed Donald, suddenly holding out his hand. 'I've just begun to get it through my head. Precious few chaps would do thab for a fellow. Bless you, J. I'm not fib for you, anyhow. 1 CHAPTER XI. RUSTICATING IN VERMONT. It was a cold December day in northerly Vermont. This is saying a cold thing. Donald Marcy was an out-of-door boy, used to weather and ablo to stand it, but he had never known what cold was before. When he woke that morning, in the spare room of Dr. Fleet's parsonage and looked about him, and took in the details that presented themselves to his shivering senses, he said : 'The—Dickons !' and took a dive uncior tho bed-clothes, whero he buried his curly head and tried to collect his congealing courage. Ho had been at Dr. Fleet's some weeks now, but there had nover been anything as cold as this. The frost on his wintiows lay as thick as blue-white plush ; the paper shades stirred and crackled in the wind that pierced the loose, old-fashioned casements. Tho straw matting, covered here and there by home-made rugs, looked glazed to his eyes, like a thin sheet of ice. His breath froze in the bitter air when ever he dared to breathe. His pitcher, which he had been in Vermont Jong enough to learn to remove from tho wash-stand by the window (why are wash-stands always seb by the windows in cold climates ?) stood upon the straw matting, in full view, filled to the brim with ico. His fire was out. Beside the air-tight stovo tho wood-box stood, half full. He filled thab wood-box himself ; it was expected of him ; Don had never dono such a thing in his lifo before. ■He was expected to build the fire, too ; there was no ' swoop' at the parsonage ; one little maid-of-all work was the only visible servant.

Ib was a greab surprise to Don that Mrs Fleet, who was quite a lady, worked hard in her own kitchen ; harder, he sometimes thought, than tho very little maid ; and that the clergyman himself book care of Old William the horse, and carried tho wood and coal. Jamio did theso things when he was ab home. Don felt ashamed —the tough fellow ! —to back oub of anything thab J. could do ; delicate J. with his thin, studious face and untrained muscles. So, although a boirder in the minister's family, ho had adopted the fashions of it without protest. Indeed, he had a distant suspicion that the system of .rustication sometimes involved libble deviations of this sorb from the habits of elegant young gentlemen ; and it pleased Don's"plucky spirit not to exhibit any astonishment or displeasure. In fact, he had accepted Vermont thoroughly; and bhe self-denials of tho parsonage had begun to become a familiar drama in his gay, luxurious young life. He had found ib rather 'slow,' ib mustbe owned, so far, in tho village of East Tipton ; tho parsonage was by all odds bhe best parb of that thin old town, which lay shivering at the feet of the awful snow-clad mountains,likeafreezingcreatureoveriiaken by the winter, and trying to warm its poor life at a heart of ice. East Tipton was a place in which nothing happened. Even Jamie was not coming home iv the holiday recess. Jamie had a chance to tutor his old gentleman's son) ab two dollars an hour, through vacation ; and a fellow must be better off than. Jamie to throw away two dollars an hour. He had written home a very manly letter (ho was terribly disappointed, Don could see, bub he would nob show ib), simply saying that he must stay in Harle, and that he was lucky to get the chance. Fay was coming homo, ib is true, at the holidays; bub Don had never seen Fay ;he did nob feel an absorbing interest in bhe fact. He fancied her something of a bluestocking, and nob ab all stylish. Don knew a plenty of whab are called ' socieby' girls in Now York, and, of course, all sorbs in Harle ; but the professor's daughters belonged to anothor class, as much so in their way, as Merry Gorond herself in hers. Don had never happened to know any college girls very well; he had notions about them, as gay fellows and good dancers are apt to. Ho thought Fay Fleet would probably matronise him, and wear spectacles, and a 4 cloud,' like the girls in Easb Tipton whom he met ab the posb office giggling over tha advertising board for letters that »hey never received, and nudging each other when the handsome boy asked for the minister's box.

