The First Mayor

IT is a large city now, where electric lights blaze all night, and factory chimneys stain the sky by day, and the beautiful undulating river shore is scarred with railway lines, and the architecture has felt the touch of Richardson and the American renaissance. But when Tom and I first saw Atherton, looking from the deck of the ferry-boat across the myriad sparkles of the Mississippi, the time was 1858, and the town numbered barely fifteen thousand inhabitants.

Here and there, only, was the battlemented line of flat-roofed shops and warehouses broken by a structure higher than three stories. The hotel loomed up with its multitude of windows ; and higher yet towered two enormous brick buildings, flour-mill and store, from each of which a red flag flaunted, bearing the inscription Atherton and Temple. I had my reasons for inspecting these edifices, — the same reasons which sent my eyes searching among the smart villas on the bluffs, until they rested on a great white mansion with the lofty Corinthian columns and decorated pediment of our fathers’ architectural pomp, and stately gardens and terraces stepping downward to the glitter below. They also permitted a tolerably honorable young woman to listen eagerly to the conversation going on at my elbow. The interlocutors were two men, René de McCarthy, whom I knew, and an elderly stranger. I paid little attention to René’s light figure or handsome French-Irish face, but I looked with all my eyes at the stranger. He was of insignificant presence, short and thin, wiry, however, having broad shoulders and long arms. His head appeared disproportionately large, perhaps because it was so thickly covered with iron-gray locks which he wore brushed in a high wave over his forehead. He had pushed his shining black beaver hat obliquely backward over his ears. His nose was of the eagle type, and his deep-sunken eyes were amazingly bright. They flashed in unison with his strong white teeth when he smiled, giving an effect of brilliancy to his rugged and tanned face. In the same way, when he frowned, his shaggy eyebrows helped the savage strength which was carved in his jaw and mouth. His dress was of the best material. — a satin waistcoat, and the black broadcloth then esteemed the only habit of dignity; nevertheless, it was so carelessly worn and so dusty that he almost appeared shabby. He wore no gloves, and was paring his finger-nails in the most artless manner. Satisfied with their appearance, he waved his hand at the prospect.

“ Don’t look much like our rival now, hey ? ” said he.

The point on the shore which he indicated was a mere hamlet; but once, as he had been telling René, it was the county seat, a distinction which had been wrested from it by the town of Atherton, fifteen years before, and mainly through the speaker’s own efforts.

“ I tell folks that town made me first mayor of Atherton,” said he jocosely; “ they elected me then, and they’ve elected me every year since. I come high, but they must have me.”

I could not understand René’s smiling attention and deference ; to my mind, the first mayor of Atherton was a vainglorious, vulgar little man.

“ They named the town after you, later, did n’t they,” said René, “ when your store was burned ? ”

Mr. Atherton flashed his brilliant smile on him. “The store wasn’t burned, my son, —not exactly. It happened this way. The mill did burn down. It was one of the coldest days in the year, — mercury ’way down to thirty below, and only reason it did n’t get lower was we had n’t any longer thermometer. I was out on the farm, and I came in on the jump. There stood Billy Temple covered with icicles, and swearing like only an ex-Methodist brother can swear. I sized up the situation in a minute. Blizzard blowing, and water all froze up, and the houses like tinder. I told Billy the only chance to save the town was to make a hole big enough to stop the fire. We had got to blow up our store. He begun about, the stock. ‘ Look a here,’ says I, ‘ do you think I ’m going to see this town burned to save our stock ? D—the stock ! says I. Billy’s white. He looked at the wind and he looked at the store. ‘ All right, J. D.,’ says he, ‘ d— the stock ! ’ We lit the match to our own gunpowder — Hullo, what ’s your hurry, friend ? ”

He addressed a Stalwart farmer-looking man who ran across the deck, stumbling in his haste and a sent of fury which was upon him. The man shook his fist in Atherton’s face.

“ Oh, you d— swindler, do you know I’ve failed ? ” cried he. He was choking with passion, but Atherton did not change countenance.

“ That’s too bad,” he said placidly.

“ You failed me! ” screamed the farmer. “You overbid me with the farmers and underbid me in the market. You make your brags you ’ll run the produce business of this town, do you ? You said you’d run me out of business, and you’ve done it. But I ’ll give you reason to remember Jim Ripley !

In an access of rage, he flung his great bulk upon the mayor, who leaped nimbly aside. Another onslaught, but more disastrous, since, this time, the big fellow lost his balance and plunged headlong against the frail guards with a force that shivered them. Into the water he crashed. I shrieked for Tom. My husband is a magnificent swimmer. But he was already overboard. Nor he alone; there was a second splash, and just behind Tom’s sleek brown head I saw a rift of iron-gray locks and a flash of shirt-sleeves forging through the waves (all the while a shout ringing in my ears. “ Heave the rope after us ! ”), and off in the boat’s wake a wild white face tossed like an egg-shell and two black arms threshing the foam. I flew to the coil of rope, to find René’s hands readier than mine. It was all over in a moment; and they were dripping on the lower deck, and every one was cheering, and pocket flasks of whiskey were waving in all directions. René escorted me downstairs. Then I realized that Tom’s helper and the man who was vigorously rubbing and warming poor, limp, crestfallen Ripley was no other than Mr. Mayor Atherton himself. His loud tones filled the air : —

“Well, Mr. Ransome, this is a funny kind of introduction, ain’t it ? ”

But he was very cordial, and sent us to our hotel in his carriage. How vividly that carriage appears out of the past,— one of the four then in Atherton, — the horses so shining, the gold-plated harness so showy, the cushions so luxurious, the black coachman so majestic ! Livery in those days was not common, even in cities ; I admired Cato’s blue and brass and gold-banded beaver.

Mr. Atherton smiled, well pleased at our surprise. Don’t look much like your notions of the West, young lady, does it? ” he chuckled. “ I can tell you it ain’t much like my first carriage, either. That was a prairie schooner.”

I recoiled from the man with his heavy voice and free manner : it was a relief when he went away.

“ He is very good-natured,” said Tom.

We had been guided through the marble halls of the hotel, and now stared at our own apartment, — a dazzling vision, all mirrors, and gleaming white paint, and white marble, and red velvet upholstery, partaking in its magnificence of the splendors of a palace and a saloon, with an impressive hint of the cemetery. Tom would not join in my mockery. He kept to his mayor.

“ He is the great man of the town; in fact he made it. He has shown some fine qualities,” said he ; “ so much the better, since our future depends on him.” Alas, it was true to the bone : on this blustering provincial magnate our future did depend.

It does not concern my story how the ancient amity of our fathers (Tom and I were betrothed while we both wore petticoats) was distorted into suspicion and resentment. Whose the fault matters least of all, since the old foes and older friends are reconciled now, in that dim land to which they departed content with each other. But for a time the feud was bitter. The elders dissolved our betrothal. We were young, hot-headed; we loved each other, and my mother was dead. One can imagine such a pair’s way out of the tangle. We ran away and were married, presently finding ourselves as poor as we were happy. Therefore, when René de McCarthy, Tom’s classmate at Harvard, invited Tom to become assistant editor of the Atherton Citizen at a fair salary, the offer was promptly accepted. René was a young Louisianian, whose father was more plentifully blessed with children than with money ; and he had gone up the river to seek his fortune. He was editor-in-chief of the Citizen, which he explained to Tom was the sole property of Mr. Jared D. Atherton, mayor of the town, and its most zealous and vigilant promoter; a man of wealth, also, vast for those times; the owner of mills and farms, and houses and stores. He had lavished his own money on the town and drawn Eastern capital to it, spreading its advantages far and wide, in a fashion very common now, but unusual enough to be original then. The Citizen was merely another agent in the work. He cared far less that it should be profitable financially than that it should successfully advertise the town. Tom had seen the office and was favorably impressed. “ Everything is on a liberal scale. — no stinting. Even our editorial sanctum has gilt paper and Brussels carpet. Colors scream at each other, of course, and no end of them. René calls it the Rainbow. Atherton is liberal in other ways ; no interference with the political articles except that I am never to abuse a good citizen and maker of Atherton. That sounds well. I am to be as decent as I please in my language, too : another distinct advantage. Oh, he is not a bad fellow, Katy.”

Thus far Tom talked on, happy and hopeful, and I shared his mood. But the next day he had gone to the office, and the exile’s homesickness was twitching at my nerves. I was glad to receive the cards of Mrs. J. D. Atherton and Miss Bainbridge. “ Very correct cards,” I thought, ” but no doubt they are pompous, purse - proud, horrid things who have come to patronize me.” So lonesome was I, however, that patronage itself was acceptable ; it might give me something to laugh over with Tom. later.

Two ladies were by themselves in the vast, gaudily furnished parlors ; yet I hesitated to address them, unable to believe that either of them could belong to Mr. Atherton. The elder was a slender, dark-eyed, softly smiling, languid gentlewoman, whose head swayed a little to one side, and whose tiny foot peeped out far enough to discover a gleam of white silk stocking above the lowcut and rosetted shoe. She was dressed in one of the bright-hued and ampleskirted silk frocks of the period. What we called a mantilla of silk and black lace slipped gracefully from her shoulders. Her black hair was smoothly banded under a creamy Leghorn bonnet trimmed with white ribbon. Every detail of her costume pleasesl me, being daintily fresh and fine, like her embroidered collar and undersleeves of Indian muslin, which were works of art. For brooch, she wore a miniature set in diamonds ; and there were diamonds and emeralds on her beautiful hands, sparkling through the meshes of her black silk mitts.

Such was the costume of a woman of fashion in the days of my youth.

No sooner did my eyes fall on the wearer than I recognized her right to the description, and my admiration of her elegant figure and her toilet was increased by the quickly following discovery that she was a Southerner ; for in those ante-bellum days the planter aristocracy furnished our social ideals.

The younger lady could hardly have owned more than twenty years. Between the two there was a plain resemblance, although the girl was taller, with rounder outlines and a hint of vigorous muscles in her movements, — she was lifting a window. Her dress also was simpler, as became her years, but equally tasteful. She had wine-brown eyes, which shone with a gentle, steady radiance ; but her bright color came and went uncertainly, contradicting the repose of her manner and her still eyes.

The elder woman, rising very gracefully, introduced herself as Mrs. Atherton, and presented her daughter, Miss Bainbridge. Miss Bainbridge merely bowed and smiled. It soon appeared that she was a silent person. Mrs. Atherton, however, talked fluently, in her languid Southern fashion. She had a good deal to say about the place. Service was the sore trial of the Atherton housekeepers, and I afterward found it an universal topic of conversation, whatever the time, or place, or social rank ; then, I remember, I was bewildered to have Mrs. Atherton give it so much time. She admitted that she herself had little cause for complaint. They had kept their old slaves ; that is, some of the house servants. Mam’ Chloe really was a right good cook. — she cooked to please gentlemen ; she herself preferred lighter dishes ; but she hoped we would dine with them on the morrow, and judge for ourselves.

I was won by her cordial manner and her sweet voice. More and more it puzzled me that she could have married Atherton. She enlightened me directly, in the most unembarrassed way. I had asked her if she were an old resident of Atherton.

“ Oh, yes, ma’am,” she answered, smiling, " old for Atherton. People never stay here long. They are always coming and going. That is why Mr. Atherton is trying to induce the Germans to come here. He says they all will stay and make a kind of anchor for the town. We have been here ten years. We all simply came on a visit to sister Elsa Cunningham, who lived here then. They have moved away since. It was that awful cholera year, and Colonel Bainbridge was taken ill and died. So did Tempe, my maid; and Rose was terribly sick, and sister Elsa’s three children. And only me to wait on them,—you can’t imagine the horrors of that time.”

“ We all should have died but for Mr. Atherton,” said Miss Bainbridge. It was absolutely her first sentence.

“ Yes, he was extremely kind,”said Mrs. Atherton.

I fancied myself, in case Tom had saved my life, assuring a stranger that he was “ extremely kind ” ! I stole a glance at Mrs. Atherton’s white throat. The face on the miniature was young and handsome; it was not Atherton’s harsh features which she treasured.

“ Colonel Bainbridge’s affairs had been shamefully neglected, and worse, by his overseer,” she continued in her plaintive, melodious tones. “ After his death we found ourselves almost penniless. Why, Mr. Atherton had to buy our slaves for us; he had indeed. We stayed here with sister Elsa. Pa had lost so much by our troubles I could n’t bear to return to Charleston. So a year and a month after Colonel Bainbridge died I married Mr. Atherton. He took everything off pa’s hands, and somehow— I’m sure I don’t know how — he has made money enough to pay pa back. He always does make money,” she added carelessly.