Still, on the whole, Donald was not sorry that the minister's daughter was coming home thab day. lb would be some sort'of change. Don bad taken sensibly to the quiet life of the parsonage, but there was no denying bhab it was dull for a lively lad. Dr. Fleefc put him at once hard ab work, that he might keep up with his class. This was new business for Don—six hours a day of close study, rain or shine, gay or 'stupid, happy or dismal, and nob a scrape, nob a freak, nob a frolic, not a fellow to break the pull! Donald had never done any such studying as that in all bis light, young life. Ho was'surprised to find ib really interesting at times. Dr Fleeb had a ' way' with books which was, to a lazy lad, like the Vermont mountain wind to a case of swamp malaria. For the rest of his days Don will remember thab old parsonage sbudy, with its shabby carpet and well-filled book-ahelves, the big coal heater, noisy and black and ugly (but so mnch cheaper than the scholar's luxury of an open fire that it was a matter of course), the faded shades and patched lounge, and the great, hearty rush of sunlight all over the room on bright days; tbe early atudenfc-lamp with ita green shade, when tho afternoons were dark, and the spare figure of the minister benfc over all sorts of queer, oub-of-fche-way books in German, French, Old English, and who knows what; his refined face, with a strong brow and gentle lips, like Jamie's, starting like a medallion from a background of dark velvet, and grown unconscious, brilliant and memorable, while he talked to the careless lad of scholars and of scholarly thoughts and deeds and dreams.

Don had not been without his own ideas, as wo have said, of thab other, graver, higher lifo which some fellows went to college for from the starb, and which he meant to stop and take along before he got through, much as ho would have reined in and picked up a friend on a Saturday afternooadrive with his father's span. In those long, lonely winter days, when he and tho minister sat at their books in the pleasant parsonage study, and a man of selfdenial, application and consecration was intimately revealed for the first time to the

gay boy, strange thoughts came to his mind, strange visions to his heart. Lifo looked to him like a puzzle, of which he had lost the key, or, perhaps, had never had ifc. At times ho wished for ifc very much indeed. Dreamily and delicateiy as tho light of the winter day came into the study, and lay upon the silent book*, there stole into tbe lad's soul the stirring of a force which he did nofc know well enough to recognise— Aspiration.-, There was something, too, about the life of that plain home which amazed the boy. Sometimes it touched him deeply. Poor as the place was, harsh as the conditions of their poverty looked, to fche luxury-accustomed fellow, yet it sometimes seemed to him as if he had never truly felt at home before. Everything in that house, from the washing-day breakfasb to the threadbare bo3t coat of the preacher ; from the cold entrees to the cold mutton, was as foreign to its guesb as if ho had been rusticating in Zanzibar. But there was something tolerable about ifc all, nevertheless — nay, something really pleasant, if you chose to think so. Mrs Fleet was a quiet lady, but she was tho sweeteafc-natured one in tho world. She mothered Don from the first; she petted him and chatted with him, and cooked little dishes for him; she knew, better than the parson, how such a way of lite as theirs must strike tho son of T. B. Marcy ; she used to visit in New York when she was a young lady; and she never fussed about litfcle things or found fault with Don, or nagged anybody, or made much of matters. She accepted her peaceful, narrow lob as serenely as the book did tho book-shelf, and as sweetly as no ono bufc a gentle woman can accept whab is downright hard to bear. Don wondered at her very much, and he came to liko her, and to like to sit with her of an evening in the halffurnished litfcle parlour ; such a room as his mother would have refitted for her maid. In fact, Don had adapted himself to his li'o in the parsonage, very smoothly and good-naturedly ; bub Don was young, and the minister and his wife were nob, and tho rusticated boy shook his curia and sighed for somo other young thing, if only, ho said 4 to wink at.' Fancy winking at Dr. Fleefc ! And as for fche littlo maid—she wore crimping-pios, and bare elbows, which the burned against tho boiler, regularly, every Monday. Sho was the only other young creafcuro on the place. Even the cat was old ; and sho had eaten her kittens. So ib was not without a certain renewed interest in life bhab Donald rememberod, when ho woke that icy December morning, that the daughter of the housewas expected at the parsonage that night. This reflection added insensibly to the motives for getting up, which were nob so strong as to be boyond need of relays. It occurred to Don thab he would cram a little on Xenphon that morning: ho believed the Smith girls were very learned . she would probably call him oub on his Greek ab once ; floor him, too. He thought he would take an early start into tho liberal education, to be prepared for the worst, and so he plunged out Of bod. Plunge was the only word. Ib was like to nothing on oarth so much as a dive into a bath of icewater. Don caught his breath at the shock, nnd bravely attacked the air-titrht stove. Now tho minister's air-bight stovo made a conscientious poinb of refusing to burn whenever the thermometer went to zero ; and, as tbe mercury registered thirty degrees below, thab balmy morning, bathing and dressing became a fine art. By the time Don had gob his collar fastened with fingers so numb that he had to trust the button and the button-hole to meet entirely on their own responsibility, and by tho timo ho had melted his frozen tooth-brush in his mouth to brush his teeth therewith, the air-tight started up merrily. When he cot down to breakfast ifc wenb red-hob ; and before he had finished his omelette and griddle-cakes a smell of smoke drove tho entiro family flying to the guest-room. where thab blazing air-tight, with an air Of duty well done, was comfortably setting fire to the mantel-piece, and had consumed a copy of Xenophon and half a pile of young ladies' letters.