I could see that Miss Bainbridge was wincing under her good manners, though she said not a word. The whole history was clear enough now. The helpless Southern woman had accepted the strong arm tendered her simply because it was strong. She did not love her husband. I made a nervous effort to divert the conversation into safer channels, saying something about Mr. Atherton doing so much good with his money, giving so much to the town.

“ I tell Mr. Atherton he is crazy over this town,” said Mrs. Atherton, opening an elaborate sandal-wood fan and softly waving it. “ Pray don’t encourage his mania, Mrs. Ransome. He has given a park, and a hospital, and a cemetery, besides subscribing to everything. He gives to every church. He nearly built the Episcopal church. We all are members, you know, — not he himself; oh, no, ma’am, he never goes to church ; stays home and looks over accounts, and plays on the jew’s-harp by himself.”

I must have stared, in spite of my will to keep my eyes out of the window, for I saw Miss Bainbridge’s color rise. Naturally I made the situation worse by an imbecile murmur of not knowing that Mr. Atherton was musical.

“ I should n’t call him musical,” answered Mrs. Atherton dryly. “He likes nigger songs and hymns. There he is now, Rose, with Mr. Temple. Mr. Temple has all the virtues, Mrs. Ransome. Have you ever observed how uninteresting all the virtues are in a man ? ”

If Mr. Temple had all the virtues, he had none of the graces. I found him a large, faintly colored, taciturn man, whose only spark of animation was struck out by his partner’s sallies ; but my heart warmed to his bashfulness, after Mr. Atherton’s bravado. This is ungrateful, since the latter, on this occasion, bragged not at all, and very shortly retired with Temple to the outskirts of the conversation.

We soon grew familiar with the town. It was like hundreds of other Western towns in its stage of growth, — crude, inharmonious (“ a tawdry sort of civilization,” Tom called it), yet with a sound core of Puritan conscience, and groping towards splendid possibilities. Half the streets were unpaved, in spite of the mayor’s efforts, but they were picturesque with “ prairie schooners,” and resounded with a din of traffic and building. Some of the dwelling-houses were well planned and ample mansions, set back in shady grounds, but the business architecture was mean. One single exception do I recall, — Thorne and Quincy’s bank, which had a marble façade, with acanthus leaves carved on the cornices, and imposing marble steps curving outward into the street. Neither Mr. Atherton’s mill nor store could vie with this ; both being simply huge iron-and-brick structures, bare and ugly to the last degree. The mill was the largest flour-mill west of the Mississippi. The store was a vast bazaar, where everything from millinery to drugs made a grotesque panorama for the buyer. René de McCarthy introduced me to the store. He was in high favor with Mr. Atherton; in fact, it was understood that he was to marry Miss Bainbridge. 1 had occasion to buy a few small articles, and I was surprised to be handed, in change, two bits of yellow and blue pasteboard: the yellow bit authorizing me to receive twenty-five cents’ worth of Israel Finch’s " excelsior bread” at the Atherton Bakery, and the blue bit good for “ one dish of pure icecream at the Palace Restaurant.” My amazement pleased René, who explained that, silver coin being scarce at the West, the shopkeepers’ wits had fallen upon this device. While he spoke, a man in a floury coat walked up to a high desk near us, demanding ‘‘the old man.” He looked so good-humored that I was a moment or so in recognizing our tragic friend of the ferry-boat, Mr. Ripley. Truly, I was not sure of his identity until Mr. Atherton’s head peered over the deskrail, and he called cheerfully : —

“ Hello. Ripley ! come for the money ? I ’ll get it. That you, Renny ? And Mrs. Ransome ? Well we are favored this morning ; sun shines and you come to see us. Don’t you two want a peep at my private bank ? ”

I felt rather dazed, but René, as a matter of course, ushered me up two flights of stairs into a bare room that had been partitioned off from the carpet ware-room. It was not only plainly furnished; the furniture was bizarre : there were a couple of shabby rocking-chairs clad in black hair-cloth, a marble-topped centre-table, and a rickety desk. The walls were plastered and whitened, and against this dead whiteness two daguerreotypes, framed in black, had a sickly yellow aspect. The other decorations were a map of Atherton and a pencil-drawing of a tomb. This latter was a florid design representing a very stiff angel playing a harp with her left hand to a group of children, all disposed about the conventional broken shaft. One of the daguerreotypes was the picture of three plain and solemn children; the other, of one plain and solemn woman ; and, as in a flash, it was clear to me that the children of the daguerreotype and the children of the monument were model and copy, while the woman’s high forehead and long nose were faithfully repeated in the angel’s face. But the angel essayed a smile.

During my frivolous criticisms Atherton was unlocking his desk. He pulled out a great package of crisp, new banknotes, cutting them apart with a pair of shears, after which he dated and signed half a dozen notes, and pushed them over to Ripley, who departed with them.

“ Guess a thief would n’t make much breaking into my bank,” was Atherton’s comment. “ Like to see the bills, Mrs. Ransome ? Here’s a gold check, too.”

The first engraving had all the outward semblance and texture of a banknote, save that the legend thereon was different, reading as follows : “ Six months from date, Atherton and Temple will pay the Bearer, on demand, TEN DOLLARS in current funds,” The other note specified a longer time, and the payment was to be in gold.

Atherton went on to tell René about the gold checks: how his clerks were instructed to offer the other checks first, and only give gold cheeks when they were demanded. “ Then we can work Florence on them,” said he slyly. “ Fact is, our checks are good as any money, — banks take ’em, railroad and ferry take ’em, stores all take ’em ; but sometimes they ain’t satisfied ; come in and want money. We hand them over Florence, and like as not they go to Thorne and Quincy with that, and want them to cash it, and get our checks. Current funds, you know. We call it swapping oats.”

“ Where is Florence, anyhow ? ” asked René. " I know the Florence money is Thorne and Quincy’s issue, but it is redeemable at the bank of Florence, it says on the bills. “Where is the town?”

“ Nebraska,” answered Atherton, with a grin.

“ I thought the Territory of Nebraska was all a wilderness,” said I innocently.

“ So they say,” said Atherton. “ I ain’t never been there, so I can’t tell you.”

“ You hardly will go there with your Florence, will you ? ” asked René.

“ I guess not,” acquiesced Mr. Atherton. “ Do you know, though, that Billy, last year, sorted out all the Indiana bills we found in our safe, — twenty odd thousand dollars, — take them by and around, worth eighty cents on the dollar; and I assure you he put them in his carpet-sack, and went all through Indiana to the different banks that issued them and got ninety-five cents on the dollar. Pretty good for wild-cat money, hey ? But Nebraska is too far away.”

“ Mr. Temple got more out of them then than he would now, I reckon,” said René.

Atherton nodded. “ Billy ’s cautious. But he’s got plenty of pluck, too. Never knew him to be fazed but once: that was just before the Crimean war, when I wanted to buy up the wheat crop.”

“ He did feel shaky then ? ”

Atherton showed his brilliant smile. “ Well, you see there was a thundering big wheat crop that year, and prices were ‘way down, and nobody believed there was going to be a war but me. When I saw how Billy took it, ‘ All right,’says I. ‘You stay out. I’ll go in on my own hook.’ But Billy says, ‘ No, sir ; it has been Atherton and Temple too long for that; we ’ll see the circus together.’ That’s Billy. Well, Mrs. Ransoine, he went in and worked like a beaver. We did n’t do so badly, neither. Wheat we paid fifty cents for sold in New York for two fifty. Mighty interesting while it lasted.”

He smiled again, and we went downstairs together. But when I told Tom about it all, and how nice it looked to see Mr. Atherton tearing off money like postage-stamps, he did not smile. Indeed, I had already noticed that while Mr. Atherton grew on my imagination, Tom’s admiration seemed rather to wane. I described the visit, sitting at ease in the Rainbow, where I was often admitted to the privileges of the symposium. Ah me, what innocent little revels we had there, when René would bring the beer foaming in the water-jug, and I supplied the reversion of our best dinners ! I often think, recalling those kind men’s plaudits of my cookery, that the hopes of youth are only equaled by its digestion. To-day, however, Tom seemed in a desponding mood. “ Confound all this wild-cat money ! ” he burst forth. “ Atherton ought to know better than to encourage such a craze. He wants me to write an editorial in the Citizen about the money here, showing how solid the security is. What do I know about the security ? I won’t do it! ”

“ Oh, hush thee, my baby ! ” sang René mockingly. “ Don’t fly off the handle, Tommy: I ’ll write the unprincipled financial articles, because I don’t know enough about finance to have any principles ; and I believe in Jared D. Atherton of Atherton. He made this town, and I don’t reckon,” said René, slipping into the vernacular, “ he ’lows to ruin it.”

Mr. Atherton was a favorite theme with us. He towered above the other local personages. There were half a dozen lawyers and doctors, the owner of a steamboat line, and, notably, Thorne and Quincy, the bankers. General Quincy kept a hospitable house. His table, his carriage, his handsome wife’s jewels, were the town’s admiration, His partner, the Honorable Rufus Thorne, was a dignified old gentleman, who clung to his shirt - ruffles and walked with a gold-headed cane. Though a bachelor, he gave splendid entertainments in his great house, and his wine cellar was famous. Every week, also, General Quincy, Mr. Temple, and Mr. Atherton met in Mr. Thorne’s parlor and played whist with all “ the rigor of the game.” But neither General Quincy nor Mr. Thorne could vie with Atherton in the popular affection. They were both proud men, hugging all their Eastern prejudices of birth and breeding, holding the society of the frontier at arm’s-length, even while they feasted and amused it. René ironically compared them with the Roman emperors lavishing corn and pageants on their subjects. Atherton, richer than any of the other rich men, had not an atom of hauteur about him ; if he bragged, it was in the most sociable way in the world. He may have been a bit of a charlatan; he certainly was not squeamish; lie could he cruel; but he was open-handed as the day, gay, goodhumored, magnificent in his schemes, and devoted to the interests of the town. As a citizen, William Temple alone had any comparable qualities, and he was content to be Atherton’s echo.

“ He is Atherton’s first citizen because he deserves to be ! ” declaimed Rene.

“ I don’t question his devotion,” said Tom, — this was on a later occasion; indeed, the speech was one of many which our friend was wont to pour on us, — “ the end is very laudable; but I do question his means. I don’t believe he is going to advance the interests of this town by lying about it; those circulars ” —

“ I admit they are not true, just at this present,” laughed René, flinging back his black curls, " but Atherton argues that they are bound to be true very shortly. He is only anticipating.” Tom gave an impatient sigh.

“ You are all anticipating. That is the mischief of it. Your banks issue money that they can no more redeem than they can fly. Your farmers are paying twenty and thirty and forty per cent, on borrowed money. Your merchants are in the same box. Why, man, I was in the county clerk’s office, the other day, to look up some titles. The whole county is mortgaged! It is awful ! What do you expect will be the end of it all ? ”

“ Riches and prosperity,” answered René gravely ; “that is what I expect. And Atherton also. You don’t consider our resources. When Atherton came here, there was only a little huddle of houses. To him more than to anybody else the change is due. He saw the possibilities. He bought land steadily ; and he sold it seasonably, too. He saw that if this country was to be opened up the farmers must have a market for their produce, and he bought the first, wagon-load of grain hauled to town,

— bought it without knowing what he should do with it. That’s the way he got into business. It was the same with pork-packing. Nobody else ventured, so he went in. I know now he makes an end of the small dealers very summarily ’ —

“ Take Mr. Ripley for example,” said I.

René, as his custom was, walked the floor while he talked ; he stopped short to face me. “ Yes, Mrs. Ransome, why not ? ” he cried. “ He ran Ripley out of the business. No doubt about it. Then

— I don’t say a word about the saving his life, because that’s irrelevant—then he takes him into his own employ, pays him more salary than he could make money out of his old business, and lends him money to lift the mortgage on his house. Ripley never would have succeeded in business for himself, — he knows it as well as anybody; but he makes a first-rate man under some one else. And I can tell you Atherton has n’t a warmer or more loyal partisan in this town than he.”

“ I ‘m not denying he is a leader,” said Tom.

“ Well, I should say so ! ” cried Rene. “ Just let me tell you something. At one time, early in his mayoralty, there was a lawless organization in this county; robbery and murder and all sorts of wickedness kept honest men in terror. Well, he, more than any one man, put it down. He planned a foray against them, starting out apparently alone, with a heap of gold in an old raw-hide trunk. Every year he did go to St. Louis for gold (he ran a sort of bank until he got Thorne and Quincy to start one), and there was no suspicion. He bagged half the gang: killed one man with his own hand in the skirmish, and brought the others back to town, where he had the court sitting, and the jury ready, and a man hired to hang them; and hanged they were, every mother’s son of them, the next day. There was no more difficulty with outlaws in this county.”

“ He killed a man, himself ! ” I could not restrain the exclamation.