These incidents were a tremendous agitation in East Tipton, and Don got to the post-office that morning somewhat excited, and a little late.

lb, was bibingly, bitterly, brutally cold. The enormous fall of snow made running impossible, and walking an athlete's job. The snow-ploughs were not oub on the ground, the snow was too doop. The doctor and a man who wanted him (for a sick horse) were the only men to be seen on tho streets besides the young collegian. Nofc a woman was visible. Don, a fine figure inhisaafcrachan-trimmed ulster and long rubber boots and astrachan cap, from below which his curls keeled up with a sort of defiant jollity, tramped gayly through the drifts to tho office, a good hard mile away, He whistled as he went, and sang scraps of college songs : ' Here's to happy Harle— Drink her down !' and his bouncing favourite : ' Swe—de—lo-we- dum—bum!' Many a climate-worn, sorrow - soured woman, lank of face and lean of heart, breathed little spots in tho frosted window, to see the stranger lad go by, and felt the warmer, somehow, for tho eight. If she were an elderly woman, she wished she had a boy like that, to come tramping the merry snow into her entry.' If she were a young girl, she breathed a bigger hole in the thick frost-curtain, and looked a little longer, and wished—who' knows what? And where do all these pretty half ; grown, half-known wishes come from, or go to, bhab fiubter across the lives of denied young people in poor places, like visitors whose very names they never know, bub who bring them a breath of some brighter world, as foreign as France and as far as Paradise 1 And, on the whole, are they gladder or Bad dor for it —who can tell ? Donald, at the post-office, romped in thunderously. The postmistress, who was bhe lankest, the leanest, the saddest and the sourest of all the Tipton ladies, would have scolded*any other man in the county roundly, for flooding her premises wifch half the snow-drift in which Don stood, radiant; and dripping, taking off his hat to ber, and bending before her with a bow such as was never seen in Tipton before or Bince. She only smiled at Don, and asked him if he wouldn't sit awhile by her fire and dry off, and told him he had a letter from Jamie, and one from a lady in Harle, and the minister had two from New York, she said, and besides, there was a postal from Fay. 4 She's coming home to-day,' observed the postmistress, as she handed the mail out. Don expressed no surprise ab this. It was always understood in East Tipton i-hafe tho postmasters, especially when they were postmistresses, read the postal cards. Fay used to write to her father in French when ehe had anything to say not intended for the public education. Bub ib was found thab these cards were only ao much longer on the way ; because the postmistress had to go home for her lexicon. 4 She's coming by the mornin' accommodation,' added the postmistress. ' Musb be nigh due now.' " 4 Greab Scott!' cried Don, 'there wont be anybody to meet her. There's ago !' (To be Continued.)