“ Does n’t it make him miserable ? ”

“ Not him,” replied René ; “ he is n’t sensitive ; he has lived too adventurous a life. He started as an Indian trader, you know. Every year he would load his boat with supplies and go up the river and barter with the Indians. Then he made money enough to start a general store, and was married. His first wife was a school-teacher; plain as they make them, but a very intelligent woman. You know Atherton has always been an enthusiast about public schools ; gave the land for the first school himself. That is partially due to her. They say that she taught him to read. I don’t believe that story ; but I reckon she did teach him almost everything else. He has the greatest opinion of her. Did you notice that office furniture, the day we were there, Mrs. Ransome ? Queer furniture for an office, was n’t it? Well, it used to be the furniture of their parlor before he built Overlook. Those daguerreotypes are the pictures of his first wife and his three children, — all dead. That pencil - sketch shows the monument he built to them in the cemetery which he gave the town. He thinks the poor woman was a beauty, and he insisted on the sculptor making the angel at the tomb a statue of her. She was left-handed, so you will observe that the angel plays with the left hand. It is funny, but I think it is pathetic too. The poor soul loved him devotedly, and slaved herself to death in those hard frontier days for him. I always felt sorry that she must die before Overlook was finished.”

“ Did Mr. Atherton feel badly ? ”

“ He was quite broken up, at first. But he rallied, and went on with the house for the children. He is a man of phenomenal vitality. Blows that would kill another man hardly maim him. Take the ease of those children. They all three died in the cholera time. He took care of them himself; and Temple used to come over every day. stand under the window and get directions about the mill and store. He had the city clerk do the same. One day, he came to the window as usual, told Temple how he had better secure a certain contract, and was going away, when Temple asked how the children were.

‘ Jay’s dead and Bella’s dying ! ’ said Atherton, and burst out crying. But. great heavens ! think of the iron nerve of the man ! He did cave in when the last child, the baby, died. He seemed sunk in a kind of stupor ; they could n’t rouse him. Temple tried the house and business, — not a sign. Finally, in sheer despair he blubbered something about the cholera being awful bad in town. ‘And they ’re just crazy with fright, and you can’t help them,’ sobbed he, ‘ and they have n’t any hospital ’ — Atherton popped his head out like a flash.

‘ Why in blank don’t the fools take this house ? ’ he growled. Sure enough, the town had roused him. He went out and took charge of everything. Even Tom admits his sanitary measures were wise.”

“ You know quite well I am only too glad to praise him when I can,” said Tom.

René wore an air of raillery. " I must tell you, Tom, that he admires madame ; she reminds him of his first wife.”

“ Who was particularly plain,” I observed.

“ And madame is particularly the reverse,” replied René, making me a very fine bow ; " but you will remember that he considers his Nellie the fairest of her sex. Madame is tall and slender, and has dark eyes and long lashes, and, he says, the same kind, sweet smile.”

I laughed at René, but I confess that I was softened. Indeed, I had been most ungrateful were this not the case. The Athertons were kind in a hundred ways. How often we had reason to praise Mam’ Chloe’s admirable dinners ! How familiar the luxurious rooms of Overlook grew to us! In how many ways we poverty-stricken exiles were made free of their best! There comes a choking feeling in my throat, sometimes, recalling it all. I had grown well acquainted with both ladies, especially Rose Bainbridge; and when she told me, in the summer, that her mother and she were going away for some months, my dismay was so great that the silly tears rushed to my eyes. Miss Bainbridge surveyed me with her still face and wistful eyes. Presently, she said : " I like you to be sorry ; I don’t want to go. I know how you feel about being here. When I was first here, I used to cry myself to sleep, every night, I was so lonesome. I hated the people here, and I detested Mr. Atherton ” — She hesitated, but her unwonted tide of confidence bore her onward as if in spite of herself : " What do you think ? I tried to stab him with a penknife, the day he married mamma.” She laughed, but with reddening cheeks.

“ Oh, you poor little passionate thing ! ” cried I, and before I knew it I had kissed her.

“ Thank you,” said she quietly, and laid her hand a second on mine.

“ What did he do ? ” I could not restrain my curiosity.

“ He was very good to me indeed. He held me out with both arms and looked at me. My heart beat so hard I reckon he could hear it, but I would not struggle, only I could n’t help trembling.

‘ Poor little fluttering birdie,’ said he, in a very gentle, kind voice, ‘ you won’t mind my marrying your mamma by and by. We re going to be great friends, you and I.’” She laughed. " We are now,” said she.

She said no more, being interrupted ; but many times did I ponder her words.

They were gone a long time : it was summer when I bade Rose good-by, and the February snows were melting before they returned. René was gloomy ; and I know Mr. Atherton missed them, though he never complained. Whatever his feelings for his wife (I admit candidly that I never decided whether ambition, or pity, or affection had most to do with that marriage), he indisputably loved his step-daughter. Poor fellow ! he used to brag about her exactly as he bragged about Atherton. He needed her, too, for in December a great blow fell on him : his partner, Temple, died after a brief illness. Before men’s eyes Atherton bore the blow like a man of iron. During the funeral services not a quiver disturbed his rigid features. Afterwards, he never of his own accord mentioned his partner’s name, and he knew how to check any talk about him from others. But it was observed that he no longer went to the Thorne whist parties ; and he was more than generous to Temple’s widow. Rend grew warm over the matter. " Mrs. Temple always was a goose, but she was an amiable, decent sort of goose ” — so van René’s version — “ until her brother East got hold of her. He does n’t believe in Western security, and he is going to get every cent, almost, out of the business ; and Atherton won’t say a word because she is Temple’s wife.”

“ I am afraid it will cripple him to pay,” said Tom.

René replied gayly that Atherton always fell on his feet. Had n’t he lost two hundred thousand dollars at a blow, from the decline of prices consequent on the Czar’s death, and never cared ? “ Temple looked awfully blue,” said René. “ I was dining with Atherton when he came and told him. ‘ That’s bad, Billy,’ says Atherton, ‘ but as there’s nothing we can do about it. you may as well sit down and take a glass of ’49 port.’ It was n’t put on, either; because that night I stayed at the house, and I was reading that confounded Uncle Tom’s Cabin book, and I was up late, when I heard the funniest little drumming, rasping sound, — I could n’t make out what it was. So suspecting it might be a burglar, I stole down-stairs and peeped into the library. What do you suppose I saw ? Mr. Atherton, if you please, playing Old Folks at Home on the jew’s-harp. I give you my word, Tom, I thought I could n’t get up-stairs before I should have to laugh. There he sat as solemn and happy, strumming away, — the funniest sight! But when I did get up-stairs, somehow I did n’t want to laugh. He had lost two hundred thousand dollars, and he took it as lightly as that. The sight was something else besides funny.”

But Tom answered that Mr. Atherton’s losses were not entirely past, that he was still crippled by them. Prices had continued low, there had been three years of bad crops. “ I don’t see the end of it,” said Tom. But he kept these forebodings from me, because, in those days, life was bitterly hard to me : my first little son was born in the winter, and lived only a month. Strange to say, one of my greatest comforts was Mr. Atherton’s utterly silent sympathy. In February, the Athertons returned. I remember what a brilliant day it was when I saw Mrs. Atherton’s languid, smiling face and her beautiful furs whirling by in her new sleigh. Hardly an hour later, her maddened horses flung the sleigh against the railway track; and they lifted her, never again to be glad or sorry or vain in this world. She had been kind to me, and I mourned for her. I must think, whatever the chill of their relations, that her husband mourned her, also. He looked years older, though he kept a stout front; and he complained of physical ailments, — an unprecedented thing with him, — consulted a doctor, and gave up his daily walk to town. But it was now no secret that he was harassed by business anxieties. That year the crops failed again. Up to July there was promise of a bountiful harvest. Then came weeks of rain. The soaked grain was beaten over the fields. The blight, the mildew, the rust, ill-omened names that became so wofully familiar, — what misery they wrought! Some of the farmers did not even try to gather their crop. Wiser they than their neighbors who could not sell their ruined sheaves. The potatoes and the onions fared better, but prices were very low. To increase the disorder of the time, no one any longer had confidence in our money. Banks were suspending everywhere. A bank-note worth a dollar in the morning might be worthless by night. One note which Tom gave me he said was worth eighty cents ; they called it fifty at the first store where it was offered, but it was valued only at twenty cents before I came home in the afternoon.

The following day I saw a strange spectacle on the levee. A farmer deliberately backed his wagon loaded with potatoes into the river; then, swearing frantically, he kicked out the tail-board and dumped the whole load of potatoes into the current. This seemed so unaccountable a proceeding to me that I described it to Tom.

“ Poor beggar,” said he. “ I suppose he couldn’t sell his potatoes at any price. I myself saw three loads left on the street. Katy, it looks bad, bad.”

Times did not mend with colder weather. More than once was the Citizen’s rhetoric demanded by “ currency riots,” and once Atherton dispersed a dangerous mob with the fire department, turning the hose on a few truculent spirits. His influence was still potent, and lie was nominated as usual for mayor. Late in the autumn, he went East to raise money. During his absence misfortunes thickened about him. Some of his heaviest debtors failed; a cyclone blew down one of his mills in an adjoining town; and the very day of his return home, Temple’s nephew, a young man well liked and trusted by him, ran away with several thousand dollars in gold, hoarded to pay the gold checks. Tom said then that further fight was useless. Even René looked haggard and dejected. “Thorne and Quincy are in the hole, too,” he muttered. “They can’t help. They ‘re looking to Atherton to help them.”

Little sleep did any of us have that night. Morning broke wan and chill, a true dawn of calamity. Tom went to the office. I went out into the streets, and was impressed by the unwonted throng on the sidewalks, — like a holiday, only the crowd wore no holiday air. Women hustled the men. The faces of all were sullen and anxious, while some of the women’s faces looked bloated with weeping. I observed, moreover, that the motion on every side was towards one central point: the mass of human beings pressed, struggled, and fought onward to the white marble steps of Thorne and Quincy’s bank. Near noon a neighbor ran to my house crying that there was a run on the bank, and that she should lose everything. I counseled her to withdraw her savings at once, since they were deposited in her name. She said that she would only run home to take her bread out of the oven, and then go. But when she reached the street she found herself caught in the crowd as in a wedge, and before site could push forward she heard the roar of rage and misery which told her that the bank doors were shut. Thorne and Quincy had suspended.

The woman esteemed herself ruined. Really her fortune was made, for the bank eventually paid their depositors in full, giving Western lands; and the farm which she thus secured is now in the heart of a city. Thanks to that “ broken bank,” she became rich. But who was to prophesy such mitigation of disaster ? The business of the whole town turned on the pivot of Thorne and Quincy’s bank and Atherton’s mill. At half past one o’clock the hank suspended. By three o’clock it was bruited about that Atherton and Temple refused to cash their gold checks. Tom did not come to eat. my carefully prepared chicken pie. Incessantly people passed, always in one direction, always with haste. I saw Mr. Shiras High, the sheriff, drive by in a buggy with two men, galloping his horse through the half-frozen mud. I could endure the tension of waiting no longer. Faster and faster I saw women flying down the streets, bare-headed in the bitter December air, wringing their hands and shrieking questions which the wind took away. The contagion of fright and excitement seized me; I too ran out on the street.

My first thought was to get. to Tom. I found the street in front of the Citizen office black with people, a sight very strange and frightful to me. But my heart stood still when Tom came out. and addressed the crowd. They would have hissed him. but his first words quieted them. He said that the office and all Mr. Atherton’s other property were in the hands of the sheriff; any damage done thereto would only injure the creditors. Meanwhile, the Atherton Citizen would be issued as usual. “ An Extra containing all the facts of the late failures,” said Tom, “is now for sale in our counting-room. Price ten cents.” With that he withdrew, and Rene, in his shirt-sleeves, appeared and displayed a placard with flaming head-lines: —

THE CITY SHAKEN ! THORNE AND QUINCY SUSPEND ! ATHERTON GOES UNDER! CLAIM THAT THE ASSETS WILL COYER EVERYTHING !

There was more below the shoulders which I could not see. Apparently, either the Extra or the editor’s coolness appeased the crowd, although they had gathered to mob the editors as confederates of Atherton ; for now there arose a rough laugh, and like magic the black mass of hats scattered, while those who remained walked peacefully into the office to buy their Extras.

I now found little difficulty in reaching the building. Tom was for reproaching me at first, but he ended by devouring his pie. But René was past eating. “ The game’s up, madame,” said he, with a miserable smile.

“ How does he bear it ? ” said I.

For a little I. did not consider the catastrophe to our own hopes. T only saw one figure outlined against the stormy western sky. He was the provincial lord that Caesar would have been rather than be the second in Rome. Behold, his lordship was wrested from him, and his house left unto him desolate !

“ He bears it like a gentleman ! ” cried René. “ He mortgaged his farms, Overlook, everything, and he brought seventy thousand dollars home with him, and planked every dollar of it down to save the bank. And it was no use. I tell you it’s mighty hard. Poor Thorne cried like a baby when it was all over.

‘ I wish to God we had n’t touched a cent of your money! ’ says he to Atherton. ‘ Oh, quit that! ’ says Atherton. ‘ I was on your paper enough to ruin me. We ’d both pulled through if it had n’t been for that young Temple.’ That is what I call high-toned.”

“ It was,” said Tom. “ But, René, what’s the feeling outside ? ”

“ Damnable. The town’s ruined. The poor devils of farmers have nothing to pay their interest with, and have got to lose their farms, and they all are raving at Atherton. The Democratic committee want him to come off the ticket. He said he did n’t propose to resign under fire. I ’m sorry too. C’est magnifique, via is ce n’esi pas la guerre ”

“ If the election only weren’t to-morrow,” said Tom.

“ But it is,” replied René “ He ’ll be beaten awfully. You don’t know the monstrous lies afloat. They say he’s kept the money he raised East, and that he’s in with Temple. They are wild, Tom. Oh, it’s hideous,” René groaned, dropping his flimsy mask of levity, " the stories I ‘ve heard, the sights I’ve seen to-day! Poor women, — widows who thought their narrow incomes safe,— laboring people who brought their savings to Atherton, thinking he was safe, anyhow — My God, what a load for one man to carry! And we can do nothing.”

“ Nothing but write the morning editorial,” said Tom. And the New Englander went doggedly to work, while the Southerner paced the floor, aflame with rage and grief.

The next day I shall remember all my life. Writ after writ poured in on Atherton. He sat up-stairs, in his office, and rocked in the worn arm-chair, and tried to explain the great pile of ledgers before him, while outside a mob of desperate men and women bowled their curses at the man whom they had loved and trusted to their own undoing. One Irish washerwoman who had a crippled son to keep, and who had loaned all her savings to Atherton, clambered through a locked window and ran up-stairs, all bleeding from the broken glass, to grovel at his feet, shrieking for her money. They had to take her away by force.

“ It will be all right, Mrs. Kelly, — it will be all right;,” he kept repeating, while the struggling, frantic creature was dragged down the stairs, cursing him. " Now, gentlemen.” said he calmly, “ where were we ? ” But Tom, who was there to explain the Citizen’s books, could see that he furtively wiped his face with his hand, yet the men were wearing overcoats in the room because of the chill. He betrayed no other sign of distress. Only when the winter day had waned, and lamps were brought, and he rose to find another ledger, he fumbled a bit over the leaves, saying, “ I don’t know as I can go straight to the place, gentlemen. Temple used to take these accounts. I — I miss Temple a good deal.”

On the streets the tumult waxed more furious every hour. Half a dozen firms had failed. Men whose credit a week before had been unquestionable were pleading as if for their lives with the stanch little bank that weathered the storm. In fine, the town believed itself ruined by Atherton and his friends. One weapon to strike the arch-traitor lay ready in every voter’s hand. Long before dark the Republican candidate for mayor was elected by an overwhelming majority. Poor Ripley, whose loyalty was not discreet, was beaten into a pitiable object at the polls. Atherton heard of the fray. His comment was bitter : “Rats are wiser than men: they skip out of a sinking ship.”

Rose and I called for him with the carriage after dusk. Tom jumped up on the box, and René appeared at the same time and jumped in after Mr. Atherton. “ Quick!'” cried Tom, in a sharp undertone. Instantly I knew why he spoke ; then it was too late. The street at right angles to the little dark street where we waited was all at once luridly gay with the flare of torches, and penetrated with the tramp of feet, shouts, yells, the clangor of brass, the throbbing roll of drums. The light blazed on a great white banner, dancing aloft so near that the hateful black sentences jumped at our eyes : —

HONEST JOHN HARTER THE NEXT MAYOR OF ATHERTON ! HONEST MONEY AND AN HONEST MAYOR! NAME OF THE TOWN TO RE CHANGED !

We were turned, the next instant, and splashing through the mud. our backs to the procession.

Atherton spoke first, to René : “ Is Harter elected ? ” “ Yes, sir,” said René. “ What are the figures ? ”

René lied unhesitatingly : “ I don’t know, sir.”

There fell a heavy silence before Mr. Atherton spoke again : “ Do they think of changing the name of the town ? ”

“ Oh, that’s only some fool talk of the rabble,” said René.

Mr. Atherton did not make any comment. The rest of us kept up a feeble chatter at first, among ourselves ; but we were sensible that it availed nothing. Soon, therefore, mute as he, we looked out on the dwindling line of lights, the sombre hillsides with their fret of black boughs against a leaden sky, and at last the dark oaks of Overlook and the stately white columns and pediment, unsubstantial and faintly drawn in that waning light. Mr. Atherton pushed the window slides down and gazed long and steadily. God knows what his thoughts were. The lamps along the drive were unlighted. Only the glimmer of a candle met us at the great door, which Mam’ Chloe unbarred with doleful grunts of exertion. She told us that the other servants had hidden in the cellar on an alarm that a mob were coming to tar and feather Mr. Atherton.

“ But,” said Mam’ Chloe piously, “ I does know I cotch my deff, fo’ sho’, in dat cole; so I done putt my trus’ in de Lawd, an’ hide up sta’s in de shoe closet! ”

She had prepared hot coffee for us, and a meal of some sort which we were too excited to eat. Mr. Atherton refused everything, peevishly, and strode off to his library. Tom followed him, because we could hear sinister noises and shouts borne on the breeze. He found him seated at his writing-table. A sheet of paper, scrawled all over with figures, had been pushed away, and his head was sunk on his arms. Unconscious of any auditor, he muttered to himself, “ So many poor people — to lose all — no use — no use ! ” Tom must rouse him, no matter how he recoiled from the task. He spoke to him. Mr. Atherton unsteadily lifted his face, which was flushed a dark crimson. He stared at Tom with glazed eyes. Tom tried to say something about a sure reaction to the injustice of the present feeling.

“ Why d——it all,” cried Atherton hoarsely, “ do you think I mind their turning on me ? Good Lord, they ’re right, — I’ve ruined the town ! ”

He put out his hand to draw his papers nearer to him ; instead, his fingers scattered a pack of cards. He looked at them with a strange smile. “ Billy’s cards,” he muttered. “ Ain’t it a good thing old Billy’s out of all this ? I think of that when I miss him. We were together twenty years, Renny, and never a word. See if you can match that with your wife.” He did not seem to know that it was lorn, not René, who was before him. All at once, the vacant look slipped out of his eyes; he sprang to his feet, alert and composed, lifting his hand.

“ They ve come,” he said calmly.

We all heard the noise which had roused him, the thud of feet on the soft earth, the stifled cries and commands. Tom and René would have persuaded him to escape to the yard, where the horses were ready ; but he pushed them both aside. “ I’ve talked to the boys before,” said he.

“ Never mind,” whispered René in my ear; “ we are both armed, and the sheriff and a lot of his friends are coming.”

The crash of breaking glass and a hubbub of screams from below stopped Tom’s words. René and he, pistol in hand, ran out on the porch.

“ Stop ! ” thundered Atherton. “ You boys sha’n’t do any fooling with pistols ! ”

He pursued them as lightly as a boy. Rose and I flew after. Outside, the mob seemed to press up to the very floor of the portico. The lawn was only a surging black torrent of heads. As we appeared, a sheet of flame shot up from the brush-heap which they had lighted ; and a shower of stones, dirt, eggs, and dead cats was shot into the air as if it were the foam of this horrible sea. “ Atherton ! ” “ Atherton ! Tar him ! “ Feather him ! ”

“ Kill him ! ” bellowed the crowd.

He had been the admired leader of these men, veritably a petty god; their rancor now had the venom distilled out of faith betrayed. A yell of rage and hatred tore their throats, as they saw him, standing there before them, with his arms folded across his breast. They flung his own name hack at him coupled with hideous epithets and threats. They pelted him with their noisome missiles. An egg struck him full in the face, and they shrieked with savage laughter. Tom’s pistol flashed in front. But neither pistols nor Rose’s white arms could have quelled that uproar of hate; what did quell it was the patient composure of the hated man. Calmly, slowly, he wiped his stained cheek with his handkerchief. There was blood on it now from a gash made by a well-aimed piece of glass. Then he lifted his hand — and they listened.

You know very well,” said he in his loud, unmodulated tones, “ that I could have run away from this. I refused to have the sheriff come out with me. I don’t want protection from the men of Atherton. I’ve worked for the interests of this town ever since I was twenty years old. — done my best for it.”

“ You’ve ruined it! ” a woman’s voice screamed, and some boy threw a stone. It must have hit him, but he stood firm.

Another stone and I’ll fire! ” shouted René.

“ Never ! ” called Atherton. “ It’s all a mistake — a mistake ” — He stopped, passed his hand in a bewildered way over his face; his voice shook. “ I know that I appear to have — to have ruined ” —

But his strength was gone. Rose and René caught him as he swayed forward. They laid him on his back : he lay inert and flaccid; his eyes rolled, then they closed. Rose wailed that he was dead. René, a planter’s son, had a tincture of medical knowledge. “ No,” said he,

“ he isn’t dead, but he has had a stroke of apoplexy.”

To me it was marvelous to witness the change in the temper of the crowd ; they stood silent and awestruck. It was as if the passion of man were spent before a vision of the judgment of God. Most of the people quietly turned their backs and went home. Those who remained were vehement in their efforts to help. Ripley and the sheriff found nothing to do. Thus, very peacefully, we carried the first mayor of Atherton over his threshold ; wondering, some of us, if it were not a merciful fate should he never need to cross it, living, again. Weeks, indeed, did pass before such a thing seemed possible; then the desperately tenacious vitality of the man’s physical powers gave his body force to crawl out of the wreckage of broken heart and blunted brain. The doctor pronounced the patient out of danger.

Shortly after this, while Mr. Atherton was yet unable to transact any business,

Tom received a telegram summoning us to his mother’s death-bed. We left Atherton, not to see it again for ten years. For a while we heard frequently from our Western friends: that René and Rose were happily married; that Mr. Atherton could not use his mind long at a time, but was growing stronger; that many farmers had lost their farms ; that business was dull and houses were empty; that the name of the town had been changed. Then the war came, and Tom volunteered. Some letters must have gone astray about this time ; for our letters addressed to René were returned with merely a curt official ‘‘Not Found,” on the envelope. We surmised that René had carried out his often-expressed intention of throwing in his fortunes with his own section. Such indeed was the case, as we know, for we have renewed the old friendship; and I am glad to say the good fellow has prospered since the war, and his wife is a happy matron. But for years we lost sight of them entirely. Five years after the war, we passed through Atherton, — Atherton no longer. Having an hour to wait, we drove to the spot because of which the city was set apart in our hearts. With a strange, familiar ache, in spite of the laughing baby faces waiting for me by the Atlantic, I looked at the winding river shore and the rich foliage of the hills above. Overlook, with its stately terraces and groves, was so precisely the picture of the years gone by that a wild notion came to me that Atherton might have retrieved its fortunes, and now was its owner and the provincial lord again. But there was a forlorn change on the other side of vision. Instead of the wide acres, shaded by failtrees or neatly shaven, with brilliant Spots of color, — all the brighter for the white flashes among the green, •—mills and factories crowded close to a little plot of graves. The rank grass waved a yellowgray mist of hay-flowers over the sunken mounds ; all the paths were effaced by a squalid greenery of dock and plantain and jimson weeds ; while the cracked and weather-stained gravestones leaned at every angle. The liackraan, carelessly flicking his boots with his whip, at the carriage door, explained that the city had sold all the vacant lots ; no one had been buried in the cemetery since 1859.

We asked the man if he knew anything about Mr. Atherton. He thought that he had heard the name, but was not sure.

“ ‘ Are we so soon forgotten when we ai’e gone ? ‘ ” quoted Tom sadly.

We ascertained that the care-taker whom we trusted had not been negligent, and laid our flowers on the little mound. It was natural that we should linger a moment before the monument which once had attracted every visitor’s eyes. Though the suns and frosts had dealt hardly with it, the sculpture had won a touch of dignity out of its misfortunes : the coarse workmanship, the florid design, were softened by the lichens and climbing vines; and I fancied a novel sweetness in the angel’s smile.

“ Poor Mr. Atherton ! ” I exclaimed. “ Tom, do you suppose he has been fortunate again ? ”

“ Yes,” Tom answered quietly ; I think that he has been fortunate. At least, I am sure he is content now.”

His voice rather than his words made me go to the stone whence his hand had brushed aside the mask of thistles. Then I saw that he was right, for we were standing by the first mayor’s grave.

Octavo Thanet.